18 February 2008

Slam/Performance poetry panel at Perth Writers Festival

Perth Writers Festival 08 Event
Words Are To Be Spoken

Panel Discussion: Is performing a viable alternative to publishing? What are the academics so afraid of...?

Meet performance poets: Miles Merrill, Vivienne Glance, Allan Boyd plus Sharon Flindell (writingWA) - panel chaired by Danae Gibson, as they discuss this thing called Slam...

SUNDAY 24th FEBRUARY 2008 1230–130PM
as part of the PERTH WRITERS FESTIVAL 2008 Perth International Arts Festival in the Dolphin Theatre at UWA.

This is a FREE event!


under the creaking shifting weight of a hundred billion words

Performed at Poet's Corner - Pages Cafe at the WA State Library, February 16, 2008

under the creaking shifting weight
of a hundred billion words: we sit we sip

in this central aromatic structure
this giggling monastic carbonated room
this carpeted annexe of caffeine
ink and sugar and cream and pages

all the roads and rails lead here
to this ambrosial concrete space
a footpath prayer to the lactose
and storage of lipids
those ceramic word separators
those little packets of essential carbohydrate

we sip under the histrionic canister
of shelves of shelves of shelves
we sit n stare through the temporal utterings
of this - the cultural light

a drooling echo of blanket willingness
a fractured window filled with educated pedestrians
unable to consume all meanings at once
like a hallucinogenic crystalline title
like a solidified footnoted poem
a reader, a writer, a speaker, an etching
an unspoken convergence of us
a realtime advertisement for watches

a psilocybinistic celebration
oh monomythic word
ohm ohm ohm
we sit we sip we sit we sip

stand and deliver
he said, in public reflection:
all hail ye to the angels
of post-structuralist textual expression
nay this thy ego disintegration, dude
these thousand words for you
oh gangs of nouns and figures and graphs
and adverbial connotation
the corporeal assonance
oh hear the contextual summoning, mate

author: can you feel it
the paper, the plastic, the binding, the edges
the petro-chemical electronic hum of us here
the chronic history of these telekinetic wordscapes
wrapped in epic rock stance
this swagger and thrust
of academic lust
and technique
and diction
and dust

oh collection of leaves
hurtling through bitter freeways of veins
our esoteric ramblings
bending, heaving westward
to the coastal forest of words

and books and books and books and books
we sit we sip we sit we sip
under the creaking shifting weight of a hundred billion words

some denying the ancients stories
the crimson fettered massacres, an ochre river
of black skin and white ideological forms
ignored as a holocaust fabrication
a little aussie culture battler
a violent synesthesia of history war
a fair dinkum blackened armband version

that these sun-burnt broken station fences
need not reveal a truth
that these tomes breed us - all here
under this scripted boomtown ceiling

and we burn the ones who disagree with ease
in piles of flames and disease
yet these leaves, this sheet, this page
a rustle of bibliophilic rage

yes we sit we sip we sit we sip
under the creaking shifting weight of a hundred billion words

aware the frozen block-universe
a single pre-existing
ever-existing future is wearing thin
and sacred sites are rarely random
she wrote of vivid nourishing terrains

under the creaking shifting weight of a hundred billion words
we sit we sip we sit we sip

our vacant obese skeletal bodies
hurling sentence after sodden sentence
of brazen self-aggrandisement
tearing strips of busted, bloody
brutish english language

that queens not mine, she said
not bloody legal, she said
of our glassy, robust limbs
and wrinkling skin and signs
a challenge here
our lips and tongues and ears
failing to resolve these fragments

all manufactured trees
the reverberating bark
of understanding
of signifiers
this barren semiotic orgasm

under the creaking shifting weight of a hundred billion words
we sit we sip we sit we sip

a calculation of deliberate misreadings,
without form or function
we breathe the air-conditioned reality
the bing-dinging whisperers
the foyer security never trusting a bag
as the fossil fuel collapse gets beyond grasp
a suicidal mother, bleeding of this
a battered social institution
a glacial redundancy
a cap-rocked cult
of global ecological ignorance

under the creaking shifting weight of a hundred billion words
we sit we sip we sit we sip

