MINED: YOUR LANGUAGE

'Bling’ Crosby was dreaming of a Gold Christmas, just like the bronze he used to know.

While a troupe of method actors coated themselves in luminous paint,

Knowing there’s no business like ‘glow’ business.

Environmentally-friendly grocers aren’t as green as they are cabbage looking,

Particularly if they used to box and have cauliflower ears.

Ears of corn can’t hear, naturally, even if you raised your voice or used force.

But we take certain expressions for granted, as a matter of course.

For example, there are ‘horses for courses’ and blood ‘courses’ through their veins.

Courses can be educational, there can be courses of action, treatment and antibiotics.

Although why anyone should be against ‘biotics’ is a mystery.

Mysteries, by their nature, are mystifying, which sounds like mist-defying,

Which sounds like someone who doesn’t have the foggiest; being completely mystified.

Personally, why Edward Elgar composed his Enigma variations is a mystery to me.

‘The Mystery of Edwin Drood’ was Charles Dickens’ unfinished novel,

But lots of people have never finished any of his books.

These days, many people read with Kindles, others listen to audiobooks,

I always think if someone has a library of audiobooks it speaks volumes about them.

Language is a funny thing for sure, English in particular,

Where we find ‘deed polls’ do not refer to the actions of Polish people.

Similarly, we discover that a pole vault is not an eastern-European prison,

(Nor is it a secure environment for the storage of scaffolding)

Anymore than the economic term: ‘pink pound’ describes a ‘gay’ prison.

UNFATHOMABLE EXPERIENCES 

Fishes below RNLI lifeboats, riptides and strong currents, 

A lighthouse scans the waves, a fisherman saves his sandwiches for later. 

Scratching the psoriasis on his belly’s skin, he imagines himself coated in batter, 

At home safe and dry, his wife will natter with the neighbour’s wife. 

‘Life at sea’s the life for me,’ says the impressionable Joseph Conrad fan, 

His innocent plan: to board a ship, to join the navy wearing navy blue waterproofs. 

Roofs leaking, kids peeking through net curtains, while nets ensnare fish in water, 

Unfathomable experiences happen at sea, kids are in the sea. 

It doesn’t matter, it’s a drop in the ocean, oceans apart, 

The fisherman’s heart yearns for his estranged wife, 

As he reaches for a knife…

'IN TWO MINDS' Recent drawing, framed, ready to hang. FOR SALE: £50 from my Etsy store.

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'VALERIE'S GLASS BEADS' My most recent colour drawing:gel pens on cartridge paper. Framed, for sale on my Etsy store: https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/JULIANCLORANART4ALL

NUN EATEN IN NUNEATON

WARWICKSHIRE POST AND GAZETTE: Letting people in WARWICKSHIRE KNOW

EST. 2015.

Ed. RICH SEAMFINDEr

NUN EATEN IN NUNEATON

By our Warwick Affairs correspondent, Delia Probes.

Shocking reports have reached us here at the Warwickshire Gazette and Post of a sick cannibal preying on the praying community in the area neighbouring Nuneaton. Nuneaton itself has long been stigmatised for the attraction it holds for both bankrupt restauranteurs (and others from the catering industry who failed miserably) and, no less ironically, anorexic support groups. Now, it has proved itself the controversial capital of Warwickshire again with the discovery of the half-eaten remains of a nun outside a church on the outskirts of the town.

The gruesome discovery was made in the early hours of yesterday morning by Alan Snoopins, a retired traffic warden from Coventry, who was on holiday at the time.

‘I woke at the crack of dawn, yesterday,’ Mr Snoopins, 70, said. ‘The toilet in the B&B was blocked, so I decided to go for a walk. I was about ten minutes away from the B&B when I saw a church that looked pretty. Only, on closer inspection, I discovered it was anything but…’

To his horror, on the pathway leading to the church of St Botolph’s, in Credence Lane, Mr Snoopins saw a pack of Alsatian dogs fighting over the remains of a nun.

