Call Me Green – Juliet Turner

I had some time to kill so thought I would post this song. This song always makes me think of a relationship with a large age gap or someone more worldly than yourself. It makes me think of lots of things 😀 This version is from her studio album but I think her live albums are much better, you can listen to them on spotify or check her out HERE.

You make me think of dark December with all your secrets in the ground
You own extensive tracts of property, I think that shouldn’t be allowed.
And I can sense your inhibitions – I make you cringe on the dance floor.

Foreign films on rainy evenings, your front hallway stacked with art.
Sunday papers, light conversation, I see you live a life apart.
Though I’ve been slow to get the message, I don’t regret the way we spent the hours.

Oh would you dance close to me? Over here it doesn’t mean a thing.
Oh, my mouth is open, so it is, at all the places that you’ve been,
All the movies that you’ve seen, all the famous people that you know.
Call me green.

I’d make you think of early springtime, I’d melt your winter with my charms.
I’d read the papers, know my politics, I’d even learn to park the car.
Might take a crash course in the Beatles but there’s love and then there’s trying too hard.

Oh, would you dance close to me? And oh how we squirm at fate,
Maybe you were born too early or I was born too late.


Considering taking performance poetry

A very tired and late stab at performance poetry. I am considering taking a module at uni … thoughts?

you look in the mirror

and your not shaw what beauties and whats make up

is the dead or dying hair an endearing sign of a wild life or are you just not trying hard enough to preen and press, and paint and dress and cover and pinch and elevate.

and we all do all this,

all the floss and the lip glossing and foundation, eye liner, face primer, is promised in the make up ad revaluation to make you look sleek and firmer, so you can find a partner, but then you find a partner

you got to trim

and press

squeeze and


and put your self in lace and push up your breast

and say, I say no, I won’t

your left alone

Left trying harder

more waxing

and painting



we’re not deserving of hating ourselves

we’re not deserving of being hungry

or of being food for a beauty industry

that still value us as clients,

if we choose an open casket

and ask for a last makeover


If you do one thing today listen to ‘The Bed Song’

The Bed Song

By Amanda Palmer

This song is incredibly well written yet simple. I can’t say much about it except it’s fantastic and worth the time it takes to listen.

As always you can buy the Album ‘Theatre Is Evil’ HERE featuring the ‘The Bed Song’ and many more for a price of your choosing. (No I don’t work for AP I just think its fair that she’s paid for her music).

Exhibit A
We are friends in a sleeping bag splitting the heat
We have one filthy pillow to share and your lips are in my hair
Someone upstairs has a rat that we laughed at
And people are drinking
And singing Van Halen and Slayer on a ukulele tearExhibit B
Well, we found an apartment
It’s not much to look at
A futon on a floor
Torn-off desktop for a door
All the decor’s made of milk crates and duct tape
And if we have sex
They can hear us through the floor
But we don’t do that anymoreAnd I lay there wondering, what is the matter?
Is this a matter of worse or of better?
You took the blanket, so I took the bedsheet
But I would have held you if you’d onlyLet me

Exhibit C
Look how quaint
And how quiet and private
Our paychecks have bought us a condo in town
It’s the nicest flat around
You picked a mattress and had it delivered
And I walked upstairs
And the sight of it made my heart pound
And I wrapped my arms around me

And I stood there wondering, what is the matter?
Is this a matter of worse or of better?
You walked right past me and straightened the covers
But I would still love you if you wanted a lover
And you said
All the money in the world
Won’t buy a bed so big and wide
To guarantee that you won’t accidentally touch me
In the night

Exhibit D
Now we’re both mostly paralyzed
Don’t know how long we’ve been lying here in fear
Too afraid to even feel
I find my glasses and you turn the light out
Roll off on your side
Like you’ve rolled away for years
Holding back those king-size tears

And I still don’t ask you, what is the matter?
Is this a matter of worse or of better?
You take the heart failure
I’ll take the cancer
I’ve long stopped wondering why you don’t answer

Exhibit E
You can certainly see how fulfilling a life
From the cost and size of stone of our final resting home
We got some nice ones right under a cherry tree
You and me lying the only way we know
Side by side and still and cold

And I finally ask you, what was the matter?
Was it a matter of worse or of better?
You stretch your arms out and finally face me
You say I would have told you

If you’d only asked me
If you’d only asked me
If you’d only asked me


Writing Context

Yeah I just posted Sleeping and Blue Night/Mirror both things I wrote for my uni portfolio last year. My writing develops in bursts. I write rarely and when I do I would like to consider what comes out as the finished product is pretty good. I know you are supposed to write ALLLL the time, but I just don’t, thats not how I roll and I’m doing well with my degree and don’t intend on being a writer so if its working I think its ok to stick with it (if it ain’t broke don’t fix it).

