Kittens with leukaemia (a lament)

If anyone knows of any cat poetry publications or competitions I can enter this into under an old lady pseudonym I'd be very grateful. I can't decide if this should go in 'Richard Tyrone Jones Has a Big Heart' (the book) or 'Crush All Liberals'.

Kittens with leukaemia (a lament)

Poor leukaemia kitties, will no-one stroke them?
Shivering in the cold, no hair to cloak them
If you ask what feline leukaemia is, here's my answer.
it's an immunosuppresant retrovirus which causes cancer
of the white blood cells and then the lymph
it does not affect the dog or the water nymph.

From poor coat, skin infections and weeping lesions,
these kittens suffer, and also seizures.
They cannot eat what's in their bowls;
these cats are not cats that give many lols.
But bald as they are, they can still purr -
you can still feel affection with manky fur.
Touch the poor moggies, then, feel no fear
man can catch nothing from their sad diarrhoea.

They caught it during their gestation
Their mommy never got her vaccination
their owner was guilty of procrastination
the poor kitties will get no compensation.
I curse the heartless God who has made
both a separate leukaemia, and a separate AIDS
for our feline friends.
They near their end;
Hush now;
don't miaow;
sleep, little kitties, you will feel dreamier
For there is no hope for kittens with leukaemia.

I'm off to have a crank.

My annus horribilis, 2011 resolutions & a poem for you, Because I almost died.

It's been a bit of a shit year, to put it mildly, one month of it spent in hospital. Here's what happened:

January: Knackered, Winter, erectile dysfunction.

February: My 30th birthday funeral a success but exhausting despite my only having to lie there. Joined Archway gym to try and get back in shape. Migraines. A threesome fails to appeal. I think I have a chest infection.

March: More migraines, breathlessness, phleghm. Brain scan (negative). Turns out I had heart failure, blood clot on the heart and a chest infection.

April: In hospital for about three weeks in total. Almost died. Failed. You can read about it here: http://www.utterspokenword.com/news/?m=201004 Moved back home with parents for a bit. Mother... confused. Back on benefits.

May-June: In lots of pain walking. At least I lost lots of weight. Regained weight, in fat. Muscles flimsy. Phleghm creamy. Working on Free Fringe Spoken Word, of which I am Director, helps give me a reason for living.

July: Up all night hacking. Go to hospital. DO latitude festival despite being exhausted and in pain, after all, it might be my last chance. Pretty depressed, unable to cry. Looking at mobility scooters. In hospital (again) for three days. Put on new drugs. Begin to get a bit better.

August: 'Utter!' spoken word at Edinburgh Free Fringe. Manage to get through it, great audiences and performances with support of all involved, especially James McKay and Niall Spooner-Harvey. Housemate, flyering for us, which I was grateful for, is disappointed her peformance doesn't lead to instant fame and stops talking to me. Spoken word at the Fringe a great success, we don't lose money on the show. Full report here: http://www.freefringeforum.org/viewtopic.php?f=65&t=911

September: Erectile dysfunction ends. Failed love affair.

October: Unceremoniously booted out of houseshare. Housemates refuse to say what I'm supposed to have done, but housemate from Edinburgh accuses me of being 'homophobic' and 'sexist', which will come as a surprise to most of my friends, especially female and gay ones. Paranoia can be hurtful not just to those who suffer from it. Thankfully, echocardiogram reveals heart has shrunk and ejection fraction back up to 27%. Bought painting of an Indian chief executed by a retard.

November: Back at home. Becomes increasingly obvious my Mum's memory problems are much more than depression, arthritis, and bad eyesight, though she has these too.

Dad inadvertently reveals he has ankylosing spondylitis, degenerative back condition, which can be hereditary. He has known for all of my life and has never told me or my two sisters, or been to the doctor with it in that time. He doesn't even realise/accept there's anything wrong with this behaviour. If untreated the vertebrae of the spine actually fuse together, causing paralysis.

ICD goes off on dancefloor of The Planet nightclub, Wolverhampton. Two more days in hospital before I find out there's nothing (new) wrong with my heart. Was trying to impress girl who turns out to have boyfriend. I have bad ear wax.

December: Do fun workshop for Harringey Disability forum then go off on well-deserved holiday to Cyprus with parents. Winter sun welcome. Back at home, pipe bursts and house floods. Many books, walls, ceilings, destroyed. Turns out, after much fretting, that we do however have insurance. See in the New Year in a B&B in Wolverhampton.



It's a good job I'm on drugs which, by limiting my heartrate, also make it physically impossible to get stressed. Lucky there are these positive side-effects, as I'll be on these drugs for the rest of my life!

I have been reading quite a few self-coaching books to help me cope with all this shite, but I suspect that what I take to be a mature calm about things may also be a resignatory self-detachment in which nothing means anything.