and the bibliomaniacal capital groupthink creeps in
a cabinet spilling street-fighter consoles
a lighthouse of ideas
like a formaldehyde dreaming
a chloroform kansas
hey dorothy our brothers are bitumen deserts
white lines of you cut up
and hammered til pulp and injected spaces
rendering a speed-reader dull
yr busted hand littered with paper-cuts

and then you are this:
a crack pipe renaissance
a credit-driven existence
a crumpled chapter
a battered pamphlet
a crushed stone petroglyph
of answers without questions
a dead ledger
a novel product
a manual of abstract clarification

until the word stops
the back cover looms
the lights fail

and we sit we sip

under the creaking shifting weight of a hundred billion words

we sit we sip we sip
we sit we sip we sip


allan boyd (antipoet) - written and performed february 16, 2008
poets corner - pages café, state library wa

allan boyd
heathridge, wa
0402 573 580

12 February 2008


16th February 2008
- 2pm
PAGES CAFE - State Library of WA

Vivienne Glance
guest-hosting the event with poetic humour, word play and some verbal seduction.

With her invited guests:

Anti-poet allan boyd
well known for his dynamic, cutting and cutting-edge spoken word artistry

Nandi Chinna
her subtle imagery and sharp observations blend with the gentle sounds of musician Danna Stevenson

Dosh Luckwell
State Final runner-up and teller of tales dark and mysterious.

The usual OPEN MIC @ 4pm -Come along and support West Australian poets! Entry is free but purchase a coffee is you can to support out generous sponsors, PAGES CAFE and the State Library of WA.

POETS CORNER @ PAGES CAFE - 2pm Saturday, 16th February 2008 - State Library of WA, Alexander Building - Perth Cultural Centre

For more information contact Frances Macaulay Forde. Open Mic spots can be booked on the day or in advance contact Vivienne. Contact Frances to read 3rd Sat each month Poet's Corner & Pages Cafe, WA State Library, Perth Cultural Centre across the bridge from the Perth Train Station.


08 February 2008

Some visual hack poems

Some earlier visual works here:


More here...

I really need to sort these images into a gallery.

07 February 2008

459 words for the 459

New piece performed at the Rosemount Hotel 459 Bar, North Perth, Thursday, 7th February 2008 - as part of a new monthly performance poetry event: Cottonmouth...

459 words for the 459


welcome back and be reminded that:
some of those that work forces
are the same that burn crosses*

and these 459 words they drip reasons
to hang in violent pretty groups on pages
drippin, slippin, trippin on stages
delivered by us in contrived expressive rages

my open mouth drier than marble-bar sun-dust up here
the four-wheel-drive of my words, hubs in ruts
my broken lips on this nipple of a mic
and we're killing in the name of the werd tonight
we got more poems than a poem convention - sing it*

making thick tracks in the desert rust
without due authority or trust
this cotton-mouthed bunsen-burner,
pining for the uranium fiooords

needing, really needing, my sunburst flying-V,
bleeding that oh-so misogynistic, yet the burning fetishistic,
spread-legged acquiescence

this light-sabre cock-sucking blues* riff
and so I drink it I drink it I drink it

my face the same as the next one
and the next one, and yeah the next one
we deliver in stages in lyrical rages
our tribal-tattoos tearin the pages

we're pulpin the pictures, and waiting for the government
to sell us the reasons - to feed us the regret
of two-hundred-plus-years of bitter methylated history

and yes, some of those that work forces
are the same that burn crosses,
she sang like a porn-star prophet
destroy 2000 years of culture
she stang cell by cell by radical cell

and so, all the pulsed-out phone-crazies flock
to star in our own flash-animated
multi-media movie-message hell

writing our mothers other names
on our brother's bleeding hearted torsos
arching my back as you enter
the pen into my open flesh
my ageing skin a window-dressing for christ
yr free trade truncheon
shaped like buddah's cock

yr selling me the same faeces
wrapped up in an ideological apology

destroy 2000 years of culture*
destroy 2000 years of culture
some of those that work forces
are the same that burn crosses
they chorused reluctantly

she spoke like fire at the concrete road
her smoky words enamelled and over-sprayed on sheds
the fleeting protection
little more than a microscopic sheath
a tender rubber glove of money

yay verily we built flag-draped fortresses
for our gorgeous plastic possessions
an air-conditioned freudian reality
never touching the cloud with our blisters
never seeking broken fences

or the union jack
and a white star
on yr navy-blue tit
missing the deeper understanding
of an aussie flag whore
or truth
or any sign of habitat
only grasping
in a peak oil delusion

a capitalist structure
biding its time
before the market forces
determine the fate of it

and the shit seeps in
like a barrel full of fish

to remember to always destroy
2000 years of culture destroy
2000 years of culture
because some of those that work forces
are the same that burn crosses



