tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25202375157481958172024-02-19T06:40:26.516-08:00Dexter SelboyHere blows some of my poetry, short stories and some other crap i cant keep to myself.
If i drank less i could probably write more, but then i wouldn't want to.Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-57601326746416743842014-09-21T17:47:00.001-07:002014-09-21T17:47:24.115-07:00Tim<div style="font-size: 12px;">
Of late</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
that 8am journey</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I take every morning</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
doesn’t seem so bleak as those previous to recent changes</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
(dare I say, revelations)</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
taking place within the office space where,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
everyday,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
ever since I started,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
slaved for hours for basic pay</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and made my way slowly</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
making cups of tea</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
to salary</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
‘til finally I could smile and honestly could say I had an occupation.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
Now I wake at day break</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
without a single yawn</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
as I anticipate</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
what happenings lay await for later.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
That day they cleared that desk space</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and offered it to him</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
where they placed a polished name plate</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
which read only ‘Tim’.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
Tim’s American</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
he drinks Americanos</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
with an extra shot of coffee</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
though after 12 it’s strictly camomile.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
His uncle went to Harvard,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
though he isn’t half as smart as Tim,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and when he’s dead</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
he’s set to get a great inheritance </div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and he’ll never have to work again.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
His suits aren’t just any suits,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
they’re tailored M&S</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
dry clean only</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
dry cleaned each week and pressed.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
Mine </div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I bought online and didn’t get the size right</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
100% Nylon</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
trousers too tight around the thighs</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and the flies bulge out,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
it’s been said more than once before,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I bother females working on my floor.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
Tim car drives like a dream,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
It’s gotta be:</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
only him in it,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
on a straight road</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
dry</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
no headwinds</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
but when it kicks in</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
it’s such you’ve got to see it to believe it.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
It’s a SEAT.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I haven’t even passed my theory test,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I haven’t taken it.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I don’t have a provisional,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I guess I never will,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
but then I get a discount rail ticket,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and if I could drive,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
there’s still no one I could visit.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
Maybe Tim?</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
Tim once read a whole book on kung-fu,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
including how to do moves you won’t know have killed you,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and I’m just saying,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
just incase,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
you pace up behind him,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
even if your steps are silent,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
he was telling me about this muscle memory</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
which means instinctively,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
within an instant,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
without thinking,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