‘To my horror, I saw a pack of dogs, Alsatians they were, all fighting over this poor nun’s dead body.’

Nauseated, Mr Snoopins immediately alerted the police.

Det. Chief Inspector Alan Mason praised Mr Snoopins for his public-spirited response to what he described as ‘an atrocious end to a nun.’ DCI Mason, who heads what, is now a murder case, has issued the following statement:

‘Thanks to the public-spirited actions of a retired holidaymaker, police are now investigating the suspicious death of a nun, found by the holidaymaker being eaten by a pack of dogs. The dogs themselves were quickly ruled out as the prime suspects in the case as forensics revealed the time of death as some hours previous to their unsightly feast. Further clues point to the perpetrator possibly being male, with a fixation about nuns specifically, or uniformed women in general. Most disturbingly, the number of bite marks on what remained of her body that could not be blamed on the dogs could suggest she was cannibalised.’

The nun has been identified as Sister Veronica Barnacle, from Coventry’s Convent for the Piety and Purification of Our Lady’s Humble Servants. She was aged 55, and believed to have been visiting Father Brawny McGuigan at St. Botolph’s to discuss an inter-diocese funding of a local charities event.

Father McGuigan’s reaction to the police statement was one of ‘complete shock and the deepest revulsion.’ He simply ‘could not imagine,’ he said, ‘what type of monstrous being would do such an appalling thing to a sweet little nun like Sister Veronica. Despite his vocation, Father Brawny spoke of his incredulity over the news. ‘It’s hard to believe, I pray to God for help in understanding the depravity of such a person’s warped psyche. Killing a nun’s bad enough, but then eating her? I pray to God this sick man doesn’t make a habit out of it.’

 

'SOFA SO GOOD'
with
Digory Polyp

 

As something of a lounge lizard—atleast in the eyes of my friends (many of whom are no strangers to the wearing of monocles)—I’m the sort of chap who’s occasionally given to the speaking of his mind from the comfort of his own abode. With or without the lubrication of an after-dinner snifter, a cut glass in my hand, I stand in my dressing gown and give the television a sound dressing down. If I’m sufficiently incensed, for example with a news item just broadcast, I’ll recline in my favourite armchair or adopt a seat of pine to opine, addressing the TV set secure in the knowledge that it cannot answer back. A sense of self-satisfaction instils a warm glow in my chest with the certainty that I will always have the last word. Of course we can all sound off in the privacy of our own homes (or in the shade of our gardens, if we wanted to be like critical gnomes) but without an audience, where is the potential for doing something positive in the world?  This is why I have decided to share here, in the modest hope that my words might serve as a form of, hopefully inspiring, outreach.

  I have explained that I sometimes stand to rant, other times I sit; I am spoilt for choice for chairs living (as I do) in an extremely well-furnished, large house with numerous rooms, chandeliers, oil paintings and gold-framed wall mirrors, but—I digress. I was going to say I am in no way limited to chairs from where I express my feelings and cares. No, in fact, I have a mahogany coloured sofa of which I am extremely fond and enjoy sitting there while speaking aloud on my own. The sofa belonged to a distant aunt of mine who died falling off a camel in Egypt. There is a picture of her in an oval shaped silver frame on a mantelpiece somewhere and I never pass it without gratefully associating her with the sofa of which I am so fond. I’ve lost count of the number of satisfying rants I’ve aimed at the television from auntie’s aesthetically pleasing (and extremely comfortable structure, ideally suited for repose). Suffice to say, on numerous occasions I have relaxed on said item of furniture and felt uniquely supported—more, I have felt regal almost, as if the sofa empowers me much the way a king feels sat on his throne.  I’m sure by now I’ve successfully conveyed my attachment to my sofa and furthermore, I hope, added convincing reasons to validate the attachment. In any case, until next time.

D.P.

