The Best Of A Bad Situation Set for release May 2017

Ayup folks. Loads more dates added in to the Live section.

My debut collection “The Best of A Bad Situation”  will be released in May 2017 through the magnificent “Silhouette Press” who have been a joy to work with. This is an exciting moment for me and the result of a lot of hard graft. My book launch at Fire & Dust, Coventry will take place on this date alongside the awesome Steve Pottinger The Facebook event for this gig is here: https://www.facebook.com/events/1573038666070312/

The Derby Launch party for “The Best Of A Bad Situation will be on: Friday 16th June @The Maypole Bar & Theatre, The Facebook event is here:https://www.facebook.com/events/1919353648295372/

I’m also rather proud to announce that I got commissioned to write a piece for the award winning social photographer Jim Mortram’s rather amazing “Small Town Inertia” project through the excellent”bluecoat Press” so march really was some month for me! If you want to know more about this project hit the link below, Until next time folks take it easy and all that jazz…I’ll update with links to buy my collection when details are ready…All the best. J

Author: Jamie Thrasivoulou

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Bleak, blank, black and white dots

 

Originally Published In CITY-ZINE: Issue 14, July 2011

 

Bleak, blank, black and white dots

 

Today; let’s paint a picture, nothing perfect, but something truly unrepresentative of the truth; Part-scandal/part-fact/part-fiction

The F.B.I decides to take a grassroots approach in a bid to locate and capture an 81-year-old Mafioso member…he’s evaded you long enough let him die running…milk carton advertisements are so last decade.

Will Cheryl and Ashley’s marriage work itself out? Who gives a shit?

There’s loadsa bee’s swarming down Regent Street; a real dilemma for the rich businessmen and their suit-tailoring monopolies; nature has them down on all fours licking the pavement for remnants of honey to soothe them for their loss of money.

Reasonable force can now be used to protect your own property! About time you daft twats- Not that I’d need permission to batter a thief for breaking into my yard; I always use the powers of the force in a reasonable manner… Like Yoda on steroids recovering from extreme- post-gangrene-treatment…you’d have thought Lucas would have sorted it out for him- but no poor old master had to wait for Obama’s health-bill to go through; it looks like he’s gonna be waiting a while for that last medical appointment and that prescription of skin-ointment; Oh to be a pretty boy like Beckham or Depp; unfortunately I left my skin products in safeway on the counter, when I suddenly came to my senses and realized I was a bloke.

Dictate not truths and burn the Thesaurus; one word is enough for any; simplify the linguistic code and replicate our tabloids; simple, short, concise words like; sun, star, and mail…not to mention pretty visions like the times and mirror, mirror on the floor smashed into a thousand pieces.

The shards of a nation fighting not to be Britain…At least we might do well at the footy in the Olympics if Gareth Bale’s on our side….but oh no, what’s this more deceit and lies- The egg firmly on Derby’s face…just what we needed! More bastard redundancies- the perfect accompaniment for a city on its death bed…A city that could be anywhere in the U.K….It’s all just as grim North of London!

Make squatting illegal and carrying a knife ok…as long as you don’t threaten anyone with it.

Teenage Hacker arrested in Essex…clever bastard…smashing geographical stereotypes.

Review the culling of badgers…rate it on a scale of one to five….Stars; just like our government celebrities from the commons,  live, on BBC parliament- Big Brother house to the politicians…Oh how they wish they were Lords…all in good time…failing to heed to warnings from unions….everyone will strike unprecedentedly for their pensions…you aint seen nothing yet Cameron…you and your mate Kenneth are gonna tackle drug addiction in prisons…but we have to ask ourselves a serious question in relation to this grotesque task- is there any gold at the end of the rainbow or is that just a fantasy…hmm the similarities are uncanny…never mind prison what about our other institutions…namely our places of education…nine mistakes on GCSE and A-level papers! Who the fuck is setting the questions? Educational ministerial monkeys…more vigilance required…stop this lingual halitosis and hire someone else to do the job properly…Life in Syria lived in weekly protest; men women and children shot dead in the name of democracy by the orders of hypocrisy…

Greeks contest in Athens-Austerity measures needed; everything is needed…we need to follow America -we can do it best through media; with televised party-debates to fool the nation Clegg’s great. But now we see the true picture and it’s bleak…black and white fuzzy dots just like when the signals lost. Hopeless but not defeated; in dire need of fine-tuning;

And so I wait for the day, when the cats at the top are in tune with us rats at the bottom…but we all know that aint never gonna happen.