all the training ingrained in him will kick in.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
But if anyone harmed a single inch of Tims skin,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I swear I will kill him,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
or her.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I swear.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
That beautiful skin.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
He’s pretty much got a six pack,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
almost,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
if the light’s right and he sits back,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and he’s just done some crunches.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
We’ve hit the gym twice now,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I sat on the static bikes and watched him as he worked out.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
Both times I passed out.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
My trainer says my 2 litre Tupperware of humus</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
that I eat every lunch time is not enough.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
So, since then,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
despite the investment,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
via debit card payment,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
as a statement for a new way of life that I made,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I’ve decided for those coming up eleven and a half months,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
the money I have promised them,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I didn’t even want.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
And it was worth it for those 2 showers after.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
Those 2 showers,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
shared by 2 men,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
naked to the flesh,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
except for my swimming shorts,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
unsure of changing room etiquette,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I’d got it wrong of course,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and once in</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I could hardly strip</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and alas</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
the second time</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I’d forgot and got in in them again.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
but what a thing,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
let me let you in</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
covered in shower gel and shampoo,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
Tim bare skinned,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
not a stitch in between me and him,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
him and I,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
water running down our bodies,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
not three feet aside,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
he’s got</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
what we call ‘on the flop’</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
more then</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
than enough</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
as required for the job,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and one day</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
some lucky lady laid beneath,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
will receive Tim,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and God bless those that sail within.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
all that lather</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
that I wish I was</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I bubbled more than any soap,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
just for you and only you,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
‘til both of us were washed and free together</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and forever in our promises forever,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
for forever.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
Tim told this joke just the other day</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and he had us in stitches.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I can’t tell it like him,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
but seriously I thought my ribs would splinter,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
ripping out my shirt,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
spurting blood all over my </div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
so called collegues,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
so much it filled the room,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and filled their mouths,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
and drowning</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
their eyes will beg for forgiveness,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
but I won’t give into it,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
even Stacy who gave me those three days holiday pay</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
isn’t innocent.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
They all laughed.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
She laughed.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
