“The Internet of Things” novel coming soon!

Murder. Intrigue. Anthropomorphic construction vehicles and bloodthirsty elevators; The Internet of Things, a real British blockbuster of a book has it all. They said that curiosity killed the cat, but they left out the part about the blender…

In a world where everything is connected to the internet and even your toaster is smarter than you, things begin to go wrong and Bruce von Toose, private detective, is caught square in the middle. Will he be able to solve the case of the disappearing rapper before Bristol, or all of Great Britain is razed to the ground by rampant, rioting machines? Will anybody be left alive to care or, more importantly, to pay his fee?

FINAL The Internet of Things Cover  - Artist Jamila Walker 300 dpi

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A Man. A Plan. A Canal: Panama

Hello! Welcome, welcome, come in. It’s nice to see you. You can leave your shoes on, don’t worry, I’ll take your coat. It’s horrible out there, isn’t it? Well you’re here now anyway; you made it. Let me take you on the tour. This way; watch out for the step into the… oh dear, are you ok? What do you mean, why do I own an ironing board? And a coffee table? Don’t you? Anyway, this is the lounge, we just redecorated. Can I get you something to drink?

The preceding paragraph is a demonstration paragraph, brought to you by the Swedish Modular Furniture Company, and is used to illustrate the manner in which the author (being me) would welcome you (being you) into his home. Note that his tone is chipper and warm; perhaps you feel as though you have returned home after many years at sea, or that this man would make a good father-figure. Perhaps you know a guy just like him. Continue reading

Blockbusters, Abridged





The Fast and the Furious



Some people go fast

in Hot Wheels cars.

Vin Diesel sports

a grappling hook.



Legally Blonde




 

A blonde woman

isn’t stupid;

she is instead

an attorney.



Moonwalker




 

Michael Jackson fights

drug gangs and Joe Pesci

to save kids; he turns

into a freaking robot.



Lethal Weapon




 

Riggs!

He’s crazy!

I am too old

for this shit.



Titanic




 

Leonardo Di Caprio

fucks Kate Winslet;

I think we all know

how this one ends.






Image from: www.msbnana.blogspot.com

A Flight and a Crash

Tradition,

religion,

our flight plan repetition

dead people’s luggage clogs the runways of the mind.

Terrorism,

fundamentalism

exploitation of the blind

grounded forever in the baggage of your kind,

Tradition,

religion,

tied up together in tales of better times

with snapped straps that we have chosen to rebind.

Ignorance,

delusion,

travelling through life, imaginary friends at your side

  tell us all exactly what it is that you expect to find?

Illumination?

Inner peace?

Enlightment?

An afterlife?

My friends, the truth is that we are all just flying blind,

  whirling on a rock, staring at a star with streaming eyes

and we are all alone, together, hoping it will rise,

and that we are just a moment, blinking through the sky.

Image is “Earthrise” from Wikipedia taken by William Anders on the Apollo 8 moon mission: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Earthrise

By Hook or By Crook

Frost vs Nixon

 

Smashed in riotous circumstances,

he wobbled at every function

fanatically followed by “the sheep”

he called them; and they followed

bleating their two-bit ambitions

in the wake of his rising star.

 

He really didn’t care;

they liked the money,

he liked the company,

it was lonely at the top.

He popped another

and dove right in.

 

The flock grew infamous behind him,

braying loudly, squabbling furiously,

eager to sup from the hand that fed

too busy clutching at bottles instead,

fighting dirty, spreading muck and filth,

he was theirs, at least in their heads.

 

They really didn’t care,

his cash stopped flowing,

he was empty inside,

they’d drunk him dry.

They waved goodbye

 

The shepherd cried out

but nobody listened;

it was all just an act,

the boy who cried wolf,

nominated by the Academy

consumed by the herd.

Heroes is a TV Show, Legends Never Die

St. Michaels Tower sits watching
the black and white cows grazing
upon the bright green fields leading
us on through the gates of Avalon
sat lonely atop the mighty Tor,
rising high above rows of pylons
that thread the emerald pastures
between busy roads and hedgerows.

The midday sun casts a long shadow,
the charcoal outline of the old yew tree
draped delicately across dotted nettles,
providing shelter for the aged weary
trudging through the land of faeries,
tracing King Arthur’s deep footsteps
through the ageless fields of Avalon,
through many seasons born and gone,

the famed sword lives on,
set into stone
buried beneath the roundabout.

Not Strictly Entertaining

“This is dumb” grumbled the celebrity chef

as he attempted a clumsy bald-headed plié,

and, mugging shamelessly for the cameras,

he announced he had never danced before.

 

“It’s mad, I’ve never danced before” he revealed,

rubbing his head proudly to a waxen sheen

with his sweaty, torn cuff; he liked it rough,

as his publicist had briefed him he should.

 

“My wife thinks I must be gay!”                                silence,

cut to a sequence of trialled pink sequinned shirts,

a nonsensical statement left to hang in the edit

like a homophobic fart in the prime-time lift.

 

Then cheers as he and his partner hit the dance floor,

hands on bums, pumping their hips with fixed grins,

stiff, like over-sexualised animatronic mannequins

lurching along painfully to Tom Jones’ “Sex Bomb.”

 

One judge liked it, he always does, flirting in his verdict,

one judge hated it, he always does, flinging verbal excrement,

one judge wasn’t sure, she never is, she liked his swinging hips

the last judge was too busy flogging frozen food (like he always is).