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The Scum Gentry Alternative Arts and Media - Latest Content
The Cat with No Eyes - Short Story by Louise M. Hart

It was a chill January morning. A stranger approached 11 Allan Poe Close. He stared at the house’s boarded windows and wiped away a tear. Mrs Nopperson, who lived nearby, surveyed the man with puzzlement, for the stranger cast an elegant figure. Tall and stylishly dressed, he looked incongruous with the dreary and conventional surroundings.

Mrs Nopperson advanced towards him, her curiosity aroused like a hormonal teenager. He continued to stare ahead; apparently oblivious to her nearing presence, though she sensed he had seen her. “Proper eyesore, isn’t it?” she began.

Last summer, the stranger relocated to middle England. A stray from his native northern climes...


The Working Man: Lizard Fingers Video Premiere

The Working Man—without a doubt one of the most unique, boisterous and simply balls-out entertaining rock outfits to come out of the UK in recent years—returns with yet another demented video escapade, available exclusively today this 19th of October 2017, and following the election-themed “Look at this Tory Cunt” earlier this year.

Both heavy and melodious, with a suitably deranged keyboard lead that sounds like something that might have been first worked out on the sanitarium “therapy” xylophone—before edging seamlessly into a more old-school heavy metal guitar rendition—“Lizard Fingers” is a delightfully in-your-face...


Outsider Art Gallery

Patience - Watercolour, pencil and Ink - by Charlie McGlynn

   “Patience” – Charlie McGlynn        View More...


The Pearly Fence - Short Story by Eoghan McGrath

Bits of paper and shit build up in the bottom of your pockets. It’s an underappreciated benefit of getting so inebriated you fall asleep with folded up pizza plates in your pants. You wake up the next day, chuck your sweat-greased Levi’s into the machine, and in a week you have a full mossy ecosystem in there. Now, if you work in a job which draws your mind to everything else you can make a sort of game with the mulch. You can draw a line through it with a fingernail, dare yourself to sniff the scree and then go ahead and smell it. It’s an amusement akin to the joy smelling your own farts produced in school. The joy at idly producing a gas which disturbs and garners the attention of those around you. Simon Charlton was a subconscious pocket scree sniffer. His nose wrinkled at the till.

Simon’s abuse began as a means to alleviate...


The Land of the Rising Pun: Dispatches from Japan by Shamuske Cassamura

Fireworks festivals, earthquakes, early morning missile warning wake-up calls, all-you-can-drink bars, crap Irish bars, excellent Goth bars, a Reggae bar that is more like a house party back home, the never-ending awkward bow competition and don’t forget a month of making sure my desk is warmed to the most perfect temperature while I eagerly await the start of the new school term. I’ve lost weight, joined a flash mob, been busted by hotel security in a restroom (you can fill in the gaps), made a whole new network of friends in a short amount of time, visited ancient shrines, taken an escalator up a mountain, had a coffee made for me by a vending machine with a TV on it displaying precisely what’s going on inside as it goes to work and I’ve even returned to the world of public...


Scum Gentry TV

   “ENNUI” – Craig Podmore         View More...


The Breakup - Short Story by J.M. Triangle

In July, Elizabeth packed a red suitcase with all the requirements for a weekend away, shut the door on her apartment and walked to the outside of the building. A woman carrying a bouquet of lilies passed her on the steps. Richard loved lilies, he told her that when they first met at the beginning of spring. Almost everything had been wonderful since then.

What a delight it had been when he told her he was bringing her away on a romantic weekend. Elizabeth had batted her eyelashes and told him how wonderful it would be to take a holiday.

She did not tell him that work had been such a drat—that the manager had begun to look at her in the same mistrustful way that the old manager had done—before he went missing...


World War III: The Permanent War by Zack Breslin

If you followed the news last week, you may have come across three stories that reveal the state of war and peace in the world today. The first was Donald Trump’s announcement that he would now seek to increase troop numbers in Afghanistan, having previously indicated he favoured complete withdrawal. The second was that the recent terrorist attackers in Spain had been planning an attack much larger in scale than the one actually carried out. The third news story appears somewhat unrelated to the first two; the Russian military’s plan to conduct large-scale military exercises in Eastern Europe.