They all laughed.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
Tim didn’t laugh.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
Tim wasn’t there.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
I hate the 6pm train,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
late every day,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
straining at the sides,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
containing tired faces,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
5 stops for my station,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
the flicker of the light strip they won’t replace,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
piss stains,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
the unmanned ticket station,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
vacant without fail.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
home to the microwave,</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
radiating a rotating plate</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
of perforated Sainsburys basics</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
meals for only one</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
made with hate.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
Thankful it’s not Friday night</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
each time I tuck me in</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
‘cause I can’t stand the 2 days of weekend </div>
<br />
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
without Tim.</div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 12px;">
(c) Dave Selby 2014</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-89734727957904787362014-01-12T17:20:00.000-08:002014-01-12T17:21:41.683-08:00In That Kitchen<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">In that
kitchen we try so hard to make food, but try even harder not to get called a
fuck and told we’re useless and everything we did we might as well have not
have done. In that kitchen the stoves get hot and make us feel as hot as it and
thirst to stand below the fans for more than just the second we can. In that
kitchen potatoes boil beside us, as we boil in suits of sweat and cause odours
to bend our sense of smell away from everything that ugly, and try so hard to
make a sweet smell in. In that kitchen we’ve bled from small holes whipped into
our backs. In that kitchen I’ve needed more than what I’m paid to have a piss,
but kept it in and added salt, pepper, butter into asparagus. In that kitchen -
made of friends and sworn enemies with missing fingers - punch broke tiles and
dragged knives across my arms, and took off fingerprints and left them frying
with the chips, too scared to tell. In that kitchen, waited, working to smoke a
cigarette and growing angrier each minute, ‘til someone lets it out of me by
finding out how to make us all laugh. In that kitchen slipped on bleached
floors and bits of food, and everything can be slipped on I’ve found out by
now, no matter how many yellow warning signs anyone can put up. In that kitchen
I hated myself and loved everyone else for letting me stay in that kitchen. In
that kitchen I’ve died a few times and wanted to kill myself a whole lot more.
In that kitchen I learnt how to smile, but not as much as I forgot how to.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Dexter Selboy (c) 2013</span></div>
Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-5559700211411144192014-01-12T17:17:00.001-08:002014-01-12T17:17:20.108-08:00For You If I Was Akhmatova<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
i watched and saw that she loved</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the sun between eleven and three with no clouds,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
as long as her hair smelled of heat<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and her skin was brown as last year.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
i loved my shadow,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
which she reminded me was too big,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
a lumber sundial,<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
always at the wrong time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dexter Selboy (c) 2013</div>
Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-91643998419307857442012-05-05T15:19:00.000-07:002012-05-05T15:19:04.307-07:00You can get one free with every retirement<br />
These ticks and tocks are markers of wasted time,<br />
imagined punctuation only noticeable in utter silence,<br />
resting ears,<br />
letting eyes lay covered<br />
and leaving no taste on the tongue.<br />
<br />
Waving forms rising and falling,<br />
chalking up the only marks that matter.<br />
<br />
Every second a space to be filled,<br />
each rise in the cog a climb towards a moment<br />
to be made memory.<br />
Hand through hand slower than the one held above it,<br />
ready to catch it’s significance in the movements.<br />
<br />
The lines of these palms aren’t for reading,<br />
it’s thin arms refuse to bend,<br />
and the grip rests loose and easy,<br />
throwing seconds too fast to be caught.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
© Dexter Selboy 2012</div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-72644935270547246092012-04-07T21:25:00.004-07:002012-04-07T21:25:44.898-07:00Boots for Blues at four in the morning<br />
“Just sit and listen”, he’d tell us.<br />
“Dancing’s for fags and tall boys who don’t know how to tell stories”.<br />
And the 88 black and white keys would lay balanced in front of him,<br />
patiently waiting to help illustrate the tale.<br />
<br />
His finger bones worked his hustle,<br />
bending and reaching for the words,<br />
shaping similes,<br />