DOCTORS AGAINST DIESEL ROCKS HOLLYWOOD

The British Medical Association has issued a statement clarifying the position of ‘Doctors Against Diesel’ in an attempt to appease Hollywood star, Vin Diesel.

The BMA says in the statement that: ‘No one in the medical profession wishes to offend the famous actor. Their issue is an environmental one,’ it emphasises.

The statement follows rumours fuelled by unidentified mischievous elements seeking to capitalise on the macho actor’s potentially hurt feelings.

A spokesperson for a group who are currently speculating on the amount of concern Riddick star, Diesel may have as a result of a possible misunderstanding about medically qualified anti-pollution groups said: ‘Vin Diesel looks tough, but if he felt there is a group of British doctors who are against him, he might take it personally and suffer from lowered self-esteem.’

Sources close to Hollywood have indicated that the bizarre situation has cinematic possibilities. Perhaps the public will see a release in which ‘VD’ visits UK hospitals on a systematic killing and mutilation spree involving large numbers of doctors.

WHO ARE YOU, REALLY?

WHO ARE YOU, REALLY?

A psychometric test to help you find out by Prof. Ess.

1) Your pet giraffe’s eating disorder is embarrassing your wife. Do you:

a) Take up domestic violence.
b) Move to Sweden with your giraffe.
c) Feign ignorance.
d) Wear clogs as noisily as you can.
e) Realise you’re not married!

2) At the cinema, the people seated behind you persistently lick the back of your head. Do you:

a) Ignore them.
b) Threaten them.
c) Pay them.
d) Masturbate.
e) Engage in an epic coughing fit and move to another seat.

3) A weird byelaw comes into effect forcing you to spend three days and nights in a corrugated iron shed on a strict diet of ginger nut biscuits and water. Afterwards, do you:

a) Assume an air of martyrdom and snap at ginger people.
b) Buy shares in Swarfega.
c) Launch campaigns to raise awareness of currently fashionable diseases.
d) Form or join a discussion group for people like you.
e) Feed your giraffe ginger nut biscuit crumbs.

4) When bizarre legislation compels countries to ‘share’ their most famous landmarks (for example: Cairo swaps its pyramids with New York’s Statue of Liberty) you one day find the Arc d’Triomphe outside your house. Do you:

a) Foam at the mouth in a fit of xenophobic pique.
b) Organise local street urchins to deface it with anti-Gallic graffiti.
c) Park underneath it.
d) Let your giraffe defecate by it.
e) Dress like Napoleon and wear a mad grin.

5) ‘Role reversal’ opportunities, which are broadcast nationally, are legally enforceable possibilities randomly allocated to individuals by a government computer. Every other minute, two people are chosen to ‘swap lives, circumstances, etc’ for a minimum of two hours and a maximum of two days. You are picked to swap with a cross-dressing traffic warden with a candy floss addiction. Do you:

a) Try and refuse on religious grounds.
b) Fake your own death.
c) Set up a series of murderous traps for the traffic warden and vandalise parking meters.
d) Make the best of it and attempt to learn and grow from the experience.
e) Research giraffe’s food allergies… Just in case.

6) Corrugated iron makes a surprise comeback becoming one of the bestselling, most fashionable materials in recent decades. In mint condition, a 6’ x 4’ sheet of corrugated iron can fetch as much as £300 on the black-market. When a dyslexic cretin leaves you a corrugated iron warehouse worth £500K in their will, do you:

a) Make materialist plans, your eyes glistening with greedy anticipation.
b) Design a series of corrugated iron giraffe shelters.
c) Surround the premises with powerful magnets to see what happens.
d) Recruit thousands of panel beaters to flatten your stock to see what it looks like.
e) Seek advice from an independent Unexpected Inheritance Advice Service run by recovering candy floss addicts.