(apologies to Rage Against The Machine, Atari Teenage Riot, Mclusky and Future Of The Left)

antipoet - allan boyd - February 3, 2008

06 February 2008


(written in 2004 republished here as an archive - also here...)


allanboyd : perth west australia june2004

Antiopposite; the offering of an antithesis towards synthesis...
Poetrythe essence of uttered, scratched words; playing with meaning and language structure in an effort to evoke response; responding to daily life as a textual canvas...

Yeah I know, It’s an intentionally provocative statement to suggest one is an antipoet or even the antipoet. But I’ve been calling myself this since I realised that poetry is dead. Since I discovered that bland is killing the planet. That nothing, or very little, of what I read or hear amongst poets themselves wants to tackle the deep critical issues facing us in this crucial time we inhabit. Indeed poetry written from a comfortable mainstreamed perspective will be a mere product of the money eating façade of the 21st century. And poetry should have impact. I think the best poetry is raw, should make you squirm. Its beautiful stark reality should even hurt you, make you laugh, make you flinch, force you to block your ears. Poetry should make you want to cry sometimes, smile fall in love with a poet’s mesmerising vocal delivery... Poets are messengers in love with the semiotics of words.

Inside Tom Collins House I write this document, sitting at an obsolete yet workable computer, in a stoic old house hand-built by the early Australian novelist Joseph Furphy in the early 1900s. I am here because I am the Emerging Writer in Rresidence and have spent the month of May attending to my writerly duties to produce as much work as possible in this time – of which this “manifesto” is the centre-piece. People have been asking me why I call myself the “antipoet” for a long time now. And so here I am writing this document in an attempt to explain my reasons for being such a recalcitrant, non-conformist bastard.

I relish this title of “Emerging” in that it embodies the idea that I will never be “Established”. To be established would mean either that my poetry has had so much resonance, that mainstream culture has become perfect – or in more realistic terms: I have been accepted into the machine I seek to critique and despise. As an established writer I would have become blinded by the apathy of consumer culture – indeed, an appropriated product of a hierarchical system. Yet, I digress.

I am a poet in the 21st century. I am a father of two children, I am a lover, a husband and a micro-capitalistic-credit failure. Now, in the pursuit of art as existence, I am on a constant mission to resist the lures of a petro-chemical credit-driven life. Over the last decade of writing and performing my anarko-art works and collaborations, it has become a steady realisation that all this “anti”-art is part of a lifetime commitment of refusal to adhere to long-established traditions of dominant cultural myths and languages of its poetic/artistic fashionista discourse. The notions of democracy and compassion are corroding under our well-shod, plastic logo feet. Its time for a change – and we need to wake up NOW!

As an artist I feel it necessary now to tear down the walls of deception and the structures of profit-greed through my language – through my art. Whilst I am very aware of that which has come before, and that nothing in art is intrinsically new, I am attempting, I think, to break new ground [in this time; in this place]. I hereby seek to challenge existing literary and artistic frameworks in order to critique current art produce at this time – within the embryo of this century – right now!

I simply cannot accept the blind destruction of my planet – I refuse wherever possible to maintain the wealth accumulation cycle of insanity. I consume little and consider every purchase. As credit-addicted consumers, everything has become remote, intangible. There is no apparent recourse to all this consumption and waste production. The great poets of our time, the advertisers and politicians, would have us believe that eating the planet bare seems to have no effect. We simply can’t see, or perhaps choose to ignore the crucial and resultant facts of inhumanity after inhumanity directly caused by ruthless, profit-driven corporate exploitation and government control. The human history of this earth is well littered with examples of corporate-fueled get-rich-quick disasters, hideously wasteful destruction and force-fed well-oiled democracy; of the imperial funding and training of genocidal terror organisations; the instillation of private security corporations...