But I have been trying to 'turn positives to negatives'. I've managed to condense this year of misery through the fractional distillation process of poetry into about fifty minutes of amusing philosophical material: my first one-person show 'Richard Tyrone Jones Has a Big Heart.'

And in a year like this you really find out who your true friends are. So thanks to all of you who've been so supportive, and stuck by me despite my being low. You know who you are. Those who haven't can continue to enjoy how their their petty small-mindedness limits their own lives.

I was determined not to let illness defeat me, even if it could kill me. So a few small pricks certainly haven't got me down. If my own heart couldn't finish me off, at least for the time being, next year will be all about getting around the country, doing gigs, earning money doing what I enjoy, and all the haters can fuck off. Life is literally too short. So here's my New Year's resolutions: if I fail, then at least I fail trying.

Health: Get back to normal walking speed & stamina. Walk daily to work up to finish the Offa's Dyke walk in Spring and walk Hadrian's Wall in August/Sept. Lose half a stone. Reward yourself by watching all of Twin Peaks.

Wealth: Go back to self-employment: tour show, do more workshops, tours etc. Aim to earn £10k next fiscal. Reward: one month's winter sun.

Personal: Find a nice girl, by fishing in the right pools, not just the poetry circuit: one show-off in a relationship is quite enough... Its own reward.

And learn to drive (possible as long as your ICD hasn't gone off again). Reward: Plan driving holiday for Spring 2012.


Here's to hoping we all have a Happier 2011 than my cunt of a 2010 has been.
Here's a poem for you from the show, which I'll be doing at 'Utter!' sickness on Feb 1st. http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=169035279801641. Please do give feedback!


Because I almost died

Now every tenner feels to me
as if it's worth a million
Now every song's a symphony
(except for Robby Williams).
Now every time I'm tired I think
'at least thank god I'm breathing!'
and every time I lose my breath,
at least my heart's still beating.

Thank goodness I can walk,
although I can't walk very fast,
for every step's a giant leap
because it's not my last.
Some folks say 'you've been really brave',
but the reason I've not cried
is that now my life has meaning
...because I almost died.



Now every price tag's ASDA price
every slum's a mansion
each poem I write's a masterpiece
despite its dodgy scansion.
Each B&B's the Marriott
each 'not to be''s a 'be'
Each poet I meet's a laureate
and Everyman is me.

Every splinter is a relic
every measure is a bottle
Every poem is an epic
Each short story is a novel
If life's a search for meaning
I think mine might have arrived
For now my life has a narrative arc –
because I almost died!


Now even the centre of Luton
seems a quaint historic town
All my clothes are Louis Vuitton –
because they're not medical gowns.
Now every open mic's a gig,
and every gig's a festival
and every meal's a gourmet one –
because it's not in hospital.

I thought I was going to be in pain
for the rest of a shortened life -
But as my health has been regained
every girl's a potential wife.
I've retarmac'ed my libidinous parking space
yes, I've got back my sex drive (groan)
but it's sacred now, to feel profane
...because I almost died



Each example is a paragon
Each pot noodle is a feast
Every stroll's a London marathon
Now the acute abdominal pain has ceased
There's a meal in every morsel -
every crisp a whole potater -
I feel practically immortal!
Due to my internal cardiac defibrillator.

Though I sometimes feel like an old man
I'm still too young to die,
I've been through the slough of despond, and
come out the other side.
When things got tough, I'd once get low,
hold thoughts of suicide –
but now I never shall, I know,
...because I almost died.



Yes, every pasty is a Ginster's
Every heckler's a mere wag
Every frog's a princess
and every car's a jag
Every dwarf's a BFG
Each lag's a loveable rogue
Every Summer love's Eurydice
each tramp's ...that bloke out the Pogues?
Every mountain is a molehill
Every puddle is a loch
every sunset makes my soul sing
every ham slice is a hock
The Bill's become The Wire
Every mullet is a mane
Each damp squib's a roaring fire
Every Plan 9's Citizen Kane.
And even if I lose my breath
Each gasp's a laugh in the face of death
I'm shit at chess, so screw you, death
Because I'm still alive.


Yes, If words were bullets I'd be a gatling gun
If hopes were bees I'd keep a hive
Though now it's time I stopped prattling on
about how I'm still alive,
because a lot of people who've had heart failure/been in my position...aren't.

THE END.


Thanks for reading all my moanings.

Poem from when I was 17:

Zopiclone's possible side-effects include 'untrue beliefs' and 'floppy infant syndrome'

A dinosaur looks up and tries to think of a major theme for this poem;
but there can be no major theme for this poem, it is about dinosaurs.

An agrarian scialist looms from his loom to gaze forth
at a future that has been, I'm afraid, long discredited.

