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Normal Tea

by Mark Wynn

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    36 page magazine of words and the lyrics to the songs as best as I can transcribe them, and a CD.

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Because I don’t know anything about it, I think it should be hard. I assume so and a little place off the main road ate some spring rolls, not wanting a fag. I can’t wait for this to be over when it’s done I can / start again. My lungs are fucked, basically, he ses, mooching with a fag on the go. My lungs are fucked, basically, he ses, mooching with a fag on the go. Vitamin tablets and washing drying by the sink, pants and socks and stuff like that: a hoover, a hoover a hoover a hoover; pants and stoff and stuts like that: and a hoover, a hoover a hoover a hoover. But no I don’t want to moan about it, why do that when it could be diff-er-ent. Romantacize a freezing flat, to romantacize the old long hair on your back. Lovers picking scabs, lovers picking scabs. I have a problem with photographs of me on the internet I can’t get rid of. Can’t you just take it off? ‘Oh no, we can’t.’ Why? ‘Because, it’s... / something to do with it. Stroll down the boulevard of bollocks. I just wanna take it off. I don’t like how I look, cos I look like I think, I thought, I was that, when I wasn’t, and subsequently realized it were nowt, but an attempt, at an accent and I don’t know what mine is. (It is to be noted that I am not disliking how I looked, but actually how I look, in a picture of how I looked - I think I look like a picture – I think it’s me.) All through the above I am doing the say: ‘I look like a knob, I look like a knob, I look like I don’t think I look like a knob hence I think that I look like a knob.’ This is because, there are many things done in the time allotted. And to do it, without mess or mistake, is simply not something I am capable of doing. And so’s I boogie the do, and ask you politely, kindly, to please remove that video of me from the internet, that picture, that interview when I was reading too much shit shock literature, that comprised of depth like a snowflake, puddle, worn shoe, or cough sweet. Extra statements The question often posed: if you really don’t like it, why do you keep doing it? More to the point, what if what you want to do, involves doing things you don’t want to. Example: I want to see my friend, I really don’t want to make myself sick off the bevvy; I want to know what is happening this weekend, I really don’t want to know who is dead I’ve not met, and to think that that hour, looking at what I shouldn’t, could have been spent reading one of that pile of books by the bedside. I want to wear my body warmer, I want to wear a different coloured shirt, but the colour doesn’t go with the shoes I don’t like, and everytime I go out at night it’s nearly the morning already, so why can I never get enough sleep? Stopping one thing for another is not a way to avoid all extraneous noise; starting a new thing is not so shiney you might like it. It is really very simple, change is a questionable pleasure – but so is the comfort of the same thing, over and over. Recently, everyone in the building was given a lanyard, so everyone knows who everyone is and to stop the younger ones getting anxious. The people paid to think up things like this put a bad image around everyone’s neck in order to lower their levels of anxiety. They wear this picture of themselves they don’t like and look embarrassed. And then the official emails of irritation: Please stop hiding it down the front of your jumper. And the officials, outside, they don’t like it neither. In their bright jackets they tell them to take it out so we can see it, this is important, just do it. But your accent, where is it from? Because mine is from the things I watched over and over. Or it is from what I grew up with. But I grew up mostly alone listening to music. And in every documentary I saw, the man from Burnage always swore. And in every other book or film I watched, the accent was always not what was nearby. But I wasn’t nearby, I was in the screen somewhere distant, up a tape machine and away. So that’s probably why I don’t sound like I should do. But if I did what I should do, I wouldn’t do what I did. And it’s what is i’m concerned with. It has to be. Otherwise i’m concerned with how it should be, and that’s just shonky.
