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Contents. One Year On Band Profiles Poets Profiles Joe Kriss Joe Kriss Q&A Jemimia Roberts Alex Gwyther Sarah Olowofoyeku Ruby & The Vines Q&A Six Word Stories Elvis McGonagall Dorian Gray Will Coldwell Murmur Anya Pearson Pengilly’s
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Edited/Collated by Will Coldwell and Anya Pearson with support from Word is Born and the Conscience Collective. www.inc-zine.blogspot.com
Welcome to inc. magazine, a documentation of the spoken and written word of the Soul Rub Collective. This first half of this issue is dedicated solely to One Year On - A night for Haiti, which is raising money for Thinking Development, a construction project in Port Au Prince. There will be selected poems from some of those performing on the night, along with some interviews with those involved. The second half of the issue features many of the usual suspects from Soul Rub, as well as some new contributors. With a hell of a lot more illustrations than the last issue, two less than flattering poems regarding David Cameron and insights into some of the poets and bands themselves - this issue really gives you more bang (meaning poems) for your buck (meaning money). As well as being available as a super special programme at the One Year On event, inc. issue two will also be distributed as usual at Word Is Born and at selected stockists across Hackney. Enjoy!
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Welcome to One Year On… A Night For Haiti, and thank you for coming out to support our cause tonight. We have a fantastic line up of exciting young musical and poetic talent, from Radio 4 poetry slam winner Ben Mellor to “wild, hot and about to happen new trio” (BBC) Ruby & The Vines, who will be playing their unique blend of jazz, afrobeat and reggae. There will be a wide variety of poetry and spoken word on show, with hip hop and slam rubbing shoulders with more traditional forms, and themes ranging from the intensely personal to the brazenly political.
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And what is it all in aid of? Thinking Development was set up earlier this year by UCL students who were shocked by the devastation caused by January’s earthquake in Haiti. Harnessing the knowledge and skills of the UCL architecture and engineering departments, the group set about re-designing a school and community centre in central Port-AuPrince that was destroyed in the earthquake, with an emphasis on disaster-resistance, sustainability and beauty, but most importantly skill-sharing and close consultation with the local community.
The performers, venue and venue staff have all very generously waived any fee for this event, and Thinking Development is entirely run by volunteers, so every penny you donate tonight
will go directly to the construction of two new primary schools with a capacity of 1,200 pupils, an adult education centre and a multifunctional community space including a kitchen and garden. We hope you enjoy the evening, and please be sure to have a flick through the rest of the programme which contains selected poems from some of tonight’s performers (and some other poems from supporters of Thinking Development who couldn’t perform on the night).
Band profiles We are proud to present you the beguiling West Country folk stylings of Hot Feet (pictured), who are coming all the way from Stroud to perform tonight. This hotly tipped young trio take their cues from Joni Mitchell, Fairport Convention and Joanna Newsom and are sure to enchant you with their lilting, wistful melodies. myspace.com/hotfeetband Also playing live are London-based Ruby and the Vines, described by BBC’s Max Reinhardt as a “wild, hot and about to happen new trio”. The band are very much a part of the Soul Rub Collective, the founder of which, Greg Sanders, can be heard on guitar. Their songs, written by talented frontwoman Binisa Bonner, combine jazz, reggae and a variety of African styles from afrobeat to Congolese roots music. myspace.com/rubyandthevines
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One year on...
After a trip to Port-Au-Prince in July and much consultation with local residents, UCL academics, experienced industry mentors and academics from other institutions the designs have been finalised. All that is now required is the money to carry out the construction process!
