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The Scum Gentry Alternative Arts and Media - Latest Content
Notes of a Professional Voyeur VII - Fiction Serial by Benny Profane

Tonight the bar is unusually quiet. Apart from myself there are only a couple of regulars who are sitting at a table in the corner of the room. Their sense of disappointment at the lack of people in the bar is obvious. They check their watches and sigh while puffing out their cheeks. Every now and then one of them will awkwardly shift their position in their seat.

These men have a curious type of companionship. They know each other from having met in the pub and they never see each other outside of their regular but unplanned meetings here.

Their first encounter was no doubt unremarkable.

I imagine it consisted of nothing more than a sly glance in the other’s direction and a quick ocular...


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Cut Up on Copacabana by David Scott - Book Review by Frankie Gaffney

This review was originally presented in speech form at the book’s launch in Dublin, May 2018


It’s a great honour to be asked to speak about this book, which, like its author, is exceptional. I mean both David and his book are exceptional in the sense of brilliant—but also in the sense of very strange.

The text announces its weirdness from the outset, opening with a series of different dialogues, in which several different and conflicting explanations for the same set of scars on the protagonist’s chest are offered. There is no narrator, the reader is left to chase truth themselves. These playful verbal back and forths immediately call to mind the good-natured dominance...

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Erotic Blackout: Flower - Erasure Art Blackout Poetry  - by Vanessa de Largie

Erotic Blackout: Flower - Erasure Art Blackout Poetry  - by Vanessa de Largie

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Being Sax - Short Story by Jim Meirose

That dog was perfectly trained, my man—that dog would let me know he wanted to go potty, and we’d go on a walk and he would do nothing, just enjoy the hell out of the walk and look all bright-eyed and proud that he had held it and asked me to take him out; as it was generally considered to be the last witchcraft trial in early modern France, the Cadière affair was central to the volatile politics of seventeen thirties France, a time when magistrates and lawyers were seeking to contain clerical power, but, no never mind that all, sure we went out, and then after I was all exhausted from the walk in the hundred degree blazing knifeblade of a super-sharp Summer day, I’d bring him home and let him in, and right after I took off the leash he’d squat and let both numbers out on the floor, and wag his tail and look up and smile at me all big-eyed...


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Is Gardening for Guerrillas? by John Latham

There has been increased turmoil and panic in financial markets over the last week. By Tuesday, $4 trillion had been wiped off global stock marke

Is Gardening Really for Guerrillas?

Guerrilla gardening has been a thing for quite some time. People have been growing stuff on disused sites, unappreciated spaces and private property which does not belong to them. Enterprising and colourful as this may have been, are practitioners of this art urban guerrillas?
An urban guerrilla would actually be in conflict with a government. It is unlikely that an authentic urban guerrilla has much leisure time. Participant observation is not necessary to establish that the majority of governments have the capacity...

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   “Anarchy in the UK: The New Underground Cinema”
     – Jett Hollywood
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Lifesaver - Short Story by Jacob DeCoursey

Once, when I was little, I tried to fix my stuffed animal’s scuffed eye with a Sharpie. I slipped and left a giant blot over its glass retina. My favorite toy. So I tried to add more black to cover it, more and more corrections, until it was completely blind. So I cried. And then I put it into a box which eventually became a mystery underneath my bed.

Tonight’s venue was a refurbished church which homeless-by-choice punksters had renovated into a sanctuary. The final band was packing up their gear when the lights came on while the floor of kids in studded-denim vests began moving like a swirl of bubbles in a murky sea, fragments of the whole breaking off and floating towards the exit. Those who came here, they dreamed of a freedom I couldn’t understand: of hopping trains and sleeping on park benches and sharing cigarettes with toothless...


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Dan Riley - Walk the Other Way - EP Review

Dan Riley is a man of many talents. Not only is the Lancashire-born troubadour a poet of some renown—having found a platform for his work in publications as sophisticated and widely admired as this one—he’s only gone and dropped a five-track EP of easy-listening alternative folk and smooth pop-rock that’s pretty much all hits and no misses. And the whole thing’s available for you to listen to immediately. Well shucks, this must be your lucky day.

Evocative of a host of great forebears from The Beatles through Pink Floyd and John Martyn, “Walk the Other Way” is a pleasing traipse through summery emotions with Riley’s earnest, crooning vocals running the gamut from plaintive and introspective to hopeful and energized, but always imbued with a vigorous, pleasantly-contagious optimism. Here’s a man who...

