Category Archives: Poetry

The Partisan

Let’s just ignore the elephant in the room for a moment, shall we? Yes, for someone who has the ability to speak out against racism and misogyny and homophobia (dons Stroke Bloke hat – or ablism)  to choose to stay silent on these matters is the same as condoning them. So let’s be clear – I’m against these things here, in my life, and in my art.

Does that make me a phobophobe?

Help Ricky figure his shit out in the Apoplexy Tiny Letter. Continue reading The Partisan

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Highlander

Mrs Stroke Bloke and I spent this past weekend in the Highlands. More precisely, we were visiting family in Strontian, on the banks of Loch Sunart. One of my cousins asked if I would be writing about our trip in the blog this week. And since she took me to see David Bowie’s Sound and Vision tour stop in Ingliston in 1990, I could hardly say “No.”

“Scotland, stay with us. I mean, do you know how much this coat cost?!”

But first, please note that on Monday, 4 April, I’ll be presenting Nerd Bait’s latest (and maddest) concept EP, The Gospel of Unicerosaurus, as part of Illicit Ink’s show at the Edinburgh International Science Festival!!!

Continue reading Highlander

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The State of Origins, Pt. 2

A blog established in the aftermath of a catastrophic stroke necessarily dwells on issues of personal identity. There have certainly been plenty of those sorts of posts over the past three-and-a-bit years.

Don’t worry, Dude. I’m going somewhere else with this

But last week found me thinking about the origin stories and “values” of various countries. The French and the Americans have theirs, of course. Forged in, respectively, the white hot heat of revolution and, er, revolution. Eras that demanded flags and symbols and identities around which to rally. Their own spasm-ing bouts of apoplexy, if you will.

So, where does that leave national constructs closer to home?

[Get apoplectic.me’s more whimsical and personal cousin here.] Continue reading The State of Origins, Pt. 2

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Lovelace

In the wake of last week’s post about Post-Capitalism and cyberpunk (and sure, strokes) BBC Radio 4 embarked on its Digital Week. It seemed Britain’s talk station was forever teetering on the edge of a discussion about what the next generation of roboticisation would mean for us humans. But they never quite got there while I was listening. A bit like today’s news stories.

AH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!

A good job, too. Because I don’t know about you, Dear Reader, but I’m not up to another socio-economic post today. However, Digital Week did throw up some gems….

[As always, you can catch the lighter flip-side of apoplectic.me in the apoplexy Tiny Letter here.]

Continue reading Lovelace

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Moon Hop

Phew! What a week!

16 April was the deadline for turning in my Spring semester portfolio. And of course Illicit Ink’s Apollo 21, co-starring Stroke Bloke, premièred the prior night at Edinburgh’s Royal Observatory on Blackford Hill. I’d like to think that Apollo 21 wouldn’t have been possible in its final, polished form without – in addition to great performances and writing by the whole team – the contributions of my super-talented Nerd Bait bandmates Steph the Brain and Professor Paul, who soundtracked the whole thing.

When I say it’s difficult to listen to this without crying, that’s a good thing. But don’t just take my word for it – thanks to 1 Proton 1 Electron for this lovely review.

[You can check out the rest of the soundtrack on Nerd Bait’s Soundcloud page.]

Continue reading Moon Hop

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Jacob’s Ladder

I’m still a wee bit of an American Stroke Bloke. In kind of the same way Martha Stewart is Scottish by sex.

She said it! Not me! To Craigie!

And yes, it’s still weird when the cheese triangles in Subway are “cheddar” and not “American”. And I still say and think “toMAYto”. But on the other hand, I was doing a crossword the other day, and got the following clue….

[Sign up for apoplectic.me alerts here. That’s where the revolutionary thinking is.]

Continue reading Jacob’s Ladder

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Through A Glass, Darkly

In autumn of 2012, they pulled the siphons from my skull, and the spigot from my spine. I slowly started making memories again, but I was rubbish at answering the questions doctors ask patients with brain injuries.

“Who’s the President?” they would ask.

1983. Is the answer 1983?

Continue reading Through A Glass, Darkly

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The Case Of The Peculiar Details

My recent trip to Brooklyn wasn’t all the insides of courtrooms and the outsides of container terminals, oh no.

Sean Connery’s let himself go…

One day, Mrs Friendoftheblogpaul — who knows a good walk when she sees one — suggested we take a wander through Prospect Park and the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. Continue reading The Case Of The Peculiar Details

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Stag’s Leap

The story of my stroke is the story of the characters in my life: nurses and doctors; friends and lovers; and everyone who has wandered through the past twenty months….

There’s no “Little Miss Irreverent”?! C’mon, now.

In the wake of Jeremy Paxman’s recent call for a poetic inquisition — a call for quantification and measurement and exclusion from a white, male member of the establishment — I was surprised by his premise that the citizens of the British Isles are increasingly rejecting poetry. Continue reading Stag’s Leap

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Secaucus

As subscribers to the apoplectic.me Tiny Letter are aware, I left Scotland the day after the European Parliament elections for a trip to New York City.

Not New York City

Well, not exactly. Just as famous Americans like Justin Bieber, Pamela Anderson, Jim Carrey, Alanis Morissette, Neil Young, and Michael J. Fox aren’t American at all, a number of things dubbed as being from New York are from a different State altogether. The New York Giants, the New York Jets and the New York Red Bulls (née Metrostars) all play in New Jersey. Continue reading Secaucus

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