dipping under the odd idiom<br />
and sketching out heavily pencilled metaphor.<br />
<br />
A semicircle of drunken illiterates sat bent and swaying,<br />
drifting into the days concluding fake believe,<br />
wrapped up warm in a sleep shaped lullaby<br />
more sweet than their own mothers mellow mewing’s.<br />
<br />
Strings felt the felt,<br />
hammered to their yawning song,<br />
fingertips tapping rhythms like a<br />
Morse code poet<br />
(“If anybody’s receiving this,<br />
we got cold beer and tobacco.<br />
Bring women.”).<br />
<br />
Quiet choruses of hand on hand on knee approval,<br />
a slow bowled request sharply batted down<br />
under<br />
fading “Fuck you”s.<br />
And now clear space for<br />
a quiet voice someone remembered was theirs,<br />
neck stiff, tightly letting out air,<br />
the way a white man sings,<br />
holding like with both hands,<br />
as though it was the first girl he found<br />
he couldn’t just bump.<br />
<br />
One for his baby,<br />
the funny valentine,<br />
found slouched and pouting in a frame on the fauxhogany planks of the upright,<br />
next to a tumbler of shop brand scotch<br />
we placed on a pedestal just to piss out.<br />
<br />
My best memories got typed up in those 88 keys,<br />
punched inky relief’s, dusted off in second hand poster paper<br />
(one side for you, one side gone with the has been),<br />
carving the curves the 26 alphabet letters weren’t enough<br />
to tell the whole truth of,<br />
while my shoed feet danced silently,<br />
leading my oil paint partner under a trailing spot light.<br />
<br />
© Dave Selby 2012<br />
<div>
<br /></div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-36372784901246708822012-01-16T15:15:00.000-08:002012-01-16T15:15:56.930-08:00154 lbs of dead wait<br />
The way we found him,<br />
I’m pretty sure that’s not what he wanted us to see.<br />
His blood was running like a confession from his nose,<br />
trying to feed some emptying reservoir.<br />
There was a chance this was a cry for help,<br />
but most likely<br />
by this time his voice had become horse,<br />
and all his shouting had amounted to nothing more than<br />
eyes balling his,<br />
and blank expressions from people he wanted to be caught by.<br />
<br />
When you’ve explained all your arguments<br />
and found no competitor,<br />
unfortunately,<br />
you will have to admit that you’re right.<br />
<br />
It’s an ugly fight when you’re stood bloody faced<br />
in the corner of a ring<br />
you didn’t even want to be in.<br />
<br />
© David Selby 2011<br />
<div>
<br /></div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-23939898410556474792012-01-13T13:59:00.000-08:002012-01-13T13:59:29.402-08:00Half way up a hill, shouting for us to get on<br />
<br />
It was just that one time that he’d fell asleep in the road of a morning, but that was enough to have a car ride over his leg and smash his thigh open. The car didn’t stop, it was too early.<br />
I never really knew him till his thirty something birthday, when he rolled up to the gates at my flats, phoning and buzzing, tapping and shouting, and me thinking a whole night was about to begin. I didn’t see him that often.<br />
At a music festival he’d gone blackout on Dutch pill dust, Mandy and Sunshine, we dressed him up like he was in the C.I.A. and he spent the next two hours marking perps and checking through handbags. When you’re awake for 32 hours and then have a snooze in a baking portaloo, things tend to ride out that way. He’d lost it. He told me how to gather my believers on a RyanAir, and when I suggested he drink some water, he demanded I,” Either listen and understand, or fuck off and stop wasting” his “time”. I wasn’t, I was trying to get it back.<br />
After all this, the way I’d seen him so honestly, he stood there outside my flats, phoning and buzzing, tapping and shouting, and when I asked what he wanted to do the whole night, I saw he only wanted the drugs.<br />
<br />
© David Selby 2012<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-70464264761311154622012-01-08T19:57:00.001-08:002012-01-08T19:57:29.652-08:00Art Reborn<br />
In the epic financial downfall<br />
of late 2012<br />
in an act<br />
to conserve resources<br />
the Terrible decision was made<br />
for the axing of<br />
the BBC’s most relevant<br />
and demographically representative show<br />
Eastenders.<br />
<br />
Tears cascaded into streams<br />
into rivers<br />
into an ocean of regret<br />
and many financiers were driven<br />
to take their own lives.<br />
<br />
I,<br />
in my infinite servitude to mankind<br />
took the decision to<br />
(completely of charity)<br />
fill the artistic void<br />
felt by the masses.<br />
<br />
Every night at 8pm<br />
for one full hour<br />
and for countless hours in omnibus on Sundays<br />
live<br />
infront of millions of viewers<br />
would stand completely bereft of clothes<br />
and punch myself in the dick<br />
while crying.<br />
<br />
For many years this sated<br />
the Entertainment needs<br />
of the masses<br />
<br />
until 2017<br />
when Terry Lewis<br />
and income tax inspector<br />
from Halifax<br />
broke into the studio<br />
and screamed<br />
“This Isn’t Art”<br />
to which I replied<br />
“Art Is Dead”<br />
for which I received an award<br />
for Expression<br />
from Russell Brand<br />
at The Wella Shockwaves Awards For Something.<br />
<br />
© David Selby 2012<br />
<div>
<br /></div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-56151067688409969902012-01-08T19:24:00.001-08:002012-01-08T19:24:55.970-08:00Last night you told me you were an idiot, and today I found out you are a liar.<br />
<br />
Every sunset is unique<br />
but they always bore the shit out of me,<br />
and I have now emptied my bowels<br />
for the last time.<br />
<br />
Yours sincerely<br />
I have barely begun<br />
but here’s my signature<br />