Cashmere 01:30
According to the digital distributor this is ‘unlistenable’. I don’t know what they’re talking about, i’ve listened to it hundreds of times. No smoking. Can I put a poster up? Zoom. Vast and a moon and a dirty window, eggs and bacon. That’s a diary with a dog on it. I’m tired, and i’ve got a chest pain / in the other room, is a tele program, they’re watching on domestic abuse, domestic abuse. Look up at the ceiling / I can calculate back. Feeling something is frightening, i’m alone in company which means (summat) you are at home. I know, cos I followed you along the walls around parts are made of glass, with one of those gripper things / flipper was a movie. Catch me out, in games, I can’t, stand, is a sad face, su-i-cide, legger head, legger head, legger head, in the disco, with Jason. And all your records are scratched, cos I came home pissed and scratched em, because i’m pissed off about you not emptying the bin. That’s a dog with a diary on it, happy birthday. Cash-mere. Cash-mere. Cash-mere. Cash-mere. Tryna buy shoes, but you can’t buy shoes. If you buy shoes, you gotta get some jeans suit the shoes. Them jeans don’t suit them shoes. Suit the shoes. Suit the shoes. My jeans don’t suit my shoes. Turn em up, or maybe get em taken in, or maybe you should just, stop reading Mens Health Magazine.
‘Can you play something we like?’ I am not here to make you like me. If I was here tryna make you like me i’d be stood at the bar drinking a pint agreeing with everything that falls out of your face. After this, I was at Justin’s, and Luke beat the game on impossible mode, and said it wasn’t impossible / and I had to agree with him. Turning around in queues walking around in bent heel shoes. ... Much time I have spent, standing at the bar agreeing with everything that falls out of your face. Doing which, it has got me, precisely, a large amount of ale. However, having stopped placing the ale in my insides in order to converse, I have found it much less appealing, to be standing at the bar, agreeing with everything that falls out of your face. And yet still they pile up, because I am incapable of saying ‘No’ to the one who is refusing to take that word for an answer. Because of this, graciously, I watch the pints pile up on the bar top, and the bar man looking over, as if to say: ‘Markie, what’s with all this abstinence thing going on? Will it be lasting long? Any problem?’ And I reply, not saying: No, Mr Barman, no problem. I am just in agreement with things. I have observed it to be an easier way, over the years, to act in agreement with things. I have also found it is a nicer way to be with most others as well, or at least I have tried to be considerate of another persons position except of couse when I haven’t. My only problem is when people do not reciprocate this and agree with everything I say. I suppose I should buy more beer for people. Yes, this appears to be where I have been falling down.
Tab-Driver 01:01
A place is just a place till you think something of it; dirty plastic, and eye glasses. I forgot to get a something of my Gran, and she never liked being called Nana, but I call her it in song because it sounds better in song. Nana. Nana. Nana. Nana. Nana. Nana. A man ringing up to have a cab booked at the station for him via someone called Emma. Balls. ‘Are you not going to roll around in broken glass?’ ‘No, of course i’m not. Why would I do that?’ I used to come here for your applause. Then, when I didn’t get it, I came anyway just to wind you up, and because I knew that there was nothing else but to do it; secretly, I still craved your applause, and now when you want it, I can’t be arsed. Note: Nana because of banana. She didn’t want me calling her fruit.
Clout 00:42
Delicious 00:48
I dare you to put the word delicious in a song. No. Delicious. When a stranger looks at you and says, ‘It’s you!’ and you look back and say, Fear sound! Delicious. And the shops are closed and the Pope is popeing about somewhere, and people are in places off of their faces. Delicious. And running races, and realising doing more charity gigs – is - good for the profile. ‘We’re going home cos you’re not doing what you’re told.’ ‘I just wanted to kick the stone in the sea.’
Crap chairs - in the cafe - and I can’t make - conversation. You shouldn’t sleep in the day, you get crabby. ‘We were all up night on the sugar.’ Making plans, putting on bands, talking to a man who hasn’t washed his hands. ‘All up all night on the sugar.’ I wanna dress my age. ‘Battered drinking in the woods.’ Kidding yourself and then the body it bites, and it ses, ‘No, understand me, forget all a that I am your bad back. I am your bad side.’ And your, knees? Drinking in the woods. ‘And your knees.’ You’ve said that. Don’t skrimp on food, spend your money on food. Don’t skrimp on food. A startling number of works of genius according to the internet / my knees hurt hips and the sounds of a washing machine works but still not right / my friend was drunk and there was a screen over the drinks at the back, showing lots of bits of films and old cartoons living in a small womb, talking to a woman / ‘Did you just say living in a small womb?’ Stop sucking the BBC’s cock. When I think of it, it’s a number of things to be bothered and not know.