7) If you had to spend 24 hours naked with a small lump of candy floss partiallycovering your private parts, where would you prefer to be:

a) Trafalgar Square.
b) In an irrigation canal.
c) Behind a veterinary surgeon’s practice.
d) In a field of irate bulls.
e) In a north-facing greenhouse.

8) If your teeth became luminous in the dark, would you:

a) Smile all the way home.
b) Paint yourself black all over and mime to popular songs every night.
c) Get into advertising… Toothpastes, etc.
d) Leave your teeth to science.
e) Hurl bricks at lampposts and grin maniacally beneath them.

9) After hearing that selotape is illegal where you live, you see your next-door neighbour using it. Do you:

a) Assume a non-judgemental air while secretly pitying them.
b) Report them to the appropriate authorities, after checking to see if there’s a reward.
c) Knock on their door and offer them alternative, legal forms of adhesive.
d) Knock on their door and run away.
e) Write a hymn that cryptically incriminates them and send 1, 000 copies of it to the Archbishop of Canterbury.

10) Which of the following would you most like to be?

a) The Pope, but incurably afflicted with a terrible stutter and an atrociously painful limp.
b) The best footballer in the world, but with horrific halitosis and microscopic genitalia.
c) The Dalai Lama, only to be perceived by everyone else as a facile candy floss addict.
d) Famous for surviving more accidents with corrugated iron than anyone else in the entire world.
e) Totally average in every way, yet capable of experiencing true and total euphoric bliss all day on every seventeenth Wednesday.

11) Empowered to do so, which one of the following miracles would you choose to perform?

a) Make smoking completely harmless.
b) Become immune to pain.
c) Restore Stevie Wonder’s sight.
d) Cure candy floss addicts through creating roles for them in giraffe shelters (made from corrugated iron).
e) Afflict Stevie Wonder with profound deafness.

12) If you were forced to learn another language taught by retired traffic wardens who were deranged on hallucinogenic mushrooms soaked in battery acid, which of the following would you choose:

a) Sanskrit.
b) Welsh (and then send insulting Celtic diatribes to Bjork).
c) Esperanto, sign language and semaphore: to be certain of ‘flagging’ down deaf taxi drivers’ cabs.
d) Any language, but always employ a broad Glaswegian accent while using it.
e) 18th century Polish to be spoken dressed as Chopin.

RESULTS:

 

MOSTLY A’s:

You’re a borderline selotape-dependant personality with repressed aversions to long-necked animals. If you carefully avoid the excessive consumption of candy floss and regularly focus on the marketing trends of corrugated iron, you may find a modicum of contentment in your life. Or, possibly, experience the feeling of belonging that is readily achieved by joining self-labelling groups (of socially-deficient people) of a comfort-swapping nature.

MOSTLY B’s:

If you dream you are a giraffe a lot, you’ll have answered B mainly. You know your heart, have an unusually long, strong neck and cordially detest traffic wardens. You are a flexible, confident character unless of course you are feeling inflexible and lacking in confidence. You’re not gullible, don’t let anyone tell you that you are (if you are suggestible). You have what it takes to succeed in life, especially life at its most mundane. With the right combination of luck, inspiration and hard work, you could invent sophisticated new methods of torture for inflicting on traffic wardens kidnapped by people who mostly answered A’s.

MOSTLY C’s:

If C’s are all you see as options, you’re a weak-willed, excessively compromising, potential candy floss addict. Your head probably often resembles pink confectionery on a stick. Giraffes sneer at you behind your back, which is invariably hunched like a furtive traffic warden’s. If you’ve made it into your thirties, don’t think your life’s going to get any better—it isn’t! Intensive self-improvement is your only (extremely slim) hope, but it’s entirely up/down to you… Nobody cares!

MOSTLY D’s:

You are an attention-seeking, pervert impelled by self-gratification. You think: me, me, me, which rhymes with D, D, D, which is no coincidence. If you were less vain, you’d need to take a good look at yourself (but self-examination procedures are totally non-productive exercises for complete Narcissists). Naturally, no one is beyond redemption. They just feel universally shunned and derided, like traffic wardens with leprosy. Suggested course of action: Move next-door to a Jehovah’s Witness and look down on them.