all brown<br />
and smelly<br />
and a request<br />
put in<br />
for my final wish<br />
<br />
that<br />
when I first learned to ride a bike<br />
I had never have stopped peddling.<br />
<br />
© David Selby 2011<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-63253964432340902742011-09-26T15:40:00.000-07:002011-09-26T15:40:05.214-07:00pissing through the trees in silence<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;">What the Doctor meant to give him was six months, but what she's gone and done, is taken them away.<br />All those times you didn't do what you felt like doing. All the times you didn't smash your face through the glass, and danced on the old tin roof in the rain with your dick out.<br />So, I'm propped against the window, waiting to see if anyone needs waving to, and the sky is looking very Constable out there, and all i've got is a paintbrush and a bucket of turps.<br />The Doctor's given you six months, but all you wanted was a hug.</span>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-22387449416007349552011-09-26T15:36:00.000-07:002011-09-26T15:36:33.396-07:00i've bought a tape recorder<br />
now i'm are<br />
a singer<br />
and so is my band<br />
<a href="http://soundcloud.com/dexter-selboy">http://soundcloud.com/dexter-selboy</a>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-32929909926165285552011-09-05T07:28:00.000-07:002011-09-05T07:28:08.417-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/HLWpVhTqKJE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
Me playing live with the Shonky Trio in the Windmill, Mayfair.Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-81953310924933600982011-07-04T18:31:00.000-07:002011-07-04T18:33:40.316-07:00two cloths don't make a quilt<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; ">February 18th, same as last year, and the moon's out getting chased again. A low grumble is flowing like tire smoke from the unlatched windows of the basement. Eyes take a few hours to adjust to the dimness of the room, but when they do, there's nothing to see but the sound anyway. And it still groans on. A movement like a thousands flying spiders webs tweaks you on the nose and tears start to well up, aching eyelids slide open, and a new sound enters the room,.. and it's spinning- soprano,warble-modulating and slipping up and then down, until it finds it's place, in harmony with the rooms grumble, and even though you can't hear either of them, they're louder than ever.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; ">(c) Dave Selby 2011</span></div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-76756268328549512062011-03-29T04:17:00.000-07:002011-03-29T04:19:28.525-07:00Good Morning<div>The sun was burning off the dashboard, just as it was yawning its way over yet another morning. His feet were cold and bent up against the foot pedals, poking out from his work suit trousers, bound by stiff leather and shoelace. Fidgeting or maybe shaking, he wasn’t too sure. He’d be dozing under his blazer since he pulled up at about 4 in the morning, and when he wasn’t dozing he stared into the doorway of a block of flats. Just this one block of flats. Just one doorway for all those flats. There’s, say, sixteen flats in there, so that’s a minimum of sixteen people who could walk through that one doorway, but he’s only waiting for one of them.</div><div>It’s turning out to be an icy sort of morning where the grass seems to shimmer, but there’s still definite promise of a warm day to follow. It’s a good day to wake up on when it’s like this, it’s like the day is getting up with you, and you can feel like you didn’t sleep alone.</div><div>The door opens, and the only one he’s been waiting for steps out, burying her eyes from the sun, and looking slightly up like she’s breathing in the day. And then someone he’s not waiting for follows.</div><div>The frost is staring to melt.</div><div>They kiss, they smile, they hug, they smile again and he turns to leave and then he does. </div><div>He wasn’t waiting for this, though maybe he should have been.</div><div>She reaches her hand out for the door again, takes another breath of the day and stops. She’s looking at the car, and she’s staring at it ‘cause she knew one just like that, and this one’s got the same fucking dent in the drivers door and the trim’s coming off the body in the same fucking place and she’s walking towards the car and now she’s running and her mouth is open and she’s screaming and her fists are hitting the window and the door and the bonnet and her boyfriend has run back and he’s holding her he’s holding her her boyfriend’s holding her ‘cause that’s what they do.</div><div>And the engine is starting, the car is pulling away, and he’s driving.</div><div>He reaches the split in the road and turns off left towards the museum.</div><div>More fucking dents. </div><div><br /></div><div>Copyright Dexter Selboy 2011 (c)</div><div><br /></div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-77168890317861617242011-01-28T13:42:00.000-08:002011-01-28T13:46:47.130-08:0015:48 to Brixton<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvI_LUL5iA6-ryuDx9m53G-w2MEvltcMeZDfXhNgUk-9qZnLgcQRTmZ6TuAgWPx_a6Byi1u9ltLoIPyj4kvyxpCG2GJmGLBfQwRiesTQZm1OjaelW2lNvfj4UbPyfXQdiBWqi0QO_Vh5z/s1600/old+man+2+FINAL.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvI_LUL5iA6-ryuDx9m53G-w2MEvltcMeZDfXhNgUk-9qZnLgcQRTmZ6TuAgWPx_a6Byi1u9ltLoIPyj4kvyxpCG2GJmGLBfQwRiesTQZm1OjaelW2lNvfj4UbPyfXQdiBWqi0QO_Vh5z/s400/old+man+2+FINAL.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567355804481251234" /></a><br /><div>first piece of a series of collaborations i'm doing for creaturemag.com, with the amazing Bob Shaw.