Whyaye! An up t'date update, pet!

Alas, ye faithful followers of K.O.D dot com. I am back.
From where? I hear you ask. The dead? Well, almost. Newcastle to be precise. Yes, that delightful port of the north; the city in which an intoxicated weekend was spent celebrating (or possibly commiserating) Filip Jovetic's final days of freedom before fully committing himself to his beloved.
In layman's terms: Weev bin ona stag do!! Ha ha ha!!
Of course, this doesn't explain the lack of activity here at King of Destitution, it merely highlights the copiousness of my social life; flipping the bird to anyone who may have thought I'd been in bed all this time, crying about the demise of my former ideology (n.b. see earlier posts for full story) - which, in fact, is only partly true.
So, where does all that leave us?
Here ...
My name is set to appear in print for the first time 'proper'. I know I've done loads of fanzine stuff before, but this is an actual book!! You heard it here first folks. 'The 14:47 to Newbury', a short story, is to be included in the upcoming Cazart collection. You can read the on-line version here.
I've got a couple of other things on the horizon, too. But they're top secret at the mo. I'll keep you informed.
As for the eagerly anticipated KING OF DESTITUTION MANIFESTO - remember? the most important piece of literature since Adrian Mole's diary - the whole thing is still on the proverbial back-burner. Where it's probably going to stay - for the foreseeable future, at least. Sorry to deprive you.
And finally ...
I urge you to read Dalton Trumbo's 'Johnny Got A Gun', possibly the greatest works of fiction ever committed to paper.

P.s. Here's an interesting sentiment that I'm not entirely sure I agree with. Still, great song:

"It's a popular myth
That we grew up with
Since the age of mans desire
That it's true romance to be in your pants
I don't buy
I don't buy
You know I don't buy." from 'Loveshit' by The Wildhearts

So long for now...

Peace, love, and poppadoms

Glenn

... and then she put her whole hand up there!

Greetings, my non-existent readers. I do hope you've had a wonderful Christmas.
I know. I. Know. It has indeed been a while since I posted anything on here ... although, I sincerely doubt that anybody has been waiting with baited breath. K.O.D was (and probably still is) merely syntactic bait cast unto uninterested waters, sniffed at, and left to drift into the vastness of the digital ocean. Never mind.
Sooo ...
What's been happening. Well, at the behest of my partner, Louise, I have, over the past few months, had the misfortune of sitting through the occasional episode of 'Teen Mom', '16 and Pregnant' or some other standardized version of the same dreary format. The thing about watching this tripe, is that it nearly always leads to a certain question: 'What would you do if one of our daughters got pregnant at sixteen?', and the answer is usually a rather agitated 'I don't bloody know'.
But then I thought what if? I mean, it's a fair question. In our time, and particularly, our country, the chances are pretty high. You can guide them, teach them, threaten, ban, or batter them, but if they make the wrong choices it doesn't really matter. I could be a Grandad in ten years ... aaarrrghhhhhhh!
In all seriousness, though. I wrote this poem:


Sixteen and Pregnant

The black pencil lines, around her eyes, liquefy
She's stricken, confused; she's nervous inside.
I should ask if everything's alright,
but I feel out of place
We both know that Mum's better at holding the floodgates.

Yet, if the tears do cascade, as events are replayed
that one night she regrets
that whole god damn day
Then what use am I?
I'm no good with words
I'd say the wrong thing - make it all worse.

But she's looking to me, with fear in her eyes
I've got to stay strong, she needs my advice.
I stutter at first
then I say we'll stand by her
give love and support - whatever is required.
It's not ideal
- that's an understatement
But together we can make the best of this bad situation.

I tell her to stay strong.
Say: there's options for you
we would never pressurize you, or force you to choose.
This decision can be made by you and ONLY YOU
because this is your life...
well, your childhood in truth

Then she says that she wants to consult the father
- but I don't agree
She doesn't know him that well
he's older - new on the scene
And I can't really see him being around
when there's nappies to change or cash to be found.
But I'll leave that to her
She's got her own mind
I just hope,
no, pray
that her decision is right.

Now, if it was up to me
I'd tell her to get rid
You can't have a baby, your just a kid.
I know your scared, but it WILL be okay
We'll be there to hold your hand every step of the way
I really think it's for the best - I bet you do too.
Because...you know
when you were born
you knocked us for six
and we had ten years on you.

I'm well aware that this fetus inside
is an unborn life
that you may, or may not think has a right to survive
This has nothing to do with Anti or Pro life
but an expression of opinion, the use of a voice
to say it's nobody's business - except hers -
that's why I'M PRO-CHOICE

Peace, Love, and Poppadoms

Glenn

The revolution will be serialized

Due to recent legal problems I am contractually obliged to allow a word from our sponsors...