I can’t give you much context for these pieces except parts are real, some fantasy, some of what I wish could have been and some just a wild imagination.

Something I can say about Blue Night / Mirror is that I wrote the story then went ‘hey that song from spring awakening really fits this’. The song Bewitched was genuinely involved in the events that inspired this. I like to have a song in mind when I write. I really work in music.


Sleeping Flash Fiction



“I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I’m awake, you know?” Ernest Hemingway


I fell asleep in class today. They turned down the lights and stuck on a bright projector, which I had no chance of escape from. Gone were the days when you had to cart out a great whale of a TV on wheels and spend half an hour setting it up. The film was playing without fuss or issue. Everyone else seemed to be keen. It was to late for a class, normally the time I would be having a nap. It didn’t help that I had earlier lost my daily battle to alcoholism, drinking three pints and a desperado. The documentary droned on, periodically disturbing me with images of dead children or groups of men with machine guns.


It reminded me of the time I watched Trainspotting pissed and how the quick flashes of brain-fucking imagery left me feeling like I had been on a drug trip. This was like that, only all the stuff I was seeing through my flickering eyelids was real. Slowly I was drifting, I could feel myself rocking forward and my head drooping to my chest like my father’s does after half a bottle of red. I propped myself up on a nearby piano, in retrospect it was odd that the film was being shown in a music practice room. Sleep took over though, and the next thing I knew I was being woken up. I didn’t fall asleep out of boredom (although I was pretty bored).  I had fallen asleep in a film I paid to see the week before.

Everyone else in the class was appropriately alert. The self righteous, pretentious, festival wristband wearing, sudo-boheimian, arseholes. I hated them at that moment. I hated everyone who could be fully awake.



Blue Night and The Mirror Short Stories

He’s a fool and don’t I know it,

But a fool can have his charms.

I’m in love and don’t I show it,

Like a babe in arms.

– Bewitched, Lorenz Hart

Blue Night

He is a loser if you compare him to normal standards of success. He works in a piano shop where the walls are covered in sheet music and everything else is layered with saw dust. He is a virtuoso, a player, he speaks French, he gives me drugs. He walks through the market yelling ‘I’m an idiot’ in his thick accent, regularly to my embarrassment. We both sit upstairs with nothing but a blue light from the computer to see by.

‘I want to try something’ Adi says in his thick Eastern European accent. ‘I want to try to talk with out speaking’.

‘Your mental’ I say.

‘No more speaking’.

He puts his hands on the side of my face and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me. Then he lets go, now he is sure he is my only focus. I look at him, in his dark eyes and think ‘you’re a pervert’. I can hear what he’s saying to me, he’s being suggestive.

After a while we stop.

We walk carefully down the narrow stairs and work our way around to the front of the shop, weaving through pianos and many going through complicated alterations by Trevor, the owner. We sit and the front of the shop and open a massive fake book I keep at the shop. I know what number the song is I want with out looking I sing it so often. I dump the book onto the piano’s music stand and wait for Adi to give me his full attention impatiently. The two of us look odd together, a nineteen year old with badly dyed blonde hair and tall late-twenties Romanian who wears tweed suits. Eventually he sits down, a small crowd gathers as usual and I sing.

‘I’ve Seen a lot

I mean I lot

But now I’m like sweet seventeen a lot

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I

I’ll sing to him

Each spring to him

And worship the trousers that cling to him

Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I’

Afterwards the spectators applaud and few people compliment me. Many shoppers crowd around Adi. ‘Play Chopin’ they demand, ‘Play Mozart’. He responds in his normal way by playing ‘Doe, a deer’ and augmenting most of the chords to make a hideous off key noise that still resembles the song. For someone so arrogant in his personality, he is humble when his playing is concerned. After the shoppers disperse Adi is given permission to go home and he helps shut up the shop.

We go to the little area between where the stables end and the rest of the market begins and I give him one of my cigarettes. The market has been closed for a while, I’m normally around after closing. It’s like being in an oversized shop after hours. The giant robot that fronts Cyber Dog shines in the moonlight and we hear noise from inside The Cuban Bar, the only place that stays open this late. It’s expensive, we don’t drink there.

Adi lays a tissue on the top of a bin, then rolls the cigarette between his fingers so all the tobacco falls out on to the tissue. He then does his usual ‘look left, look right’ and when he is satisfied no one is around he produces a small bag and mixes the green in with the tobacco. He then fills the cigarette back up with the mixture.

We head to the park, and stop of at ‘Camden News’ to get two cans of K Cider each. A really dirty drink, at 8.4 percent alcohol.