MOSTLY E’s:

You oddball, you! You think outside the box. Paradoxically, choosing mostly E’s ticks all of your boxes. Your maverick approach to life outfoxes your rivals. You’re a loner but you’re not lonely. You know your own mind and stick to it (without using selotape). If you were a traffic warden, you’d probably give a giraffe a parking ticket—it’s who you are! You’re used to sticking your neck out. You don’t get overwrought near corrugated iron and you can take or leave your candy floss. You will be happy, popular, able to be promiscuous if you so wish, smart and skilled at completing psychometric assessments with positive results. You do not loathe traffic wardens or pity weak candy floss addicts; live and let live you say, knowing you are better than they are anyway.

 

 

THE ROYAL PAVILION

The Pavilion rhymes with a civilian
But has served no such class of person well.
The ‘vision’ of the Prince Regent
(Who truly was monumentally self-indulgent)
The Royal Pavilion’s Indo-Islamic appearance, designed by John Nash
Makes it an inferior Taj Mahal.
Approximately 400, 000 people a year visit the RP
This, we’re told, is good for the city.
It's is an economic truism no doubt
But finding Brightonians and other Brighton denizens
Who’ve directly benefitted in any way from this statistic…
Well, let’s just say the jury’s out.

 

 

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_Pavilion

IMP LORE

Imp lore includes a tale of a disabled imp, with a limp and precious ore.
They’re ever attentive listeners, who’ll feign interest when they are bored,
Because they are raised to always be polite,
‘Always be polite,’ they are, by their parents, implored.


Imp lore is obscure, partly for the reason that imps will seldom write.
‘The Bottle Imp’ is a classic story by Robert Louis Stevenson,
But the title imp does not emerge in glory.
They rarely feature in horror films because they are too gory.
I think imps are apolitical, but who knows?
Maybe they vote Tory.


Mischievous imps are commonplace, like sailors with ‘a rolling gait,’
While imps delayed at airports are imps who are made to wait.
It helps them learn to cope with their imp-atience!
Their favourite sweets are mint imperials, which they suck with impish delight.
Imps, generally petite, are hardly heavy, in fact, they’re very light.
They’re not known to be nocturnal, but you can see them at night.


If ‘The Simpsons’ lost an ‘S’, it could easily describe an imp’s male offspring,
I can’t see a person getting animated over this series though, that’s the thing.
I wonder, is the most popular imp-spotting season of the year spring?
Imps sound like pimps, but imps can make prostitutes vanish,
While pimps just make their incomes disappear.


Short-tempered imps, readily taunted, are imps you can easily goad.
A ship’s hold is where I’m told a cruising imp’s stuff is stowed,
To me, imps are awfully precious—they’re worth their weight in gold.
I hope to inspire greater imp awareness in the public with all that I have said.
It is imp-erative that I succeed, or else I will imp-lode,
This explains the urgency of my imp-ulse here to unload.

