Going out of print is not the same thing as selling out

'Withdrawing in Disgust...' - volume 1 of my poetry will soon be going out of print for a while...maybe a whole year.

I have three copies left in stock which can be bought via http://lessthanfivehundred.bigcartel.com or from HiFest on December the 5th. There may also be random copies left at Whatever Comics, Canterbury, Creek Creative in Faversham and Housmans in London.

Beyond these copies it is my intention to let the book go out of print for a while. Firstly, I'm running out of table space at events and space in my suitcase to actually take them in the first place. Secondly, the plan is to eventually redesign Volume one and bring it in line with the other two books. When Lorna and Matt Morris and I conceived the first book, the visuals weren't integral to it and the photos we included were an afterthought as much as anything. As soon as I got involved with the distressed visuals in 'Peace..' I knew I would eventually have to go back and redo the first book.

And that's the plan, but with Foxhole Magazine and the final year of my BA, it will probably have to wait until the end of next year.

If anyone wants to do a bulk order of vol 1 (that's 10 or more copies ordered in one go), please drop me a line at callard_bowser@hotmail.com and I'll try and sort something out with a small special print run just for you.

If not, congratulations to anyone who owns a copy of vol 1 - you now have a limited edition book of (wait for it) less than 500 copies, and barring bulk orders or another opportunity to sell at a Banksy installation, there will be no more of that version.

Thanks for reading.

Thanks to anyone who bought a <500 book/zine at @DIYCulturesFair today and a huge thank you to the volunteers who manned the communal table!

Please join me in my new brainless haiku project by sending me a random word via @haikutrumpet on the old twitter.
Let me brighten your day (or make it worse)with 17 syllables...

DIY CULTURES 2014

TAKEOVER - MAY 10TH

Kids today, eh? tsk, tut, etc….

Today I told some of my HND classmates that I turn my 'phone off at night and sometimes I don't even look at it all day. "WHAT?!?" They responded (and I am not embellishing at all), as if I had just admitted that my favourite hobby was rummaging in kids' pants…

THE CRAP WEDDING

There really is nothing quite so life affirming

As being sat at a table

With eight complete strangers

At a wedding reception

With barely enough alcohol to drown a flea.

That is, if your life is a pained, awkward, silent,

Elongated existential crisis with unfamiliar faces

And nowhere to escape to.

By way of an ice breaker,

The man next to me asks if I like logic puzzles.

I laugh and say no,

To which he replies,

“You have to ask a meta question,”

Which has to be the worst and weirdest opening ever.

I should have asked him

If he was enjoying his pate

At the quantum level.

WHEN STATIONERY IS NOT STATIONARY

This one is for Tom (and Becky, if that was her name...)

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?

I have one day off

And come back to find

That someone has tidied my desk?!?!

“I didn’t want to throw any of it away,”

Admitted the culprit, the one-day desk squatter

“So I put it all in piles.”

Yeah, except for the folder,

Which is now on the wrong side of the desk,

The stapler being in the drawer,

With the pens and the post it notes

Where none of these things EVER LIVE,

And the ruler,

Which has magically migrated to your own desk.

Look at it, this is chaos;

You people are the worst kind of terrorist

Why don’t you come ‘round my house while I’m out next week

And glue all my furniture

To the ceiling? 

SHAMELESS PLUG #18

Yours truly has had a poem published in Vol 3 of the Poetic Bond series:

I'm even on the cover with an unsmiley face. Clever or wot?

You can check it out at www.thepoeticbond.com/‎

or at good old Amazon...

LIKE A CLOSED BOOK

She had a faced like a closed book

A book that you had heard was shit

And almost certainly didn’t want to read

But nonetheless, there it was

Every day,

In your face,

Like Fifty Shades Of Grey

Only shorter,

But just as thick.

NONSENSE

You’ll pardon me

If I stop talking to you

For the rest of my/your life

(delete as applicable)

But I have found

That some people take most of what I say,

Which is at least fifty percent nonsense,

At face value

And despite this being their mistake

I am the one who looks foolish

Suggesting that all the world leaders

Get together and make sandwiches

To resolve all their problems

RABBIT

The problem with people like you

Is that you never shut up

They say it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for

That’s because they’re the ones

Busily plotting your bloody demise

While you rabbit away incessantly

About nothing

Nothing

And nothing.

IF I SAW THEM NOW...