Each of these stories reveals something about the political/military situation that the world finds itself in and are worth highlighting to illuminate the world of war we live in and the catastrophic war we may be heading towards...


Scum Gentry Radio
Scum Gentry Poetry Hole
White Bread - poem by Zachary Knox

    (partially lecithin)

through people’s disguises there lie
more heart than brain which is more
or less the same thing; they’re up in
arms again and demand change yet
become afraid when change came
why are you always too tall or too small
said the mad hatter; it’s really all a mind
over matter kinda thing, choose the
yellow or red brick road
it doesn’t change a thing
Dorothy’s already dead by suicide
at least that’s what the raven
said and reminded us that there
was no use running to kansas
it was already bled dry

* * *


Iowa paid for its soiled shit-
eating grin in Christian ordained
holy sin baked in Irish lice and
three blind mice that staked their
claims on Black Hawk’s land where
he ended up making his last stand
he cut his hair and wore the white
man’s petticoat; he killed a man
when he was fifteen but spoke
gentle even when he was saying
being threatening but what could
it mean for a savage to speak
civil when the white man
stained his hands with only
what was unholy and obscene
to their own native nature?

* * *

    (thiamine mononitrate)

the capitalist pigs just south of North Liberty
Iowa stewed in the gluttony of their mires
for they knew to wallow in shit and to
constantly masturbate was the current style
they laid in corners and conspired to
overthrow the farmer that denied them
more meals as he was often off in the
fields claiming he was only trying to
provide for his family; oh but the pigs
didn’t care for they lived in the wealth
of their denial and wouldn’t think twice
to eat him and his family without due
course or trial after all it was them that
slaughtered them all just another
casualty in the endless mile of
subjective history

* * *


stupid kids stared out from beady
eyes at an antique carnival ride
that was free after they paid their
entry; their stomachs twisted into
gymnast forget me knots as they stood
in the erotic store checkout line
to buy a feeling or the idea of
life attaining some kind of
second-hand meaning that
required them to spin the
Russian roulette wheel of life
and that pleasure or love was the
only thing worth stealing

* * *


life can't just be a doctor sticking
his finger or dick down my deep canyon
and asking me to cough once or thrice
life can’t just be a bottle of syrup mixed
with coke then what’s the problem he asks,
me did you not cum too? well yeah but
I just don’t feel good something builds
in my third eye watch close the anthill
is a sty that fuels the need to deceive

the believer that concedes
the defeat of the other world
despite of me I still can see
the tapestry outside the car
window; ah, I see he says to me, I know
what’s wrong, it’s a rare condition that
can end your life: too much thinking
can result in suicide you need to
get out more and drink with stranger friends

to numb the bowels of inner strife
some of the side effects are the symptoms
that you describe and a slighted
possibility that you might gain weight
but besides that it will set you
free if taken nightly

Zachary Knox’s poems have appeared in Ealain, Penny Ante Feud, and What Rough Beast. He lives in Fort Madison, Iowa and is currently working on his debut novel, “The Hallway”

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Worm Strike Space Invaders Game link
Scum Gentry Poetry Hole
I Am (Not That Into Me, Either) - poem by Louise M. Hart

In Memoriam, John Clare (1793-1864)

I am Van Gogh’s emasculated ear
Severed to diminish feeling, I died before I became real
Comprised of stories no one wanted to hear
And rendered out of mode, like an old fashioned picture book
Disproportionate in words and imagery
When I speak, the herd turns its braying back
I blame them not, for my words would sound prettier
Where my mouth is gagged
By those who only hear words transcribed by waves
Which are fluid, loud and clear
Shedding emotions, like layers of translucent onion peel
I moo aloud, but no one replies
Thus, I sit alone in a crowd of crushing pain and fear
Raise my hand to my head and find that it has disappeared

Louise M. Hart is a writer and poet from the West Midlands. The author of 2 novels, “The General Paralysis Of Sanity” and “The Fantastical Flights of Emilia Gate”, her poems have been published in anthologies and online in “I am not a Silent Poet” and “ArtiPeeps.com”. She blogs at madscribedotme.wordpress.com and is an active Twitter user, where she tweets using the pen name, shunterthompson.

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