DISAPPOINTING THINGS

Drawing pins that can't draw.
Lifts that don't improve your mood.
Pills that are hard to swallow.
Directions that are hard to follow.
Obsolete phone directories.
One half of a walkie-talkie set.
A wet seat on a bus.
A greasy handshake.
A close-range conversation with a halitosis sufferer.
Enforced close proximity to smelly people.
Enforced close proximity to boring people.
The frequent repetition of familiar, boring stories of great length.
Having to repeat things.
Having to rephrase things.
Having to repeat rephrased things.
Contemporary pop stars shelf lives.
Footballers’ verbal skills.
Christmas.
The ageing process.
The visibility of the ageing process’ in our childhood heroes.
Adulthood.
Gainful employment.
First times—especially drinking and having sex (with someone else).
Mainstream culture.
Croydon.
The sequels to box-office smash hit movies.
Enthusiastic bagpipe players.
TV ads for PPI.
TV ads for life and car insurance.
TV ads for compensation after an accident.
The money you actually receive in post-accident compensation.
Typical British sporting careers under close examination.
Elections.
Budgets.
Politicians’ promises, actions and inaction.
Repeats of Only Fools and Horses.
David Jason’s acting.
Reportage of celebrity deaths.
Reportage of crises in the Middle East.
Papal elections.
Oscar winners.
TV ads appealing for just £2 a month.
Media coverage of the monarchy.
Facial expressions of newsreaders imparting news of a royal pregnancy or birth.
The succession of countries invaded by the US.
The UK’s consistent support for US invasions.
The collective short-term memory of the general public.
The collective taste of the general public.
The number of times the daleks are featured in Dr Who.
Public surprise at political corruption.
Public surprise at the obvious.
The relentless inefficiency of the NHS.
The widespread economic slavery of people who consider themselves to be free,
Their complicity in their enslavement.
The childlike obsessive consumerism ruling materialists’ lives.
The omnipresence of shitty products created by popular demand.
The overuse of mobile phones.
The general restlessness and discomfort so visibly afflicting so many people.
The absence of peace and quiet.
The proliferation of litter.
Bad manners.
The life expectancy of non-productive people.
Terraced housing.
Announcements of ‘breakthroughs’ in cancer treatment.
Cancer research.
Contemporary teenage expectations.
The conspicuous absence of sparrows.
Increased volumes of English rain.
Overpricing in UK pubs.
The uniformity of UK cities’ shopping malls.
Franchises.
TV programmes of lists of things presented by non-entities.
TV programmes of clips of things presented by and commented on by non-entities.
The absence of a sequel to the movie Titanic.
The fact that the movie ‘The King’s Speech’ wasn’t made in 3D.
The prevalence of diabetes.
The commonness of obesity.
England’s performances in World Cups.
Excuses offered for England’s performances in World Cups.
The sustained hopes of die-hard English fans.
The relationship between Sky TV and UK pubs.
The relationship between the wealthiest, most powerful people and the media.
The widespread public paranoia about Islamic extremists.
The Daily Mail.
Readers of The Daily Mail.
The Daily Express.
Readers of The Daily Express.
Token eccentrics, in communities and contemporary culture.
Christmas viewing on TV.
The number of times Kipling is quoted.
And Churchill.
And Oscar Wilde.
Mass-mesmerism by the media.
The collective lack of non-material aspirations by the materially acquisitive.
Human arrogance.
Animal exploitation on every conceivable level.
The availability of IVF for mothers who’ve had three or more children…

THE FROG'S LIFE VIEWED OVERHEAD

THE FROG'S LIFE VIEWED OVERHEAD, a photo by Narolc on Flickr.

 

BEASTS, BALLS AND WORLDS

'BEASTS, BALLS AND WORLDS'
Collage/drawing on A5-size paper (although the collage element here is minimal).
Julian Cloran August, 2013.

THE ENTITY THAT ATE HULL

The vast entity, in its entirety, ate an entire city.

It wasn’t pretty or anything like Godzilla.
Nor did it target Tokyo, or Seoul, or Manila.

Instead, it gobbled up Hull,
Astounding the world with its Yorkshire based cull.

People screamed, there was blood and rubble everywhere…
And that was before the entity even got there.

When it had finished eating, none of Hull was left,
The entity promptly disappeared in a vanishing act most deft.

Humber Bridge, Hull... Before it got eaten!

MANNY QUINN

Manny Quinn was fed up with being taken for a dummy.
Not only did it make him cross, he also missed his mummy.As a Jewish Irishman or an Irish Jew,
He didn’t know how to describe himself or what to do.