The real meaning of the consumer culture makes no sense when you boil it all down – doesn’t ladder-climbing have an end point somewhere? If someone profits – someone loses. Indeed, truth, spirit, metaphysics, accessing the word-conduit, using this body, harnessing the inner energy of life – letting the words/images of the zeitgeist flow through arms and fingers to the page/canvas - all have become masked, tainted and defiled by layers of apathetic consumption, wealth accumulation schemes, mindless insecurity and desire for the sake of desire desire desire desire desire desire.

I am not by nature a divisive or antagonistic person, nor do I seek to confront for the sake of shock value. Its about the crucial need to speak about the ills of this culture – and the absolute damage we are causing to our lives in the long term.

Upon research as a writer, artist, media activist – involved with myriad ongoing culture jamming projects, it seems to me, upon analysis, that this mode of living without purpose beyond wealth acquisition is being ignored. And life without question is no life at all!

Indeed, recent research suggests that by 2020 mental health disorders will surpass death by all other causes – including heart attacks, road deaths and cancer; and further, that by around 2010 we will be facing the peak oil crisis - when oil demand outstrips supply. We’re gonna be face to face with the collapse of the petro-chemical industries! Why doesn’t anyone know this? Why do the shareholders of multinational mining companies openly consume sacred lands and fragile ecosystems without precautionary principles? Why do our governments resist the need for immediate change of human behavior? Why can’t we STOP and help the 20 million refugees who roam the planet seeking more than simple shelter when it is our western lifestyles that have ultimately created their plight? How is it that a billion people rejected the US recent invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan yet there are thousands dead? Why is it that global Defence forces continue to use cluster bombs and Depleted Uranium as weapons in a “just cause”? Just what the fuck are weapons of Mass Destruction?

So - WAKE UP! Why is it that nobody talks about these things? Why is this information buried under piles of shiny gloss and wasted words. Why do the great emerging poets of our time all write copy for Advertising companies? Why is it that a few men control a country’s media? Why is it that “reality tv” outrates current affairs shows? Why is it that we seek validity thru conforming to this unsustainable practice of corporate greed, habitat depletion, and eco-rape for real estate addiction? Why do we fill our micro-mansions with mindless crap, lock up our houses like a fortress for ten hours a day and work in places we hate? Why? Why? Why?

So, at the heart of this – an inherent need to expose these issues and situations – lies the reasons as to why I am the antipoet – I am not doing this for the sake of it! I truly believe that I must tell these truths; seek out the inner levels of things and bring them into the public gaze. Because it is my fundamental duty as an artist, as a word artist, as a poet, that I am an antipoet built to REJECT, RESIST and EXIST now. At some point we really must accept as individuals and as society, that due to this overt and willing hyper-consumption, that life as we know it, will be vastly different within a decade. The resources are running out baby! We must change the way we approach our interaction with this place, with ecological system management and with social interaction, with behavior and by DIRECT action. Blindly swallowing government and corporate propaganda is not doing a thing to solve the issues of a capitalism founded on slavery, inherent blatant racism, inexorable inhumanity and rampant greed-mongering facing us now, today – not solving the salinity deserts of Australia; or the sweatshops of Indonesia; not amongst the bodies of the 10,000 dead Iraqi civilians; or the children jailed for years on end in our isolated desert refugee concentration camps…

And so, I just cannot ignore these things I know. To do this, I believe, is worse than the atrocity committed. As the antipoet it is my job, my reason to do art to place these ideas into my poetry and art – and using the tools available to me via the digital and textual realms, theatrical techniques, film and television, music, sound-art and other forms of self-expression, I will challenge your thinking on the things I find necessary to think about and discuss in our time. NOW!

For those of us willing to accept the stark grey reality of the things underground culture is telling us (and our numbers are swelling via affinity groups and cellular organising networks across the global cyber-sphere), we are clearly witnessing the death of this planet’s underlying structures. There’s a distorted corrosion of freedoms at work in our lives and we are implicit in our own destruction by perpetuating existing forms. My inner voice, cultivated through experience, emotion and education tells me that: by writing poems that serve to celebrate our suburban existence, our “free” market dominance over other cultures, communities and individual people, we are simply perpetuating the system of greed/apathy that we support in our daily lives. I’m over it!