And these days postmodernist free verse seems like a good idea,
I shall have my teeth replaced with rust
and sell the real to the rich.




Zopiclone, (brand name Imovane in Canada, and Zimovane in the UK) is a non-benzodiazepine hypnotic agent used in the treatment of insomnia. I've given it the title from a note I made on it underneath the poem. I think I was on it at the time. Probably wrote this late at night like much of my writing throughout my life.

The genetic conditions song (WIP, feedback & suggestions appreciated)

The Genetics 13.10.10 version

(with apologies to Tom Lehrer and Gilbert & Sullivan)

Original: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YgFh6IAQoDA


There's cancer and porphyria and hypercalciuria
adrenal hypoplasia, dystrophia myotonica
and hypochondroplasia, 5 Leiden thrombophilia
And hyperoxaluria, methemoglobinemia,
Classic Galactosemia and sickle-cell anemia
ataxia, hemophilia and beta-thalassemia
propionic acidemia hyperphenylalaninemia, (gasp)
and otospondylomegaepiphyseal dysplasia.


There's Cerebral autosomal dominant ateriopathy
with subcortical infarcts and leukoencephalopathy,
And obesity, acrocephaly and compression neuropathy.
And dilated, hypertrophic, and arrhythmogenic right ventricular cardiomyopathy.


Chondrodystrophy and D-glyc'rate dehydrogenase deficiency,
and nonclassic type demyelinogenic leukodystrophy,
hypoxanthine-guanine phosphoribosyl transferase deficiency,
Adrenoleukodystrophy, and just muscular dystrophy.
And Bourneville phakomatosis, perioral Lentiginosis
Tay-Sachs disease and also type 1 neurofibromatosis
Craniofacial Dysostosis, and just plain cystic fibrosis – gasp, gasp, gasp
Dermatosparaxis and Mucopolysaccharidosis


There's cretinism, dwarfism & hyperandrogenism
pantothenate kinase-associated neurod'g'n'ration
colour blindness and idiopathic pulmon'ry hypertension
and fragile X and triple X and XXXXX syndromes.


And these are just the ones that have had write-ups in The Lancet -
So if you're expecting perfect kids I don't fancy your chances....

[This is supposed to come near the end of the show and say 'Hey, we're all genetically screwed up in some way. So let's deal with it and not worry too much.' And also to ensure I'm out of breath by the end.]

Drugs rap finished. Let me know if its bad enough.

http://wretchedcycloneofbones.blogspot.com/
I may have to lose the last verse, as the emollient and co-codamol aren't technically to combat my heart failure, but its knock-on effects.

I do drugs! (Drug rap)


I'm on drugs, I'm on drug drugs
I'm on drugs, I'm on good drugs
Drug dr dr drug dr drug dr dr dr drugs
Dr Drugs dr dr drugsdru dru drugs dr drugs druuuuugs

There's Eplerenone to block aldosterone
a normally useful steroid hormone
But it increases kidney reabsorption of water and sodium
and their secretion of potassium
Thus increasing your blood volume and pressure
and meaning heart failure can once again getcha
But Eplerenone stops this, lessening blood volume sufficiently
That the heart pumps less blood but it pumps it more efficiently

I'm on drugs, I'm on good drugs
I'm on drugs, I'm on blood drugs

Next, a beta blocker called Bisoprolol
lessens effects of adrenalin & other stress hormones
and thus calms my atrial fibrillation,
social anxiety, and water reabsorption
(Ie it also does the same things as Eplerenone did)
But also knocks nocturnal release of melatonin
So though it's calming, if you take too much in error – / you'd better warn your carer
it can cause cold extremities, fatigue, and NIGHT TERROR!

I'm on drugs! I'm on good drugs!
I'm on drugs! I'm on BLOODY SCARY drugs!


Now Warfarin's usually for poisoning rats
but in my blood it's an anti-coagulant
to stop clots causing strokes or heart attacks
Each day I take enough to kill a elephant.
And I can't take St John's Wort or ingest any cranberries
or drink much and I gotta watch out for red or for black faeces
I get the runs and bloodshot eyes and I'm prone to bleed quite badly
so for the next half hour please don't anybody stab me.

A foxglove-derived glycoside toxin?
that must mean I'm on Digoxin,
Digitalis of old, which primes the heart with calcium,
increasing contractility in the myocardium.
It too slows the heart, improving hemodynamics
and also makes it physically impossible to panic.
Though it might've caused Van Gogh's Yellow Period blurred vision
and may increase the chance of death (but luckily just in women)

I'm on drugs, I'm on drug drugs
I'm on drugs, I'm on sexist drugs
Drug dr dr drug dr drug dr dr dr drugs
Dr Drugs dr dr drugs GAUGIN I MISS YOU drugs druuuuugs


Without Furosemide life would be gruesome
hacking up litres of bubbly thick sputum
Caused by water in the blood not being pumped
out the heart, and instead being forced into the lungs
So without this lung-clearing diuretic
Life would be breathless and pathetic
There's only one problem that can spoil it -
All day I have to stay quite near a toilet.