He certainly felt quite odd repairing golliwogs with glue.
So he tried life as a pirate, but he wasn’t a patch on his old self.
Then he took up carpentry, hanging doors and making a shelf,
Before discovering he had a wood allergy and the work was bad for his health.

Like many misfits who consider themselves failures,
Manny eventually became a taxi driver,
It wasn’t all plain sailing—one night he only earned a fiver,
Nevertheless, it has to be said, our Manny is a survivor.

After going on a communications course run by barbers,
He—once shy—became verbose,
Now, when he carries fares with his stream of incessant banter,
It makes him and his passengers close.

Or so he thinks because as a matter of fact they often find him gross.
If Manny knew this, he’d feel grossly misunderstood,
Although, perhaps the misunderstanding would be his,
After all, he believes that gross misconduct is doing something wrong 144 times!

'ANIMALS POINT THE WAY'

'ANIMALS POINT THE WAY'
Collage/drawing. JULIAN CLORAN, July 2013.

'FOUR (OR FIVE) HEADS ARE BETTER THAN ONE'

'FOUR (OR FIVE) HEADS ARE BETTER THAN ONE'
Collage/drawing. JULIAN CLORAN, July 2013.

THE NEIGHBOURS

The asthmatic saw little of his astigmatic neighbour.
It should be the other way round, he thought, fond of observing irony.
Behind closed doors, the asthmatic snores thunderously each night.
His short-sighted neighbour, with unimpaired hearing, dreads this noise; the sound he abhors.
Unable to sleep through the appalling racket at night, he catches up the next day.
He wonders who’ll notice he’s not around in the mornings; people might think he’s away.

Nobody cares, but everyone stares as the astigmatic, carrying a placard, comes downstairs.
The placard reads:
I’M ALL RIGHT. I JUST CAN’T GET ANY SLEEP AT NIGHT!
The asthmatic aggravator passed him on the stairs and read the sign.
‘It’s good to see you,’ he wheezes. ‘I hope you are fine.’
The man with poor vision nodded his thanks.
He hoped his neighbour would take the hint.
Then, they both went back to their rooms.
It was time for their daily wanks.

CAVEMEN OF THE FUTURE

CAVEMEN OF THE FUTURE
Collage/drawing on A4 paper
Julian Cloran April 2013.

THE WORST VAMPIRE IN THE WORLD

The world’s worst, certainly most inappropriate, vampire is a blood donor!
When he looks in a mirror he sees his shadow,
While his reflection follows him everywhere.
He loves sunbathing and when night falls he sleeps like a log.
He is so averse to danger—to it he is a stranger,
The only occasion when the stakes were high was once inside a bookie’s.
He really wasn’t cut out for a life of vampirism,
In fact, he had false teeth!
The idea of him biting anyone’s neck was quite beyond belief.
Blood-sucking suits certain creatures, he reasons, like mosquitos,
But he prefers sinking his teeth into Doritos.
Other vampires would look down on him, perhaps,
Or maybe they would pity him, thinking he is dim.
How could they suggest that he, at least, got started?
By advising him to prey on haemophiliacs who bleed copiously when targeted?
In the absence of proper guidance, his blood consumption avoidance continued,
With no close friends or family,
No one to make sense of the expression ‘blood is thicker than water,’
He is definitely no vampire but still he feels confused,
Especially by the erections he gets when he sees skin that’s contused.
He reads Dracula and watches Buffy the Vampire Slayer with curiosity and detachment,
Associating with Goths in an attempt to find his true self,
His dreams feature being buried alive in a coffin on a dim shelf,
While scenes from Nosferatu are projected onto walls dripping with blood,
He wakes with the foul taste of clichés in his mouth and to the sound of a loud thud.
His eyes, tired and bloodshot, disguise little of his inner torment,
This strongly appeals a girl, who is about his age, he finds himself with at around this stage.
For her, discombobulated vampires are all the rage,
The relationship is an exciting new chapter for him and she is a brand new page,
One I shall leave unturned at this point because I am bored with this poem.