This dysfunctional poetry recital was commissioned for Chapter Arts Centre's 30th birthday cabaret. In it I strive for self-negation by swinging wildly between high and low art and between the political and the personal.
Terribly dressed, I recite a poem by Neruda in total seriousness. This is followed immediately by one of my own compositions:
who wipes his arse
on the grass
is an escaper
from the need
Next comes a double treatment of King Kong as a metaphor for masturbation, once as a sonnet and once as a blues. Finally I play a song dedicated to Victor Jara on a cheap classical guitar. This becomes increasingly repetitive, my incompetent playing resembling how Jara must have sounded when the fascists forced him to play just after they had broken his hands. The song shortens into the ceaseless repetition of the one word "musician".