</div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-58789312398490984572010-10-07T08:51:00.000-07:002010-10-07T09:02:44.972-07:00O hark, tis national poetry day...... and therefore the lovely fellow Matt Witt at <a href="http://www.creaturemag.com/">http://www.creaturemag.com/</a> has compile a three part series of poetry from various poets to celebrate. This is a lovely website, constantly updated, which gives a whole host of quirky and inventive artists the platform to show of their wares.<div>so delve in</div><div><a href="http://www.creaturemag.com/creaturemag-poetry-part-1/#more-1620">http://www.creaturemag.com/creaturemag-poetry-part-1/#more-1620</a></div><div><a href="http://www.creaturemag.com/creaturemag-poetry-part-2/#more-1640">http://www.creaturemag.com/creaturemag-poetry-part-2/#more-1640</a></div><div>and find me and a bunch of other chaps scribblings.</div><div>more tomorrow.</div><div>xx</div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-75691290817801930072010-09-24T05:36:00.000-07:002010-09-24T05:39:01.327-07:00just 'cause you made a sandcastle, doesn't mean you're some kind of king<div>and when I get there</div><div>still</div><div>token of a present that isn’t yet on the first steps</div><div>the thought up ahead</div><div>waiting to catch up with dreams and meaning of beings, beens</div><div>and or</div><div>or and</div><div>and has beens</div><div>syncopated frames colliding to meet </div><div>the maker of scenes side reel</div><div>and I feels to I feel to I feels</div><div><br /></div><div>and to find real</div><div>I asked the mirror if my eyes could pluck from me</div><div>and the words fell to nothing else</div><div>and my screams went unheard to those ears</div><div>that face was just lines</div><div>that chin was just a shape</div><div>and movement was mimic</div><div><br /></div><div>we saw through two eyes; not four</div><div>and spoke with one mouth</div><div>heard with two ears; and the other two deaf</div><div>breathed just one fresh air</div><div>and when the question sought answers</div><div>none came</div><div>the legs remained lame</div><div>the arms couldn’t lift themselves</div><div>and I could see the strings</div><div><br /></div><div>my friend could never be as much as I saw him</div><div>and the words he said could never mean as much as I heard them</div><div>my company was never much as I gave</div><div>and my words were never as much as their worth</div><div>I bowed down for no curtsey</div><div>shook hands</div><div>p’d and q’d for no courtesy</div><div>my body spoke the wrong language</div><div>eyes can only see what they understand</div><div>the mind can only construct the pattern</div><div>my green is your blue</div><div>my hate is your glue</div><div>and our norths can’t meet</div><div>I grew from something else</div><div>and your earth is my death</div><div>your exhale is my breath</div><div>and as you stand</div><div>my right is my left</div><div><br /></div><div>together we chased our own rainbow</div><div>found the pot was empty</div><div>and so sold the pot</div><div><br /></div><div>climbed mountains with no view</div><div>ran marathons with no finish line</div><div>thought equally of ourselves as murderers and geniuses</div><div>learned to hate out obsessions instead of embrace them</div><div>and did the same to our relatives</div><div>I learnt not to hold your hand while you held mine</div><div>it didn’t matter if I lied if you believed me</div><div>so I just said that was how I smiled when I was happy</div><div>and you did it too</div><div>how can it be love</div><div>when it’s like this?</div><div>does hate end up loving all the time</div><div>no one ever answers these questions</div><div>so</div><div><br /></div><div>bashing this wall for as long as I’ve been</div><div>looking so far forward that I missed the door right beside me</div><div>eventually broke through stone and concrete</div><div>reached through to pull the inside out</div><div>and found</div><div>just the same</div><div>and the wall suddenly seemed more beautiful</div><div>its reason was just to be; not to block</div><div>and I’d turned the wall into a hole</div><div>that opened to show that nothing had changed</div><div>so I picked up the bricks</div><div>began to build</div><div>one by one</div><div>stone by stone</div><div>and as the last piece was placed</div><div>I hammered in a nail</div><div>hung a mirror</div><div>and I looked at each other</div><div><br /></div><div>(c) Dave Selby 2010</div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-72134505441734152762010-09-17T08:46:00.000-07:002010-09-17T08:53:37.420-07:0022/12/09it was what i had been dreading<div>the phone too</div><div><br /></div><div>it trembled and glowed</div><div>its blue light</div><div>at the shock of what it had received</div><div><br /></div><div>she hates to see me chipper</div><div>because i was the one</div><div>and i don't understand</div><div>how hard it is for her</div><div><br /></div><div>i reply</div><div>some bullshit</div><div>because i can't say</div><div>one of the many things</div><div>i would like to say:</div><div><br /></div><div>i miss you</div><div>i hate you</div><div>i'm trying not to rub salt in the wounds</div><div>i've hurt you</div><div>i've hurt me</div><div>i still love you</div><div><br /></div><div>so i say</div><div>i know, i'm sorry</div><div><br /></div><div>and she says</div><div>no, you really, really</div><div>don't know</div><div><br /></div><div>just keep on with your chipper</div><div>fucking mornings and gigs</div><div>and forget about me</div><div><br /></div><div>well</div><div>i can't</div><div><br /></div><div>i want to</div><div>i hate you</div><div>i miss you</div><div>i've hurt you</div><div>i hate me, and</div><div>i still love you</div><div><br /></div><div>(c) Dave Selby 2010</div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-81801934812574802002010-09-17T08:41:00.000-07:002010-09-17T08:44:46.643-07:00nightly woelady of the night<div>get inside</div><div>for</div><div>it is cold</div><div><br /></div><div>although, admittedly</div><div>it has been rather temperate</div><div>and</div><div>the weather recently</div><div>has more than made up</div><div>for the bitter winter months</div><div><br /></div><div>still</div><div>your clothes are few</div><div>and you tremble</div><div>like a puppy</div><div>a cute one</div><div>who is cold</div><div>or maybe</div><div>(even)</div><div>scared</div><div>lady of the night</div><div><br /></div><div>get inside</div><div><br /></div><div>(c) Dave Selby 2010</div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-20749123877319007532010-09-04T08:55:00.000-07:002010-09-05T07:56:22.641-07:00Reviewhe ran his <div>small </div><div>fat</div><div>hands across the hair of her outer thigh</div><div>and looked into her</div><div>good eye</div><div>leaned in</div><div>and brushed his mid-life crises</div><div>against the rim of her glasses</div><div>by mistake</div><div><br /></div><div>they didn't need words;</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>she didn't know many</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>and he</div><div>had a speech impediment</div><div><br /></div><div>some people are meant to be alone</div><div><br /></div><div>(c) Dave Selby 2010 </div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-69373812407014163742010-08-30T17:32:00.000-07:002010-08-30T17:38:40.317-07:00the secrets of that ee ee ee sound you here on a stereo you left onit is you<div>as much as you hate it</div><div>and as much as i can't help it</div><div>its you</div><div>as much</div><div><br /></div><div>and paper and ink aren't enough</div><div>song is not enough</div><div>and damn sure text is not enough</div><div>and i'm not enough</div><div><br /></div><div>and that's why it's you</div><div>has been</div><div>and probably will be</div><div>as much as you hate it</div><div>and as much as i can't help it</div><div>it's you</div><div><br /></div><div>the space i feel in my bed</div><div>the stool next to me at the bar on lunch times</div><div>and i still buy the second shot</div><div>because if you're not there to drink it</div><div>then i need to</div><div><br /></div><div>(c) Dave Selby 2010</div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-78618504826610354922010-08-30T17:31:00.000-07:002010-08-30T17:32:17.513-07:00she looked deep into his eyes<div>and said</div><div>i love you</div><div><br /></div><div>and all she could see</div><div>was herself reflected</div><div>and she meant it</div><div><br /></div><div>(c) Dave Selby 2010</div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-72499616718503073512010-08-20T14:57:00.000-07:002010-08-20T15:00:08.632-07:00flowers, anyone?i only have one mood<div>and i'm not in it</div><div><br /></div><div>i'm again outside it</div><div>looking in</div><div>trying to get it's attention</div><div>but it isn't looking 'round</div><div><br /></div><div>i think it passed away in the night</div><div>'cause of the cold</div><div><br /></div><div>(c) Dave Selby 2010</div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-28656928958087822972010-08-20T14:54:00.000-07:002010-08-20T14:57:23.035-07:00...and again...i'll tell you why it didn't work<div><br /></div><div>i always follow my heart</div><div>and not my head</div><div>and my heart was filled </div><div>with hate and shit</div><div>and is now dead</div><div><br /></div><div>you always followed your head</div><div>and not your heart</div><div>and you're a fucking idiot</div><div><br /></div><div>(c) Dave Selby 2010</div><div><br /></div>Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2520237515748195817.post-46267842356923810072010-08-12T10:15:00.000-07:002010-08-12T10:22:35.212-07:00Sun reported to not only be incapable of wearing a hat, but also not even own one.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbC_kkZEqPZnch-_RbyLxaWkYpd1fTT4fSLKZ0Z_1Lsw-Desbgez45q3wkDEajpMpbdwo4nyX4lpQw7YkIL6lAIleNpMMEKvHYHy8_8e-yqObUoDV4xliX7RyxSOreEnYe5EtpALsai4Hb/s1600/sun.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbC_kkZEqPZnch-_RbyLxaWkYpd1fTT4fSLKZ0Z_1Lsw-Desbgez45q3wkDEajpMpbdwo4nyX4lpQw7YkIL6lAIleNpMMEKvHYHy8_8e-yqObUoDV4xliX7RyxSOreEnYe5EtpALsai4Hb/s320/sun.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504574487959540402" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpiW8DjyL_EMypDPNQg2LcTm5draqnakIKkYYuXziWM8aP3xTE1OvZMnMfUV2KB4IRxLtEr1_8go3NXbcm88x7yRfLuMZldlicuzrwsv0ecSgQVdwH5vLb7QdnoQZfoBwx139KS7kA0mBl/s1600/sun.jpg"></a>Experts have stated today that if the sun were indeed to put on a hat it would surely be engulfed in flames on the surface of his 5500 °C (about 9900 °F) head.<br />Dr Hopson of Londons Royal Astronomical Society said that “it wouldn’t even work if the hat was made of, like, steel or something, ‘cause it really is very, very hot and would just vaporise. It’s even hotter than a really hot oven”.<br /><br />Staff at St Brendan’s CofE School, have been asked to try to overlook the subject should it be bought up, to keep from upsetting the children. “The cost of recalling thousands of books to edit ‘The Sun Has Got His Hat On’ would be phenomenal”, says Head Teacher Ms Flaps. “The budgets for most schools are tight as it is, and it’s hard enough trying to maintain a general work ethic with these rubber headed children, without also losing their trust. We’ve done it with huge sections of the other text books”, she added, as she returned to her wincing students.<br /><br />Terry Dilddleton, a local interior designer, sympathised with the Head Teacher, pledging full blackouts on every window, saying, “the quicker we can get around this, the happier the children can be. I’m not standing by while a child weeps, due to some big, hot, lying orange cunt in the sky. I fucking love kids”.<br /><br />(c) Dave Selby 2010Dexter Selboyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05146112107304321400noreply@blogger.com0