A mass cultural awareness is upon us the great Peak Oil Decline (ie Petrol is running out!) and its ensuing socio-economic ramifications within a decade. It seems that nobody is bothering to confront and reject the dominant cultural values undermining our planet’s sustainability – and our own human survival for that matter. Few are questioning the looming ecocide and social insecurity of the over-consumption SPIKE – indeed, the coming end of a supra-comfortable credit-driven lifestyle. Yet we cannot continue to ignore the massive disrespects we inflict on the biosphere, and indeed the manner in which we treat others – simply because they have less than what we have, or little access to the tools of economic rationalism, education, health, good food and basic quality of life. RIGHT NOW, IN OUR LIVES we need to examine the structures of oppression that mask us and challenge the way in which we talk about, think about and DO art. And even how we consume it…

Lets get this clear… I don’t entirely reject poetry as an art-form. I am not against poetry in general. I just can’t enjoy bad, cliché, empty, weak, banal, bland forms of poetry. Poetry that doesn’t play with language – that is empty of challenge! Okay so now I’m implying a judgment as to what is bad or good. So I’d better define what it is about poetry I like, and don’t like. In fact, I love poetry. I really do. So much, that I have been writing/performing/editing/publishing and organising the stuff for a decade. I love it so much, that I hate it when I read/hear poetry that simply regurgitates the dominant cultural façade. I want your words, your poems to fuck with my head. If you are observant, refuse the masks of white supremacy and patriarchal capitalism, and have a talent for writing poetry - you have a duty to explore language to discover new ways of expression and tell the world about these ills. You must – as a matter of species survival – write poems that tell me what the fuck is wrong here, today, right now on this planet, this continent, this state, this city, this suburb, this house, this screen… but hey, you better somehow make it interesting! Can you see where I’m going?

I am also the antipoet because the stuff calling itself poetry; the poetic works winning awards, getting publication and funding, seems to me, to be weak, insultingly patriotic, unquestioningly mainstream and merely seeks to perpetuate the disturbing myths of our time. Poets of our generation must seek change, must seek new ways of expression, using the language of now, the tools of now and the avante garde mutterings of those that seek radical changes in the way we tackle life.

Suffice to say, ALL poetry is self-expressive. That is, it is an utterance, a grasping scratching group of words by an observant human attempting to make sense of the mass of information that confronts every waking, dreaming moment. We write poems because we love language – we write them because we have words and truths and stories to tell. We seek to express these ideas through these gems of truths - yet truth in poetry is perhaps an illusion now. We fail to break down what is real in our poems. We forget to seek the source of our expressions. We write the words, we feel the meaning through our interaction on the page and then perhaps in performance if the poem is read off the page. But we don’t seek change – radical change. Far from it. Perhaps its just too hard to contemplate the reality of it all.

So if we are utterly unable to critique the dominant culture because we are confined to its reproductive systems we are not poets – I want change and I want to write poems that change the world. The L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poets were perhaps on to something. The LAST poets [fathers of pre-Hip-Hop culture] were too. Some of the underground and more experimental poets challenging the existing modes can be found in Perth, Melbourne and Tasmania. As I’ve stated before when asked who my favourite poet is: “the best poets in the world are right here in this room”!

Yet right now, using the standard model poetic devices, and telling the same stories about how fucking nice everything is, we can’t seek to change the world our poems describe. Our lack of ability to scream through the façade of 21st century life is stifling. So we simply surf the surface; regurgitate the distortions of reality in our poetry and in our approach to writing. I gave up writing nice poems a long time ago. I stopped listening to the corporate/mainstream/dominant vision of life. I sought a deeper meaning of understanding. I want to get to the root of this planet and examine where we can challenge the existing order of human things and why the language is sometimes extremely inadequate in describing this life.

Furthermore, copyrighted ideas and sentences, intellectual-property-protected words and samples we need to use in writing these poems of change are out of reach and range – so this obedience to authority in language reproduction is also very stifling. Lets get radical. And by radical I mean – examine the root, attack the source, discover for yourself just where the problem is entrenched…

In order to examine and critique a radical approach to poetry, and truth-tellings, perhaps we need to fully realise the contemporary time we inhabit; our 21st Century historical context; our extreme “NOWness?” perspective. The social and cultural framework we operate our day-to-day existence demands an addiction to wealth accumulation. We’re told by our parents, our teachers, our bosses, our co-workers, our mates and family, its in our narratives; its part of our communication; its our very language – it all reeks of capitalism. And that’s where the problem lies. Late-Capitalism is a slow dying beast. We are the products of this systematic destruction of the spinning rock’s resource. The Earth as we know it is near dead. And yet we deny this in our everyday actions. We “shop till we Drop” and venerate Retail Therapy as if it were a way to heal ourselves – when it is KILLING the planet!