Poet profiles Ben Mellor is an award-winning slam poet (BBC Radio 4 Slam Champion 2009) based in Manchester. His poems combine lyrical wordplay with thought-provoking social commentary.benmellor.net Chris Preddie (pictured), winner of the Rise Londonwide Youth Slam Championship in 2006, grew up on a council estate in North London and was heavily involved in London’s gang culture until he decided to go back to school and then university after the death of his brother in a shoot-out. Now he works as a community champion for Crimestoppers and also runs writing and performing workshops as a Poetry Society SLAMbassador. Chris will also be performing tonight with two younger poets that he has been mentoring. myspace.com/missingsouls Alex Gwyther is a favourite on the London spoken word scene with his mischievous rhymes and hip-hop influenced tales of 21st century life. myspace.com/thebestofthebiro Jacob Sam La Rose’s poetry has been described as “fresh, vivid and masterly” by the Poetry Book Society and he prides himself on combining the immediacy of performance poetry with the rigor of traditional printed page poetry.jacobsamlarose.com Joe Kriss is a talented young Sheffield-based poet, who runs the Word Life series of spoken word and music events there. He also performs his work as part of a live dub band. myspace.com/joekriss Sarah Olowofoyeku is a young up-and-coming poet from Bromley and last year won a national poetry competition organized by BBC Blast and The Poetry Society for her work on themes of race and identity.
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JOE KRISS
One year on...
Circles When the dull thunder in your head threatens to roll back and forth between your ears When all seems confused, struck between opposing points. The air as thick as glue. When the circles conspire to swim and close together, as inevitable as first light. When your limbs feel strung up, hung from rain. Yet your mouth dry as a puppet. You will go walking on the beach. Your eyes bouncing off the ocean, Your fingernails dug in the rock, your toes curled in the sand. You will hear a small voice sing to you; Quiet now. Quiet. Time to think again.
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Best Fare Finder We pass through different cities at night; Water glistens on the rails, As this corridor of light Trundles past commuters Shuffling idle on a platform Who are always too early or late. Newspapers damp under their armpit, Hair hanging like old ties Drying in the rain And home on their mind. Dear Passengers, we regret to inform you That someone stole the signalling lights at derby, And we will be delayed for some time. We apologise for any inconvenience this may cause. We are working to fix this problem as soon as possible. I imagine they are playing rock paper scissors In the control room, Ready to send someone out with a torch, A flask and a packet of hobnobs. A human lighthouse, waving the trains on. A man next to me eats his fourth packet of crisps, Hurtling serveral miles in the time it takes to Fold the wrapping into perfect quarters, Slipping them into his back left pocket. A girl takes half an hour on a text, Sulkily strumming its plastic frame. I see her mouth etch two x’s, Then three, settling each brush stoke With a kiss of teeth.
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We wait patiently for our destinations To present themselves,
As a sudden thump rattles past the windows, Startling those deep in sleep.
Our current estimated time of arrival is ten thirty eight.
A single horn blows out from somewhere.
The message seems incomplete.
One year on...
A greeting or a farewell.
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Life hung upon your bones like a feather, whilst all the while the sun lay; strewn across the ocean like a million eyes turned to the sky; waiting for dawn’s cool bow to wrap its shifting eyelids in shade. Please don’t fade so far, don’t retreat into that dark, Where people fall into sleeping lines, and smoothe into impressions that could never hold your mark. And perhaps it was selfish of me to ask, but even more to see time unlock your existence piece by piece, and slip from my hands as things I’d never known. I exchanged memories for tears, till grieving had done enough forgetting. It was not suddenly feeling only your warmth that talked you down from the horizon. It was forgetting you had ever been there Yet it felt like betrayal to not miss your smile, sat in the same kitchen where we used to talk.
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Q&A - JOE KRISS
Otherside
What first inspired you to start writing? I suppose when I started it was just a way of expressing myself really. Part of that probably stemmed from feeling a slightly awkward teenager, but in a more general sense I think it felt to good to be creating something, when your young you spend a lot of your time in education being told what to do, so I think I valued the act of writing, throwing something back out there.
plex, and sometimes bizarre socioeconomic situations that surround us. In a way just the act of writing is a political statement. However I think poetry captures the small moments between people, those fragile intangible situations that people always find themselves in and find difficult to explain better than political agendas. I think poetry needs to engage with all aspects of the human condition, one of which is definitely social and political but there are also infinite other things that subtly influence and take shape in our lives that a poet should engage with. Who are your favourite poets? On the page; Phillip Larkin, Simon Armitage, been reading a lot of Adrian Mitchell recently too.