 

 

Copyright © J. Thrasivoulou 2012, steal it and bear the ramifications of your actions.

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I don’t know but he does

 

Originally Published in CITY-ZINE: Issue 10, November, 2010

 

I don’t know but he does

Stewart was pacing about, looking anxious. He was waltzing around his living-room in a furious kind of dance. There was no music on. No television either, what was he doing? Was he repeating tribal rhythms in his head? Was his mind simply in another, far-out, more rhythmic kind of place?

I don’t know, but he did, sort of.

-Ware tha fuck avva putit?

I gesture at the cat for some kind of answer…

The first sign of madness is…talking to animals, asking them for answers to questions…Just tell that to the dog whisperer.

-What the fuckin’ el avva dun wivvit? I adit a minit-ago.

I’m just walking around like a complete and utter twat; looking for it. For what you ask, my marbles?

NO

Not quite, I never had them to lose, none of us did. Its water, that’s what I’m looking for. A bottle of; fresh from the fridge, I took it out but five minutes ago. But I can’t think where it is. Where have I put it? The thing with me is; there’s a talking me, and there’s a thinking me. But we’re both different. We aren’t at all the same, in any way shape or form, we are opposite. But we are one; we will always be one, but the water man the fucking water. Why the fuck are you looking in the fruit-bowl? Does it resemble ones thoughts? My thoughts, they aren’t yours no more sunny Jim, you’re a few apples, Sh-short of an orchard my boy, better call FRANK.

-FUCK FRANK, FUCK- HIM, FUCK- HIM, FUCK-HIM AND EVERY FUCKING BODY YOU BASTARD WHERE HAVE YOU PUT MY WATER? WHY DO YOU ALWAYS FUCKING DO THIS TO ME?

I’m, well him; he’s beating the wall…ha-ha, chuckle-chuckle, giggidy-giggidy.

What the fuck am I, I mean he, what the fuck is he doing?

I assure you that these are not my actions; I would never plan such a vile and stereo-typically repulsive act of self-vandalism. The whole thing is bloody preposterous.

And still no fucking water, I need water as well Stewart you buffoon. Where is it Stewart oh where is it sonny? Oh where is it Stewy boy? Where is it lad? Where is it kid? What are you crying for child? Are your hands cut? Do they hurt? Pour some vinegar in my friend, maybe some salt as well, and then tear at your own flesh, with your own teeth. It will taste good, it might hurt at first but escape the pain, let me take over. Mind over matter, you are as good as vegetable matter. A pointless existence leadeth you. Yoda is summoning the darkness, the dark-side of the force. Legislative manslaughter. Cries and whispers and murmurs. God this is fun, man, you’re real fun Stewart!

BUT NOW I’M THIRSTY…

LOOK BEHIND THE DOOR STEWY. LOOK BEHIND THE DOOR.

I’m back, hands hurting, broken but I’m all right, I didn’t eat my flesh if that’s what you’re thinking; Although I may do later, if he keeps on asking me. I don’t like to upset him; I don’t like to upset anyone.

So now I’m gonna look behind the door, whatever he, I, we, mean by that.

-FUCK IT’S FUCKING THERE, ITS THERE, ITS HERE, HOW DID YOU KNOW IT WAS HERE, YOU BASTARD DAMN YOU, DAMN YOU, I HEAD-BUTT GLASS TO FUCK YOU MOTHER-BITCH

He’s gone and head-butted the bloody glass-panel in the kitchen door now. What’s he like eh? Mad as fuck and still no water. He’s out cold instantly; the glass has severed one of the main arteries in his neck. He’s drowning in his own fluid. Blood, Puddles of blood galore, the cat looks on. His eyes remain open, his hand reaching for his own neck, trying to strangle his way to freedom, out of this life and onto another. He doesn’t want to die like this, not bleeding, not on the floor with the cat watching. Not like this.

Then the oxygen and blood, it stops. Gone forever, replaced for piss and shit in an hour or so. And then the stench, the smell of death, it will come to us all one day. But I live on watching him, laughing all the way to his afterlife.

 

Copyright © J. Thrasivoulou 2012, steal it and bear the ramifications of your actions.

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