By embracing and following the principles of latter-day capitalism; the mindlessness of consumerism and all its so-called rewards of plenty we’re simply denying our very human-ness. And I think perhaps that’s what poetry is – a written/spoken attempt at defining our humanity. If you write a poem celebrating this culture, or recreate words, meanings and speech that serve merely to represent the established regime of work/eat/sleep/die – you are propping up its excesses. And worse - you are writing a poem that kills the planet. As a poet [an observer of literary language and a practitioner of the expression of life as a human animal]? I feel that it is your duty, your moral right to grasp, fight and change the existing order of things. You must challenge the problems at a radical level. If you seek to regurgitate a mainstreamed version of life [ie corporate media-driven realities] then your poetry is fundamentally weak and doesn’t challenge a thing. It is imperative that we tackle the pain of corporatised families, workplaces, public spaces and leisure time. Lets all be anarchists and question the coercive hierarchical authorities that are ingrained to our psyche. Lets renounce our addiction to obedience. Lets get spray cans and write our poems on Freeway overpasses, on roads and footpaths and bus stops and advertisements. Lets take back our spaces – including our mental space. This is a message to the corporations: You cannot have my mindshare – my brain is not a market!

POETS: Spray paint your Poetry into the streets, the footpaths the concrete page.

Art festivals are mostly funded by companies advertising products or seeking tax relief, thereby denying true social responsibility (and lets face it: a profit driven machine does not feel anything, and seeks at all times to increase itself) and the only opportunities we have for distributing our poetry are given to us by corporate funding, therefore branding of our art - then we have become brands, products of capitalism ourselves. “Poetry is brought to you by BrandX?” the best poetry money can buy. Poetry then has become more commodity art and less human response expressions. Less artifact and more market-driven.

Mainstreaming art and cultural reality – making it easy to promote and consume product; to make stuff that’s popular – if people like our stuff they BUY it, seek to own it, and not so much experience it, but consume it as property, then maybe we have failed. If all we do is seek recognition by mass audiences [ie create a highly consumable product]? we have failed. I want my art to reach people, sure. But, because I say the things that threaten the comfortability of a the vast majority of people living in western culture – I am attacking the very essence of what you hold dear and protect securely. So you see, I can never be successful. But to me that is a good thing. Indeed, send me an email and I’ll GIVE you my music, my art, poetry. At performances I regularly cut up the poetry I have just performed and distribute personally to each member of the audience. I want to share your human-ness – not sell you a piece o’ me! Gimme a call. Lets collaborate and not compete.

ME: I don’t own a car; no credit card; no real estate ambitions; I rarely wear shoes; I don’t have a 9-5 job; I don’t buy products on a whim; I do not wish to support the system that is destroying the people we exploit as rabid 21st century consumers, consuming products without considering effect is purely blind ignorance and extreme apathy. Mate, I cant do it anymore and we should all – every single one of us - just STOP right now, and think and talk and share the problematic details, without the ideological consumerist insurance facades. We need sit down under a tree and tell each other what’s wrong and why the people in charge of our lives do not represent us anymore, if they really ever did! Democracy has its merits, sure, but when a minority is left unheard, misunderstood and disenfranchised – surely then democracy has failed in its goals of a people’s government? My poetry then is all about these things.

But is Advertising the poetry of the 20th Century? Perhaps. If advertising copy is about brevity and the essence of language, the language of capitalism, then its really about poetry – and perhaps then, advertising is the most successful poetry – in that the metaphor [something standing in for something else] is king. A car is NOT freedom, a car is a planet killing life taking death machine. The resources used in building and maintaining a car are vast and continuous. A car relies on the burning of fossil fuels [of which oil is in ever-dwindling supply something that is completely overlooked in the face of ecocide] a car relies on roads to operate; a car needs people to drive it and the time invested in maintaining and fueling is a 9-5 addiction. Our lives are consumed as fast as the petrol burns. We need a well-paying job to own a car; we need constant access to money to run it; we can’t possibly afford to buy a $20,000 vehicle up-front, so we need credit to buy them. In order to get credit we need assets and income. So, we need to work – mostly employed in work not of our essential choice, thereby denying our real freedoms, as we wage-slave away to maintain our credit, our job, our non-stop consumption-cycle of everything.