Is poetry best when read alone or witnessed live? Depends on the poem. How important is it for poetry to have a social or political message? I think poetry can be many different things, poetry is definitely a way of engaging with the com-
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One year on...
How long have you been writing and performing? I’ve been writing since I was 13, but it wasn’t very good. I had acne and couldn’t talk to girls so you can imagine. But I took it a lot more seriously in my late teens, it was only when I was studying my A levels that I took the time to hone, and edit my work. I didn’t perform really until I went to University, 5 years ago now, can still remember the first open mic night was terrifying.
The butcher
the men on my mother’s side had very loud voices laughter foaming like spit between the teeth, at five, I never listened to their voices I listened for that laugh the men on my mother’s side were all butchers burly, bloodthirsty hounds at five, I could smell the rancid lard ready to baste me on the silver tray that man on my mother’s side has a shuffle, a stoop at eighty eight his body hollow as a hung carcass at five, he was Grandad, ‘Cock’, crowing over the room with cigar-smoked, Bryl-slicked plume that man on my mother’s side came out from behind the choked fug drew on his pipe, swilled a leery slug I was five, he said he would eat me sliding his hand, slowly past my knee
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Jemima Roberts
the men on my mother’s side had very large hands like rubber gloves stuffed with sausages, at five, I never watched their faces I watched their hands
q&A
How long have you been writing/ performing? I’ve been writing for about ten years and performing for about two.
What first inspired you to start writing? I’ve always had a passion for writing even when I was a lad at school. I always wanted to play an instrument or sing in a band. But I never got round to learning and insrument and I’m shocking at singing. I realised that writing was like an instrument for me that I could always take somewhere. I liked that idea. So I wrote more and more to speak it in front of people from huddles in the street and parties to gigs and events of people. Is poetry best when read alone or witnessed live? Both. Depending on the intention of the poem or how it’s written. Some poetry I lose interest with because I can’t focus on it when I hear it live even though I know its a great poem. I’d prefer to read it and absorb it word for word. Whereas sometimes I read something and I want it to be read or performed to me instead of me reading it. Poetry is poetry. A good poem is a good poem. A shit poem is a shit poem. Whether it’s scribbled on the back of a cubicle door or hand stitched using a horse’s tail into silk.
How important is it for poetry to have a social or political message? Poetry can be about anything imaginable. It can work with anything imaginable. Some of the best poems are about the most boring of things. Social political messages are good in poetry because it can desensitise us to the message. It can hide the message and make us think about issues we may not want to deal with. It can deliver the message in a way other art forms may not be able to. It can have an effect on people. Like music, or a short film can. It can reach out. Maybe, political or social messages need to be put into poetry to become successful. Poetry doesn’t need them. It’s a concept in it’s own. Who are your favourite poets? Favourite poets? I’m afraid I dont have one. I enjoy some of the classics but truth be told I don’t read as much poetry as I should. And if I do it’s more modern poets and people who I share stages with. Poets nowadays dont get enough recognition. If some of the people who write today provided the backbone of poetry and cemented that kind of quality for us today, I think the world will be a better place. Get to know!
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One year on...
Alex Gwyther
Please Mind The Gap
SARAH
Please mind the gap yes please mind the gap between you and me the gap caused solely by ethnicity and the hue of the skin that covers me 200 years after the abolition of slavery So please mind the gap Your skin protects you And my skin does what? My skin betrays me cos it’s not what they want They being you, Members of this ‘multicultural society’ Where skin tone nor background is not what we see May I disagree? Or would that be seen as aggression because it’s coming from me? So please mind the gap Content of character is only looked at After the fact that I’m from Africa Stacked up on that slaveboat like a box of cargo Not knowing for how long they were stuck Or where they were gonna go Harriet Tubman and Martin Luther King cried So freedom songs we could sing And here we are back on platform one Wishing a freer future for our sons So please mind the gap Yes please mind the gap between you and me The gap that doesn’t need to be The Lord said come as you are Gentile, Jew, slave or free Black, White or Indian Cherokee
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olo
One year on...