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Celebrus Enigmatica - poem by Kofi Fosu Forson

1.

Love letters, beguiling Apocrypha, mad days as your tenant.
In that housed hut we begged. Our bodies gymnastically coiled.
Feet on my chest, arms in the air, walking all over me as if fire
Were elemental. That this skinned structure, rib-caged, six-abbed,
Hairless, phallus figmentus could promote misery. Pleasure gained
Was subtraction of heat from cold, therein making flesh symbolic.


2.

Casing of petals for my love. Not disease gathering blood leaves
Split from branches, our life hereafter. Dead as thieves pulled.
Phantasmagoria. Incorrigible at once, what was the heart attack
Found fortune in a beat, gigging of sound from pipes within walls
As we put into place broken limbs. Fell on separate beds, a room
Overlooking soldiers flags in hand, marching bears to hibernation.


3.

The walk on – time when electric sounds permeated the cool.
Fanged faces having at the slit. Hot mouth, blue bulimic burning.
Is this desire? We are farming, burying hoes in sand. Up dig dirt.
Set these seeds within the cavity. Flowers thickening prefab sprout.
With tongue, greed. Isolation. Less couture, more sensationalism.
Love culture. Lead lust. Irrigation system, water from the heavens
Falls flush over wetness of your hair bush. Concentration. Kiss off!


4.

Dominant pill, excessive flagellation. Wind tortures our mind to wake.
Celebrus enigmatica – This land carpeted feet, beauty birthed as book.
Luxuriousness, Gotha. Germaneness, Schopenhauer on your tongue.
Fallen leaves rustling. Perverted neighbors eavesdrop unapologetically.
Sexual discourse. The literally challenged run in a panic having heard
The word “Prosthesis”. Love incandescent. The Letter “O” upside down



Kofi Fosu Forson has written and directed plays for the Riant Theater. His collaborations include Gender, Space, Art and Architecture, a video project, Liverpool, England and Dismember the Night, thread poetry and photography project, Tribes Gallery, NYC. As writer and poet he has published with Three Rooms Press and Great Weather for Media, Maintenant 10, Anti Heroin Chic, Full of Crow Press, Flapperhouse.
www.kofosu.blogspot.com



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Renewable Energy: Cora Sherlock’s Excellent Suggestion - poem by Kevin Higgins

“Over 15,500 human remains incinerated to heat UK hospitals over 2-year-period. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/health/healthnews/10717566/Aborted-babies-incinerated-to-heat-UK-hospitals.html #800babies #outrage @amnesty” – tweet by Cora Sherlock of the Pro-Life Campaign


We must stop giving it away for nothing
—our greatest natural resource—
the Department of Finance estimates
Tallaght Hospital could heat itself
entirely on foetuses properly burnt
in one of those state of the art
energy efficient furnaces that are
all the rage in Sweden.


Within the lifetime of this government
every hospital in the country could be fuelled
by the unwanted contents of visiting wombs.
The minority of cranks aside,
the average foetus would be delighted
to make this small contribution towards
society’s continued warmth.


And when the ban on contraceptive devices
is re-introduced; every last diaphragm,
IUD, cock-ring, and bit of rubber
ribbed for your pleasure incinerated
in a field outside Ballinspittle,
after a blessing by Mother Teresa,
(specially flown in from
the black beyond)
and the conception rate soars
back towards
the traditional twelve
pregnancies per lifetime, two thirds,
we estimate, resulting in terminations,
we can start talking
about the export market.


Economists say the uteruses
of the greater Dublin area alone
could light the living rooms
of a medium sized British city,
such as Bradford.


Education is key.
To get the lady parts of the country
conceiving as they’ll have to,
every pubescent girl,
on her fifteenth birthday,
will be shown her way around
the first twenty pages of the Kama Sutra
by a fully qualified curate
under the age of seventy.


This policy’s success
will abolish talk of deficits
and oil prices. Instead,
we’ll debate furiously
whether to blow our vast surplus
on a few thousand more
unemployed tin whistle players
with the hint of an English accent,
or free nose jobs and tummy tucks
for the wives of the wealthy—the biggest
plastic surgery project in world history
since NASA’s unsuccessful attempt
to build another Joan Rivers.



Kevin Higgins’s Song of Songs 2:0 - New and Selected Poems will be published by Salmon Poetry in April. His poems have been quoted in The Daily Telegraph, The Times (UK), The Independent, and The Daily Mirror. The Stinging Fly magazine recently described Kevin as “likely the most read living poet in Ireland.”



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