So it’s a lie. The poem of advertising cars is telling lies… A car can’t really be freedom – yet its metaphor suggests so. Its emotive content is clear: Buy this car and have unlimited freedom to drive anywhere you like, whenever you like, and don’t consider the consequences – your family will love you and you will be beautiful. Whilst the Literati may dismiss my definitions of Poetry as advertising, in this sense poetry is highly successful – its 30 second brevity, its strong imagery, its humanity all considered and manipulated through language codes means accolades when the product is consumed… Yeah, whatever!

But surely this is an inherently flawed concept. We live in a planet with limited/finite resources, yet we carry on as though the place was a bottomless pit of wealth and prosperity. We forget that our every behavior is at the expense of the bio-sphere, our ecosystem. We forget our place in it, in the scheme of deep ecology. We don’t think in terms of the effect we have on the intimate details of life itself, of the planet’s ability to sustain us. We are supposed to be the “dominant” species on the planet, the rate we’re going there won’t be much to “dominate” soon!

So then, what is it I am really trying to say? Maybe I’m saying that when we write/perform and read/consume poetry, we cannot remove ourselves from the notions of the systems we inhabit. Yet we must attempt to do so in order to facilitate social change for the betterment of humanity – and the great ecosystems we operate within. Werd.

Let your poetry be the struggle. And that is why I am the antipoet… maybe? Fuck knows – you tell me!

Love and respect, The antipoet

allan boyd - may04

web: antipoet

perth indymedia - open publishing

Perth Writers Festival Event

Words Are To Be Spoken - Panel Discussion: Is performing a viable alternative to publishing? What are the academics so afraid of? Miles Merrill, Vivienne Glance, Allan Boyd and Sharon Flindell discuss this thing called Slam...

WHEN: SUNDAY 24th FEBRUARY 2008 (12.30–1.30) as part of the PERTH WRITERS FESTIVAL 2008 Perth International Arts Festival in the Dolphin Theatre at UWA. This is a FREE event! MORE INFO...

03 February 2008


is a new Perth-based performance and publishing venture embarking from the 459 Bar at The Rosemount Hotel on Thursday, February 7.

Held monthly, the Cottonmouth performance project will showcase spoken-word artists, poets, sound artists, playwrights, new media specialists and anyone with narrative art tickling their epiglottis. Each showcase will contain one or two featured performers, sound artists and a number of shorter sets from emerging performers.

Audience participation is encouraged with inclusion of an ‘Open mic’ segment at each evening. A national podcast and print publication will accompany each Cottonmouth showcase.

The expedition aims to chart the outline of the creative enterprises of wordsmiths from across the nation, uncovering the rocky outcrops of talent reaching out to the murky depths. Cottonmouth will gather these treasures for display in one accessible atlas, fixing latitude and longitude, providing a new map for text and sound travellers.

Cottonmouth will expose audiences to work they may never have seen before, from both emerging and established word and soundsmiths. It will also bring new audiences for those producing the work.

Are there words twitching in the back of your throat? Letters searing scars on your tongue and sending spasms through your wisdom teeth? Is there scribble behind your lips and ink on your soft palate?

Are you Cottonmouth?

The inaugural Cottonmouth event will be held at 459 bar at The Rosemount Hotel, 459
Fitzgerald St, North Perth on Thursday, 7 February 2008.

Linguistic pyrotechnics are set to detonate in the mouths of Vivienne Glance, Jay Pruyn, Gabby Everall, Mathas, Simon Cox, Kevin Gillam, Scott-Patrick Mitchell, Bec Giggs, Allan Boyd, Benedict Moleta & Rosemary Halsmith. Master of Ceremonies duties will be executed and exceeded by Tomas Ford.

Doors open at 7pm, with first performance by Benedict Moleta with Rosemary Halsmith at 8pm. Open mic hopefuls are encouraged to arrive early as registrations are open from 7pm to 8pm, only.

Get ready to spit diction at Cottonmouth!

Participants and organisers of Cottonmouth are available for interview. For further information, or to arrange an interview, contact Sean Wilson on 0402 785 592 or email info@cottonmouth.org.au

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