Unnamed Everyone’s a writer, Everything’s a writer. The sky tells a tale with its rich and breathtaking hues And a bridge offers a short story with its astounding views and when we write, we write all the things we can’t say out loud, we whisper them into existence with the pen as our instrument and when the words ooze onto the page they scream our pain they cry our frustrations they accompany us down memory lane They stare back at us Look us dead in the eye, as if to say, Yes, I’m what you just scrawled and scribbled and yes with me you can tweak and twiddle But I’m here. Back into the pen I cannot be sucked. I am words. I am your words. And when we close the book, or scrunch up the piece of paper or tuck it somewhere never to be discovered, we feel relief because we’ve got something off our chest whether good or bad, ground-breaking or insignificant when the pen gets put down, something is different. Everyone’s a writer, we write to get by.
owofoyeku
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Ruby & The Vines
Q&A
How did you get together as a band?
How did the name come about?
Binisa: I had written some songs singing and playing bass and I wanted to pay them with other people. So I approached Ben and Greg, because I loved their playing and thought we’d work well together.
Greg: Through a 4 hour-session in the SOAS bar when i couldn’t bring myself to suggest anything apart from ridiculous names that no-one would ever call a band. Binisa: I wanted to use a band name with ‘Ruby’ in it, because I was almost called Ruby Zinga (Zinga is my dad’s surname) and I always though that would be a great stage name. So we were thinking about lots of ‘Ruby and the..’s and someone else suggested vines.
How would you describe your music, and how do you see it progressing? Greg: Soul music, songs, taking a lot of influence and ideas from jazz and various forms of African music - Afrobeat, Malian and Guinean dance bands of the 60s to present, Latin-American music, Congolese guitar music, as well as reggae and jazz - pretty much all forms of contemporary black or ‘of black-origin’ popular music. Binisa: Personally I’d like to expand the sound beyond obviously ‘Afro- influenced’ I’d also like to move in a bit of a psychedelic direction... we shall have to wait and see what evolves. How do you feel songwriting compares to writing poetry? Greg: It’s always about expression. The medium is different, but in many ways they’re the same thing - dealing with structure (or lack of it), emotion (or lack of it), narrative (or lack of it) etc. Binisa: Poems are a little bit more tricky to turn into songs, I’ve found. And songs emerge with melody more organically.
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Who would you describe as your influences? Greg: Jonny Greenwood (Radiohead), Sekou ‘Diamond Fingers’ Diabate (Bembeya Jazz), Bartholemew Atisso (Orchestre Baobab), and loads more! Binisa: Ooh. In terms of singing, Miriam Makeba was a big influence, but i don’t think you’d hear that listening to our songs… When I was very young I absorbed a lot of instrumental jazz like Coltrane, Miles Davis, Don Cherry. And I know that that has influenced and shaped the way I think musically, it quite an unconscious way. Reggae is in there too - we all listen to reggae.
One year on...