Ramipril, goddamn I'm ill, is an angiotensin-converting enzyme inhibitor,
and if you want a description of what that is I'll give it t'yer,
by metabolising to Ramiprilat in the liver
it slows the production of angiotensin,
thus relaxing arteries so they're wide as a river
and carry more blood easily. But it's a dandy old wellspring
of side effects: you'll know you're on no placebo
if you get a dry mouth, dry cough or dried-up libido.

I'm on drugs! I'm on good drugs!
I'm on drugs! If I think I'll get away with rhymes like that!


I need skin creams too, not Vaseline from petroleum
but Poundland's own-brand aqueous emollient
I use it as a lube, but don't take the piss
as it's not for my ass but for my ankular psoriasis
And Co-codamol, that's paracetamol and codeine
which metabolizes in the old liver to morphine.
Though I don't take it cos it's an opiate
but for its side-effect: it firms up my shits.

I'm on drugs! I'm on good drugs!
I'm on drugs! I'm on bum drugs!


That's a wrap of my accurate rap description
of the seven drugs in my prescription
And if it sounded like it was all in Egyptian
Just email me later for a typed transcription.

Cos... I'm on drugs! I'm on good drugs!
I'm on drugs! Good blood drugs!
I'm on drugga drug bum blood druggy drug drugs
drugga drugga drug good blood bloody good ddddddddrrrrrrrrrruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuggggggggggsssssssss!!!!!!!!!


The bad thing is I'll be on all these drugs for the rest of my life, the good news is that if I memorise that rap, whenever anyone at the hospital asks me what drugs I'm on, I could just burst out with that rap, as if life is a vibrant hip-hop musical. Or more likely a Dennis Potter.

WIP from 'Richard Tyrone Jones has a big heart': Drugs rap

Every performance poet that does schools should have a rap about drugs.

Mine's pro-drugs, of course. Here's a sample. WIP. Think I should cut each verse down to 8 lines?

Without furosemide my life would be gruesome
hacking up litres of bubbly thick sputum
Caused by water in the blood not being pumped
out the heart, and instead being forced into the lungs
And though it can cause reduced mental alertness
severe dehydration, and sometimes jaundice
Without this lung-clearing diuretic
Life would be consumptive, immobile, pathetic
There's only one problem that can spoil it
All day I have to stay quite near a toilet.

I'm on drugs! I'm on good drugs!

There's Eplerenone for Tyrone Jones,
an agent to block aldosterone
That's a normally useful steroid hormone
as you all know, for renin-angiotensin control
But by increasing kidney reabsorption of water and sodium
and their secretion of potassium
Thus increasing blood volume and pressure
it means that heart failure can once again getcha
But Eplerenone stops it, decreasing blood volume sufficiently
That the heart pumps less blood but pumps it more efficiently

I'm on drugs! I'm on good drugs!
I'm on drugs! I'm on blood drugs!
I'm on drugga drug drug drug druggy drug drugs
drugga drugga drug good blood bloody good drugs!

15 favourite films (off the top of my head, via Danni Antagonist)

The rules: Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen films you've watched that will always stick with you. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes. Tag fifteen friends including me, because I'm interested in seeing what films my friends choose. (To do this, go to your NOTES tab on your profile page, paste rules in a new note, cast your fifteen picks, and tag people in the note.)

oh, and btw: in absolutely no particular order.

1. Funny Games (original)
2. Time of the Wolf
3. Dancer in the Dark
4. Come and see
5. Bladerunner
6. eXinstenZ (yeah, I know, not his best, and Jude Law to boot, but great ideas, visuals and supporting characters)
7. Dawn of the Dead (original)
8. Total Recall (and proud of it)
9. Aliens (see above)
10. Dune (see number 6, replacing 'Jude Law' with 'Sting')
11. Europa
12. Care Bears' adventures in Wonderland
13. Crank. (Hilarious. Crank 2 is a bit far-fetched)
14. Aguirre, Wrath of God (shits on Apocalypse Now).
15. A Kurosawa. Probably Seven Samurai just to be unoriginal.

I will of course change my mind, or perhaps you'll change it for me. I wanted to put 'Shoot em up' in there for pure lols, Terminator 2 or Die Hard 3 for pure Hollywood Action and Sin City because it's the best cartoon film ever, but....

I'm not a fan of Citizen Kane. I know it's because every film since it has copied it that the form seems less than breathtakingly original, despite being the original, but still...

I was joking about 12. Dr Strangelove.