If I saw them now

And they asked me how I was

I would probably smile and give them

A half-lie:
“Oh, you know,

The same but different, whatever,

Same shit, different place,

Let’s face it, we’re all (just) engaged

In ongoing acts of futility

So what does it matter?

That said,

At least I don’t have to put up with your particular brand of shit

Five days a week,

So,

You know,

Every cloud…”

WEBSITE UPDATE

The new <500 website is now up and running at www.lessthanfivehundred.com, featuring bonus content, shop and more.

TEAM MEETING

Thursday afternoon

Sat around a table

With all the other dupes

Enduring

The longest

Hour

Ever

I would rather chew my own face off

Than be here. 

BORED WITH DOGS

THE ADVENTURES OF GOD AND STEVE, PART ONE:

“BORED WITH DOGS”

“Dum de dum,” muttered God, as he doodled away at his latest creation. He was in no hurry, and wanted to try and get things right. As he hadn’t invented time yet, he had loads of it to spare. He had only just invented irony too, and was still enjoying the novelty.

            How they would marvel at all the work he had got done in seven days, while they themselves would be constantly running out of time. God had a good old chuckle to himself at that one.

            “What’re you up to now?” Asked Steve, who God had created on the second day to keep him company. Steve had originally been a moth, but had been eaten by something God called a ‘cat’, so God had made him into a medium sized man thing with two legs and a tail. No cats had attempted to eat him since then. God was actually thinking of turning Steve into a donkey the next day, but he wasn’t sure what a donkey was yet.

            “It’s like a dog,” God told him. It’s a new kind of dog.”

            “What does it do?” Asked Steve.

            “Not much,” Admitted God, “But it looks nice. Here,” God held up a preliminary sketch for Steve to see.

            “What’s up with its tail?” Asked Steve. “It looks like it’s stuck to its back.”

            “I got bored with dogs,” God confessed. “Tails flapping about all over the place. So I glued this one to its back.”

            “It looks like it’s showing its arse off,” Commented Steve.

            “Maybe it is,” Said God defensively, though he hadn’t really given it that much thought. He just wanted it to look pretty.

            “He looks quite happy,” Commented Steve, “What’s it called anyway?”

            “This,” God proudly pronounced, “Is called a ‘wolf’”.

            “Cool,” Said Steve, “Is it going to have legs as well?”

            “Oh yeah,” Mused God, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

                                                                            *

BORED NOW

(Did this one yesterday before it popped out, then forgot to post it)...

“Does anyone know what it’s going to be?”

Well, chances are

It will be:

Born with a silver spoon up its arse

Burdened with the weight of unrealistic expectations

Christened the saviour of the monarchy

Have its future decided for it

Worshipped by the press

Harassed by the paparazzi

Paraded in front of the world like the second coming

And given more opportunities to succeed daily

Than most of us get in our entire lives

But

It may also

Have big ears

A fat nose,

And a shitty backside

Above all else

IT’S JUST A FUCKING BABY

FOR STEVE

We met Steve on holiday

It was evening

And he appeared

Outside the restaurant

That overlooked the sea

And without warning,

Shat, or puked,

I forget which,

By the side of the road

His attempts to gain entry

Were met with disgust

And a sharp kick in the guts

From the staff

But still he persisted

Wailing

For food

Or attention

We didn’t know

We didn’t speak his language

Eventually, Steve gave up

The begging

The pitiful noise

And slunk around the corner

Into an alley

Where he lay down,

We thought, for a sleep

He was silent for a while,

So we carried on,

Felt sorry,

Eat food, and

Drank

And noticed that Steve hadn’t moved

For a while

In time, another cat came along

Sniffed the air

And looked at Steve

With big sad eyes that said:

“Steve? Steve?”

Those eyes already knew

That it was too late

That all was not well with Steve

It left quietly, perhaps

To go and tell the others

That Steve was dead

Later, we heard the scrape

Of metal on concrete

And looked out, to see

Nothing

Steve had gone

Shovelled away into the night

THIS IS HOW IT ENDS

This is how the world ends

Jammed on a train

Outdoing each other with blurts of noise

Rustling papers

Scrolling aimlessly

Through the latest lists of nothing

Dying for a piss

Or for some bloody leg room

Some relief from this dull skullache

Some relief from tomorrow

Living in between is not enough

COVER FOR CONNECTING SOMETHING WITH NOTHING

Due in August from Influx Press, featuring writing by Mark Beechill and others...

Available to pre-order at a special price from http://www.influxpress.com/