Six word stories Will Coldwell
The TiggIGER
NEVER escapedbefore. HAD
THE CAR DIDN’T
STOP
THAT DAY. 16
ELVIS MCGONAGALL Operation undying conflict We’re going to get the job done We’re giving it a final push We’re dropping bombs on goatherds Up the Hindu Kush We’re exporting western values We’re making the streets of London safe and sound We’re importing heroin and body bags We’re driving fear and loathing underground We’re liberating the oppressed, we’re defending democracy We’re installing freedom through force We’re neutralising the insurgents, we’re pacifying targets We’re seeing it through, we’re staying the course We’re only causing collateral damage We’re implementing extraordinary rendition We’re operating surgical strikes We’re accomplishing a just and stabilising mission We’re reconstructing a broken nation We’re building Jerusalem in Afghanistan We’re trampling through the blood-sodden poppy fields With the ghost of Genghis Khan We’re in a struggle for civilisation We’re on a crusade against medieval vandals We’re tweaking Johnny Taliban’s beard We’re stamping on his sandals We’re employing enhanced interrogation We’re imposing prolonged detention We’re pouring water down throats, we’re punching heads We’re kicking the Geneva Convention
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We’re turning back the tide of terror We’re wearing King Canute’s crown We’re trundling Sisyphus’ rock to the top of the hill We’re watching it roll back down We’re chasing wild geese across the Khyber Pass We’re sifting dust in the Tora Bora We’re on the Silk Road to nowhere We’re opening a present from Pandora We’re harvesting death in a blighted land We’re staring into Pandemonium’s cave We’re wrapped in the flag of faded hope and old glory We’re stumbling into Empire’s grave We’re slowly sinking in the sand in a Soviet tank We’re unsheathing Darius of Persia’s sword We’re putting new saddles on the same old donkeys We’re severing reason’s golden cord We’re tying ourselves in a Gordian knot We’re weaving an endless wreath We’re climbing a mountain to catch a fish We’re seizing the moon by the teeth We’re ruffling a kangaroo’s feathers, we’re knitting with fog We’re nailing jelly to the walls We’re putting socks on an octopus, we’re ploughing the sea We’re grabbing eunuchs by the balls Alexander the Great, Tony Blair, Disraeli, Brown Cameron, Obama, Brezhnev, Bush We’re dropping bombs on goatherds Up the Hindu Kush
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You can call me Dave Change, Optimism, Hope Progress, Energy, Vigour Modest, Moderate, Modern Brighter, Better, Bigger Conservative, Compassionate, Liberal Black, Muslim, Gay Young, Green, Martian Work, Rest, Play Responsible, Tangible, Real Motivation, Dedication, Aspiration Empower, Enhance, Improve Location, Location, Location Vision, Ambition, Intuition Courage, Resolve, Expertise Beliefs, Values, Dreams Eats, Shoots, Leaves On, My, Bike Eco, Friendly, Guy Recycle, Renew, Relax Take, Off, Tie Liberty, Equality, Paternity Women, Babies, Men Co-operation, Coalition, Cocaine? Never, Ever, Again Trusting, Caring, Sharing Goldsmith, Geldof, Gandhi Emerson, Lake, Palmer Yankee, Doodle, Dandy Beanz, Meanz, Heinz Ready, Steady, Go Leg, Before, Wicket Edgar, Allen, Poe
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Mary, Mungo, Midge Beverly, Hills, Cop Yabba, Dabba, Doo Snap, Crackle, Pop Keep, It, Real Watch, Me, Blog Pimp, My, Ride Snoop, Doggie, Dogg Boo, Ya, Shaka In, Da, Hood Super, Smashing, Great Finger, Lickin’, Good Suit, You, Sir Are, Friends, Electric? Want, That, One Vorsprung, Durch, Technik Bloody, Nice, Bloke Sun, Shiney, Day Blobby, Blobby, Blobby Gabba, Gabba, Hey Drivel, Piffle, Bilge Yackety, Yack,Yack Rhubarb, Rhubarb, Rhubarb Quack, Quack, Quack Silver, Spoon, Face Chubby, Puppy, Fat Shiny, Wavy, Hair Notting, Hill, Twat Same, Old, Tory Eton, Blood, Blue Brand, New, Package Blair, Mark, Two
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Hello, hi, my name is Pry Minister. I’m important, that’s why I administer pools of rules and pry into the lives of the populous. Am I sinister? No, you must have me mistaken for a bloodthirsty raven. I don’t kill, I’m just craven and number ten is a clean-shaven haven. Power from a distance – remote control. Shower on the miscreants – I don’t cajole, that would be far too friendly. Go fetch my Mark II Bentley, let’s go south and we’ll drum up votes. I’ve got the nous for these dumb-fuck folks. Fuck the poor; but obviously not literally (you’d catch something frightful), just cut their funds and make their lives misery. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I was born in a silver room in a silver house in a silver town atop a silver driveway. Hush now Nick, we’re doing things my way!