"It has not escaped our attention that our client, Mr. Glenn J Bradford, has been using Blogger, and in particular, The King of Destitution blog, as a means to document his one-man crusade to revolutionize the minds of the wider reading public. Neither has it escaped our attention that his attempts to bring alternative literature to whole new spectrum of potential subscribers, has, by and large, been unsuccessful. From the outset it was understood that the relationship between our two parties would remain silent until it deemed appropriate by both to reveal the nature of our contract. This was due, in part, to the sensitive boundaries which outline the work of K.O.D (notably, the punk ethic and socialist stance that the blog exudes, and the potential jeopardy that association with a multi-national company could cause).
In the six weeks that have passed since pen was first put to paper, the aforementioned Mr. Bradford has not only broken contract on three separate occasions, but also failed significantly in his recruitment targets. Rather than remove funding and abort the project, we saw it necessary to break the code of silence and issue this statement, thereby disclosing the terms of contract.
The original forty page document has been condensed into a few a sentences that we feel completely encompass the main aims of the agreement between the two parties and our reasons for reaching this decision:
In accordance with the document signed on 10/07/2010, Mr. Bradford would receive substantial cash payments to facilitate his on-going activism in the field of alternative literature, and in return would provide us with a preordained number of new subscribers to our monthly publication. It was assumed that our respective readers would be interchangeable in terms of both personal interests, and overall number. Despite Mr. Bradford's assurances, none of this has been found to be true, therefore clause 13.2 of the contract has been activated. All K.O.D activities will now continue under the watchful eye of our lawyers."
Pete Redmond, Razzle Magazine

Thank god that boring bastard's fucked off. Who does that Pete flipping Redmond think he is anyway?(N.B. Pete Redmond is in no way a pseudonym for Paul Raymond - PR) It's all lies; poppycock, bullshit, and lies. I mean, who wants to buy dirty magazines anyway? I'd be better off selling Betamax video club membership cards for fucks sake - that, or try resurrecting the bloody sodastream (Oh yeah). On a serious note though, this whole unfortunate incident has somewhat delayed the hotly anticipated King of Destitution Manifesto. I know, I know: the people of Great Britain need a new document of hope to cling on to. A genuine, unadulterated proclamation by which to restructure their lives, because, let's face it, the bible is a bit fanciful if you ask me. We need something based on reality that will have an immediate effect on the quality of our daily lives. I'll knock it up over the weekend if that's alright...

The Abstract Revolution Continues.....

Deary me, what a ruddy palaver. I mean, I don't want to get me pantaloons in a rather unfortunate tangle, but crikey-o-riley, this things deader than the decomposing remains of a still-born albino dodo. So far, King Of Destitution has got one follower - one! Philistines! But not to worry, I'll keep plodding on, Rome wasn't built in three weeks you know....actually, you probably don't - Philistines! (It's okay, I can say what I want - nobody reads it)

Right, so what's happened since the last blog? Not a lot. I didn't win a short story competition, and the entry that did was shit. I can categorically state right now that my story was loads better, and funnier. The judges obviously only wanted to read dreary mainstream shite, opposed to my pant-pissing extravaganza of abject morality and mind-bending hilarity. I'll try something a bit more serious next time - that'll shit 'em up. However, the results of the COOLDOG Poetry Competition have yet to be announced, so I shall keep you posted.

In other news, I've just contributed a column to the forthcoming Issue 9 of Lights Go Out fanzine. Mr. T kindly let's me write what the fuck I like in his fabulous fanzine, and we share a birthday, so up yours (not sure who that was aimed at, but us independent writer types stick together). If you haven't had the pleasure of reading LGO yet, make it your top priority: fuck that liver transplant, bollocks to your wedding, order a copy today...RIGHT NOW!! Here's the link...

Lights Go Out

That'll do I guess. Coming up in next weeks issue: The King of Destitution Manifesto.

"Just because your better than me.
doesn't mean I'm lazy.
Just because I dress like this,
doesn't mean I'm a communist." 'To Have and Have Not' by Billy Bragg

Peace, love, and popadoms
Glenn

Slowly, slowly, catchy monkey....

Right! And when I say right, I don't mean the opposite of left, I mean 'Oi! you lot, listen up!' (although 'you lot' is a bit optimistic, I should perhaps rephrase that: 'you few'?).

Anyway, it has become apparent - during the first week of the blog - that K.O.D hasn't been the rip-roaring success I'd hoped for - it appears that punk is dead (but I didn't say that, and anyone who says I did is a flipping liar). Fifteen profile views? Fifteen? Crikey...I imagine that more people will buy Jedward's version of 'All the Small Things' (if there was ever proof needed of the ultimate dilution of punk, there it is) and that's shit....this is brilliant.

Sooo...week two. Not much to report really - the government is yet to fall, and the establishment are still...well...firmly established. I think it's going to take a little while longer to liberate the nation via the mediums of poetry, literature, and music. But, as they say: you can't clear up after an earthquake with a dustpan and brush (whatever that means). Let's hope for more success next week.