Adi sits on a bench and I join him. We light the joint and smoke it very fast as the paper burns quickly. Nothing happens for a while. He puts his arm around me and tells me about the politics in Romania. After a while the lights on the houses surrounding the park shine brighter.

‘Those lights look happy’. I say.

He responds by trying to convince me the moon landing isn’t real. He finally stops to say ‘Can I kiss you?’

‘No’ I laugh.


Flip on a switch, and everything’s fine – 
No more lips, no more tongue, no more ears, no more eyes
The naked blue angel, who peers through the blinds
Disappears in the gloom of the mirror-blue night

‘Mirror-Blue Night’ From Spring Awakening


The Mirror

After sitting in the park for a while Adi and I get cold and decided to walk up to Loving Hut. Max and David are meeting us there. They disappeared about three months later and I never saw them again. My feet feel numb and free as I walk along the pavement. It’s dark and the windows of shops near the market shine and look like they are sleeping. After a few minutes of walking, as we get nearer to the restaurant, all the shops are like any others in London, chains that you can find anywhere. We pass the Argos where I saw an old Muslim lady get pushed out of a car and left outside the front of the shop to beg. There is the Waterstones I sat down in to call the NSPCC after I saw a man coercing along a young girl with long dark hair and a pink puffer jacket who looked drugged. My feet feel like they are folding in on themselves.

We turn into Loving hut.

On the wall Supreme Master TV is playing its footage. ‘The leader’ in a pink dress is talking about aliens who want to takeover the planet and how we should all be vegan. We always ignore the propaganda, or watch it to laugh at it.

The food is good, and you can pay as much as you like for it, so we go there often. The inside of the shop is a glare of white and metal.

I cannot move the way I want to, so I am grateful that the room is small and easy to navigate. We sit at a table near the door where Max and David are waiting. They are gay, and in love with each other, but not partners.

We wave to the man behind the counter who’s name I never knew and asked for tap water. From the look of us it was obvious we wanted tap water.

My feet buzz. My body feels like it is moving when it is not. It is hard to move my fingers apart and I constantly have the sensation that my nose is running even when, after asking for a mirror I know it is not. David provides me with a mirrored tile, the kind you use in bathrooms.

‘I didn’t expect you to have a mirror on you’ I say.

‘You don’t know want to know why I do’ David says and then starts to laugh.

David is skinny and badly shaven, Max is a little bigger with bordering on ginger hair. Neither have a specific aesthetic of dress sense.

Being stoned we all decide to get the vegan Chinese buffet. What would normally be simply pleasant food, now becomes an attainable dream. Fulfillment can be achieved by stuffing my face with people who were to preoccupied to care. Sleeping with Adi could also bring fulfillment, but I am too distant from internal thoughts to work him out.

My plate was pilled with rice and bean curd made to taste like moist beef. I only eat with a fork. I have a few mouthfuls and then feel hot, and claustrophobic, and needed to smoke more. That happens sometimes.

‘I’m going for a quick fag’. They laugh at my use of the word.

‘Hurry back’ I don’t know who said it, the voice was English, so not Adi.


Busy Times, Cuddly Toys and Stuff

Hi, sorry I haven’t been posting as much as I would like to.

I went to see Othello at the National Theatre the other day and made a Vlog on the rooftop garden of the Southbank Centre. Im struggling to upload it from my phone and I can’t find the cable that connects phone to the computer, once I find that piece of magic you will have a great view of london.

I have been applying for lots of jobs including –

Mode In Pella 

Mc Donalds 

A catering company 

Slug and lettuce 


Build a bear




Pizza hut

Although I like all those places I would like to work at Build a Bear so so much! Imagine seeing all the happy children with there new inanimate friends 😀 I used to love my teddies so much when I was a kid, they all had such strong personalities in my mind, and unfortunately for my parents I would see them in a shop, a certain one, even if there were loads of that type, and think they were lonely and needed a home. I had lots of cuddly toys as a kid.

I bought a cuddly toy before I started Uni with my housemate in bath. We were out shopping, and looking in a charity shop when I saw this really ugly cuddly toy. I started mocking it, it was a really oversized rabbit with a massive body and bum, a small head and long straggly hair. After saying how horrible it was for a while I decided I had to leave with it, saying ‘I needed a door stop’. We got on rather well, as I walked down the street back to the bus stop with my housemate, she got a few phone calls, so I chatted to the rabbit instead, finding I was able to hold him easily almost like a glove puppet. I used him as a door stop for bit, then he got promoted to the end of my bed, because he weight and size by my feet reminded me of the dog. Then I grew to love him and named him ‘Fat Rabbit’. I now cuddle him in my hard times and laugh with him in my good times.