DORIAN GRAY
Pry Minister
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Little blue child hood My child hood was good, blue, but now in tatters, Worn with one leg long, one leg short shorts and odd patterns. Chosen from some want of a zip down the front of me, Worn zipped two thirds down - like Air Force jackets civvie military. It was dashing - my first glimpse of fashion, I said it was cool, Gran said it was smashing, At school pride for it stole me from work through the day. At home mirrors were my admirers, the hall my runway. The colour was my friend’s choice first, Lucky it was common to see. Navy clothes on a child remain suspiciously dirt free. But conversely; Time had its toll. Assisted by trees, moths and military rolls, First sleeves decayed, ripped and got twist, My child hood only stopped being worn when it had revealed my wrists.
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Market day on the 236 It’s market day on the 236, The two-for-one, one-for-all shopping trip. An eight-foot yucca fills the wheelchair bay, In its green tinted shade children play. While high above mouths natter and grin Someone new to the bus dropped a yam as they got in, Which rolls to the base of a box tall and thin, Towering over an old woman, all hairnets, mittens, and knock off toys for grandchildren. Yes, Christmas is near and it’s clear to all of us; An explosion of tinsel and glitter glistens at the back of the bus! A piercing scream cuts over it all, As a mother rights her child from a pot-hole jolt fall. Its cries for a second render the passengers mute, The closest to ‘un ange pass’ on this bus route.
WILL dWELL 24 12
Artwords Bookshop is the specialist for books, magazines and videos on the contemporary visual arts. 5% NUS Discount. www.artwords.co.uk 20-22 Broadway Market London E8 4QJ
ThHE leeiwe LOVE SONG OF EDGAR LEADFINGER Murmur
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Enter Leadfinger; villain of the village If I’m chillin’ I’m gon’ bill it Man I play the game to win it If I’m in it for a minute or I’m in it for the long run I won’t put the pen down ‘til I know the song’s done Concentrate when I’m on some breaks Might just bun a little zoot help me contemplate Consecrate concrete when I’m on streets Come back complete, run tracks, bomb beats To Bombay and back round the long way Come the here the song play: Edgar, ashing on Pompeii Pompous pretentious, conscious pretenders Get robbed of their robes and then knocked in their dentures I rap for a purpose, surfing the service of servers Hurting the herds of nerds who act nervous Delivering a rap service In the lab going mad penning back to back verses Chapter and verse is my forte Foot in the door way Graffing up your hallway all day Small brains strained by the force of the thought train 18 years young putting in a sure claim.
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Who’s lurking in the shadows? Edgar Leadfinger Always deep and never shallow? Edgar Leadfinger Got your whole crew paro? Edgar Leadfinger The state wants him on the gallows? Edgar Leadfinger Edgar Leadfinger; Lord of the Manor Appalling with grammar Slapping Thor with his hammer Bruce Banner man veins coursing with gamma Treating any whack rapper in the coarsest of manners Aborting the plan to conform to the norm Word is Born in your headphones cooking up a storm Looking to perform in every acre of nature Pole to pole and all around the equator Claiming the game got my name on my trainers Painting the plains with some indica strainers Head into the rain with my anorak and a cap See how many canisters of brew can I back Cancel that. I’d rather write and banger that Man and yats will play when the jam is fat And it’s packed. That’s a fact.
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Let’s effect everybody bless the decks Soundwaves at underground that could resurrect Edgar X Clever threat, like no man you’ve ever met Headless wretch The reason that you woke and your bed is wet Wrecks the set. Don’t hesitate, I’m here to decimate the area Leadfinger’s Lovesong necessitate’s hysteria. Escalating, scarier than Kruger in the flesh So dark I make Lucifer look beautiful and fresh. Who’s lurking in the shadows? Edgar Leadfinger Always deep and never shallow? Edgar Leadfinger Got your whole crew paro? Edgar Leadfinger The state wants him on the gallows? Edgar Leadfinger
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Anya Pearson My hot-blooded heart pumps - I’m far from sanguine, Irrationally thinking my foot rash is gangrene. I search for symptoms onscreen, my panic peaking Is that a tremor in my finger or the tremble of a weakling? Now a jabbing in my chest - as painful as impalement Do I just need a Rennie’s or is it some other ailment? Are my sleeper cells colluding in a plot to finish me? From corporal to corpse and not even twenty-three. Information feeds the folly in the treachery of the body. My homepage is the NHS; you could call this my hobby. A filament of hope gleams before it’s lost again And obscure Greek and Latin words whirl around my brain. The forecast is poor, I’m sure I’m at death’s door Believing it as wholesale as a cash and carry store. Doctor, the results are coming through and it’s horrible It’s terrible, it’s terminal, it’s Diagnosis Gullible.