In other news, XMA, Melton's legendary punk rock warlords, are still sans drummer. We need to find one quick smart before the whole country goes into mourning. Punks everywhere will spontaneously combust upon hearing the news of our demise; children will line the streets, crying 'XMA, and therefore music as we know it, is dead'; women will tear their clothes off and writhe naked on our grave, sobbing uncontrollably, begging for one more chance to see us play live. And nobody wants to deal with that, do they? Actually, I can think of a few who might, but I'm not going to name them. They're just dirty perv's who only want to look at ladies boobies. They make me sick (the perv's, not boobies).
I know it's highly unlikely that people won't have heard of us, but, if there is anybody who just happens to have been residing under a rather hefty rock for 25 years, with cotton wool in their ears, and insulation tape over their eyes, then here's the link to the official website...

http://www.myspace.com/officialxma

Errm...that's about it, I think. I will be writing the K.O.D manifesto at some point, and that's when the excrement will really hit the revolving plastic blades - so watch out. Oh, and by the way, that photo up there at the top, well, that's XMA (or at least the back of Gaz's head). You can plainly see the adulation on people's faces, as the feast their eyes (and ears) upon the revolutionary, spectacular event that is an XMA gig. Just look at the size of the crowd!! I'm on that stage you know...behind the camera man obviously, but I am, or rather, was, there. So up yours!

'Kick over the wall 'cause government's to fall
How can you refuse it?
Let fury have the hour, anger can be power
D'you know that you can use it?' 'Clampdown' by The Clash

Until next time
Glenn

ROCKING THE WRITERS GUILD

Ha! I know what your thinking - 'Rocking the writers guild? What the chuffs he on about?'. Well....I'm about to tell ya....so listen up, right! (maybe 'read on' would work better, but who cares - anarchy baby, yeah!). So, strictly speaking it wasn't the writers guild - it was Nottingham Writers Group - and I didn't exactly rock it; but I did have a damn good go at blowing the bloody socks off everyone there, and I'm pretty much positive that at least one of the old Grannie's stockings dropped by what could have been anything up to 4cm (gravity may have played a part, but I'll put it down to my blistering performance).

Picture the scene....

A rabble of 15+ amateur and professional writers are holed-up in a conference room deep in the heart of Nottingham. Violent strains of police sirens and early evening revelers can be heard from the streets below, but more important matters are at hand. The regular attendees of this twice-monthly meeting are buoyed by the appearance of no less than 3 new members, prompting customary pleasantries and chit-chat before the serious business starts. At 7:45 pm (GMT) the first reader takes her place at the front of the group. The bewigged octogenarian recites chapter nine of her work in progress - some conglomeration of horse racing, love, deceit, and supposedly comedy - the response is tepid. Next there is a poem about poetry, imaginatively titled 'I don't do poetry'. The poem itself recounts a tale of the author's school days, and has something to do with Robbie Burns. It was okay. My turn approaches, but not before we have listened to a short story by a chap from the west midlands. The tale revolves around a retired couple holidaying in the Canary Isles: the old man wants to look at boobs by the pool, so fakes sunburn to avoid an outing. I liked it. Excitement and anticipation are the only words worthy of describing the atmosphere in the room as I approached the front......

And I did it you know....I bloody well did. I got up there and read my poem. They liked it too...said I could be a performance poet, get up on a proper stage at one of them poetry slams, even go on Radio 4 (of course, I've never listened to Radio 4 so I wouldn't know if that was appropriate or not). The head honcho - Carol - described me as, I quote, 'a young talent'. So stick that in your gob and defecate it out your arse....me, talented young poet....who would of thought. Wait until they hear one of my short stories - that'll really blow Grandad's braces off.

So hear it is: my poem

What’s Right?
by Glenn Bradford


Some people laugh at the thought of standing your ground
Like ‘to care’ is a stick, that they can use to beat you down
Instilling a fear, not to show what you feel,
nor stand up and shout,
‘Mate, this shit is for real’.

The stories in the news may not directly affect you,
but this planet is a billion people
all sharing the same roof.
If there was nobody to fight, or protest, or rebel,
then that little piece of hell, that you saw on the screen,
could end up on your doorstep,
where your happiness had once been.

The only way forward is to make yourself heard,
to not take any of the crap that is spread in this world.
Realize your not confined to a life of despair.
One man can make a difference -
A million a change.
There are heroes out there, I’ve seen them today.
Marching and singing, forming human-barricades

I know that I’m guilty of turning a blind eye,
but now I’ve turned a corner - it’s just taken some time.
I can see that the future is what we make it,
and I’ve got kids -
In what kind of world would I want them to live?
One without wars, or murder, or hate
Where your not persecuted for gender, religion, or race.

So that’s why I’ll stand, and try to achieve
Because it’s what we deserve
It’s what the world needs.
The activists to organize, to help us unite
So everybody can say that they fought for what’s right.
If fear is the barrier - the first hurdle to jump,
on a road that is long for those at the front.
Just take that leap of faith.
Join the cause.
For the world is not just theirs -
It’s mine and yours.

Stay tuned for more, folks.
Peace, love, and understanding
Glenn