So now that the complete mindfuck that was the assessments period is over and my brain is resolidifying inside my skull I feel like I should get back into blogging.

Problems with this include the fact that unless you're utterly fascinated by the precise difference between a dactyl and an iamb I really have little to say.

So, what to do? Here's a poem from the archive:

Lia

You. My friend. My madcap keeper

I am a little in love.

Not like that- not with you.

But with your toxic, bright-black

zest for life

You. Snap crackle.

Sour apple vodka shot

making anything possible at 1 am.

Little goddess; blowjob queen

Morrigan with a golden heart

Thanks for making me laugh, cry, smile

Thanks for your babydoll eyes rimmed in kohl.

For bitching with me by the Seine,

For buying scarves in old Lijiang

For being the type of girl

who screams “Free Tibet” from the Great Wall

In true Grumpy Young Man style, the following things are currently topping the league table of Stuff that Pisses Me Off:

1. People who tag my location on Facebook. Um, no. I'm really glad you had a great time with me at some club the one night of the year that I stayed out until 5 am, but plastering it over my wall is one big reason why I tend to spend huge amounts of time cooped up in my room. Especially as I now use Facebook for work.
2. Magazines that take ages to get back to you. I realise slight hypocrisy here, but it's my blog innit?
3. Seagulls. The war is ongoing.
4. Phone Battery. Is just too short to take seriously. At the end of the day there's not a phone that's better than those old Nokia 3210s with the grey-blue covers and the most awesome version of Snake. Fact.
5. Summer music. Eugh. Eugh! I know it's coming, and the dread is building in the pit of my stomach. I swear if I ever meet Harry Styles (and/or any of his overgelled compatriots) I will smother him in honey and throw him into an anthill.
6. Writer's Block. Nuff said.

I realise that I'm not exactly the poster child for conventional relationships, what with my odd-dynamics, open-snog-policies and prediliction for going out with high functioning sociopaths. And as an ex I'm curiously devoid of malice or jealousy. In fact I'm totally happy to coach former amours in their subsequent romantic endeavours. I am the ex who keeps on giving.

That said.

IT IS TOTALLY CREEPY FOR YOU TO USE MY POETRY TO 'WOO' SOMEONE ELSE. STOPPIT RIGHT NAO! EW!

EWW. EWW
EWWWWWWWWW!

I'm usually really, really sceptical of anything which tries to put human nature in boxes. That said: this, this A MILLION TIMES THIS.

In case you are wondering (you're clearly not) I am a typical INFP. Like scary typical. But that also means I share a personality type with Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Kurt Cobain, J.K Rowling, Andy Warhol and Neil Gaiman. Either that or the Internet is trying to flatter me.

Eh, I'll take it.

Am revising The Book. Which still doesn't have a title, oy vey.

The sun is here. It's pretty fucking beautiful, but it keeps melting the bottle-candles I keep in my window.

See?

So sadmaking.

I made lavender and cardamom vodka. It is delicious with Doctor Pepper.

So we're told the publishing world is in crisis, and that Kindles, ebooks, free downloads et al will inevitably lead to The End of The Arts Industry.

Good!

Because there's an addendum to that sentence. It's the End of The Arts Industry As We Know It. I'm a writer, so publishing is my sector. It's an industry that's existed longer than universal literacy. In other words, it's an industry that made it's own market and naturally the decks were stacked in the publisher's favour. Yes, the masses could walk with their wallets, but prices were set, audiences were predictable and one only has to look at the late Ms Cartland to see how people could make a mint writing popular books which were in no way great literature. Compare this to the life of writers like Kerouac, and does something not seem to be amiss?

And then came the Internet. Here's where shit gets all Amanda Palmer. Suddenly, increasingly, poetry is free, books are free, publishers can no longer control the flow of art. There's going to be some shit writing out there, because people like shit. There's also going to be some diamonds.

But what this does mean is that the power is with us as consumers. The publishing industry existed for a reason, and with it's decline there's a greater responsibility on art consumers than ever before. Here's my philosophy as an artist for the digital age.

1. You can steal my art. I'm not a poet for the money. If someone likes what I'm producing my first impulse is to gratitude and honour. So take it. Borrow it. Respond to it. Pay me by emailing me and saying what it meant to you, or by showing my your dog eared copy of my book, or by explaining to me in EVERY MINUTE DETAIL exactly what I have done to make your life in some small way slightly richer. That's as much as I could ever want.
2. I can always get a real job. And if my art doesn't support me, I will have to. Consequently there will be less creative work in the future. The person who has the power to make that choice is the reader who loves my work an has the money to pay for it. You either do or you don't, I'll keep trying regardless. I would ask you to give me money if you can. But if you don't there's not a damn thing I can do about it. The arts industry is becoming all carrot and no stick, and that's just the way I like it.
3. Gratitude is Radical. To be a creative person is to take up people's precious time for things they may not enjoy. And with my work? It's often to say things which are disruptive. This is an audacious ask. Humility is important when doing it, and gratitude for those who entertain my notions of profundity.

NSFW- Your not so daily dose of musical goodness

Pure unadulterated glouriousness. Dreamshow: Animals. NSFW, (unless you work somewhere awesome (are they hiring?)).

Yo, I'm contactable: tkblogs@live.co.uk

Didn't take long did it.

THE BOOK being finished, I'm shoving it in a cupboard, the better to go back and edit without being too attached. In the meanwhile... I'm planning a projecty thing. It's foetal, and it's just for fun. Totally not srs riting bizness.

But, please get in touch if you

• Are a man OR
• Love a man OR
• Hate a man

Or if any of the statements above have been true for you in the past.  Also IF YOU HAVE A VIDEO CAMERA/ MAKE SHORT FILMS/MAKE THEATRY STUFF, then drop me an email. I will either skype you, or if you're vaguely South of England based, buy you coffee, and we will talk.

Ta.

TK