I told you I was ill
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Pengilly’s Ivan Splits in Two (Song) iVan: I’ve got a new way of thinking; if you never stop and just keep on driving you’ll never have to pay for parking. IvAn: I saw a cat in the dark and ‘cause its hind legs were in shadow I thought it went on forever. IvaN: There were no cars so I stepped straight into the road and there I came face to face with a fox. If I’d been drunk, I would have talked to it (I’ve always thought foxes would make wonderful counsellors). iVAn: I think it’s time I taught you how to sing- hold a note under your tongue like it’s a magic stone, then just open your mouth and let it go. iVaN: I’ve split in two.
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Info/Contribute! Word Is Born is a monthly night that runs at The Others in Stoke Newington, and is a regular fixture for Soul Rub, as well as where you can sometimes find yourself a copy of inc. magazine. Word Is Born runs on the first Sunday of each month. For details of ine ups visit:
If you would like to contribute to the next issue of inc. magazine, please do! Any poem, song, limerick or rhyme you have knocking about will be read and responded to. We promise.
or search “Soul Rub� on Facebook.
Likewise, if you are a graphic designer or illustrator and would like to conrtibute any images for future issues, they will be very well received.
Some Soul Rub (and friends) websites to check out:
Please email all comments, contributions or words of praise to:
www.myspace.com/wordisborn
myspace.com/furcats myspace.com/waralondon myspace.com/rubyandthevines myspace.com/somethingsimple myspace.com/soundscienceuk myspace.com/thisispengillys
w.coldwell@gmail.com All work within inc. magazine is copyright ed under a Creative Commons licence. For the full licence visit: www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/
Podcasts, poems and chat can all be found on our blog:
www.inc-zine.blogspot.com! For a digested read of all the poetry in this issue, we kindly refer you to the word cloud below, courtesy of wordle.com...
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Stockists Bradbury’s Gallery 10c Bradbury Street London N16 8JN bradburysgallery@gmail.com
Railroad 120-122 Morning Lane Hackney E8 6LH matt@railroadhackney.co.uk
Donlon Books 77 Broadway Market London E8 4PH mail@donlonbooks.com 0208 980 4859
LCB Shoreditch 121 Bethnal Green Road Brick Lane London E2 7DG info@lcbsurfstore.co.uk 02077 393839
The Other Side of the Pillow 61 Wilton Way London E8 1BG theothersideofthepillow@hotmail. co.uk 07988870508 Interzone Books @ Type 138 Bethnal Green Road London E2 6DG info@interzonebooks.com 02034897644 Eastside Books 166 Brick Lane London E1 6RU info@eastsidebooks.co.uk 02072470216
Artwords Bookshop 20-22 Broadway Market London E8 4QJ Tel: (0)20 7923 7507 shop@artwords.co.uk Brewode’s Cornucopia 60 Broadway Market info@brewode.com 07709311869 Thanks to Violet Cakes (47 Wilton Way, E8 3ED) for their support. If you are interested in becoming a stockist or advertiser in the next issue of inc. magazine, contact Anya at: pearson.anya@gmail.com
Illustrators: Camilla Allen (pp. 21, 28-30) - www.camillaallen-topdrawer.blogspot.com Evie Highton (pp. 24, 31-2) - eviehighton@hotmail.co.uk Rosa Hardt (pp. 19-20) - rosa_erica_hardt@yahoo.co.uk 34