Crank, house, towels and cutlery. She wants to kiss, in a taxi. Me too. A smattering of associates, no friends, and a man who threw a McDonald's milkshake at me. And someone is trying to have fun somewhere, the heat has taken them out of the house. ‘Ooh it’s nice out. Let’s go to a place and sit and...’ Let’s move to London and eat a brownie in a car park and drink a bevvy on a bench and get a job, in a place we can’t get a job. the centre of which is not here, extra bit : But we could probably, couldn’t we? But then what would happen when someone got ill? ‘Oh, you are so selfish, you and your chuffing career.’ ‘My career? I didn’t even want a career. I just kept reading all the signs that kept saying I was important. I can, they said. I am and I will. And I just thought, what other option is there. I mean, I can’t work in a cafe all my life, can a? Or maybe I can. But it’s going to make love and a house and all the rest of it a little tricky, innit? No, regardless of what you’re saying, I’m gonna continue reading the signs, the ones that say, I am to get away somewhere to be the thing I am not now, to be that there, and we can sleep in the afternoon because we work from home, by that I mean, this place I feel small in, anonymous (do I mean dead?) and alone, is now my knew home, I decided it for me, the decision was all of my own making, and yet I wonder, if this is what I was after why it doesn’t look anything like I thought it, when I was thinking nowt about it until that meeting with the careers officer. I mean, I’d thought about it kinda, sat on the sports field, swearing at daises,. But not enough to uproot us. I just really think I didn’t. Also, Mark ses it was gunna be called Brownie in a Car Park. But then he asked if it sounded incorrect, and my mate said yes. So he didn’t call it that, because he don’t feel he can say a confectionary without someone thinking he means what he didn’t. This is the problem with the things there that aren’t you there saying them, you can’t explain – unless you spend the whole gig explaining – which I might do sometimes. Perhaps that is the point I am trying to make? Or, maybe, there is no point I am trying to make. But if I come to that realisation too much I won’t get paid to go to different places occasionally, to see what that’s like, which helps me not drown in how it is like where i’m from. Must I defend myself in this way? If not, why am I writing this? Am I still trying to unlock me? Why have I stopped answering my questions?
Normal Tea 01:42
I’d like to leave the shaven hair on my face, but it won’t stay in the place it’s mean to; i’ve got a tache that looks crap. Oh, I don’t like it, you don’t like it, if you liked it, maybe you’d tell me: ‘Mark, I like that, I like your crap tache.’ Thanks, very much. ‘Would you like a drink?’ ‘I don’t drink. Thanks for asking though. And I hope you didn’t read that bit in the lyrics to Bent Heel Shoes.’ ‘Are you calling these lyrics?’ ‘Hmm… Let’s go stand outside. Oh, it smells of smoke out here, and my clothes smell of it now. In the morning, I wake up and I just want to reach for someone and there’s nobody there, I gotta move all the tissue out of my way. Cos I can’t sleep unless I ‘ve got to stop saying that that’s gay, cos it’s not PC anymore, but I can’t help doing it cos I did it when I was a kid and I just... These things I wasn’t meant to do, I mean, it’s not my language it’s your’s: Normal Tea. Normal Tea. Can I have a cup of - no, I don’t - why? - I want some herbal tea, i’d like a peppermint tea. You’ve sang a song like this before, but you have’t actually released it yet, so, maybe you just continuously shouting things about herbal tea, and putting them in your laptop, and listening to them on trains and thinking: Actually, i’m not as bad as I thought I was. Why did you not? Come back. Stop, walking around. What do you mean?
If you can do a better version of transcribing the lyrics to the story of Thin-arse-twigs, then send it me. Cos I struggled with this one. Thin-arse-twigs, not coming in from the trees, at the end of his street, cold and / fuzzed up, in the woods, where the crisp packets are from ages before, like, crap archaeologists, found that / invent crispbread, market, late in the past. The past is now, buy more fried potatow. buy more fried potatow. As in potato (keep up). Sorry. A man in a train station, holding an electric razor. A man in a train station, holding an electric razor. Or was it me? Or where was it me? A man in a train station, holding an electric razor. It hard from now, the next train delayed and so a hot cake, why not? bake bake bake bake bake bake bake satisfaction. The illusion of a photograph I printed out on the computers at school. You have a lot of moans about his music. Well, you don’t like it, go away. The illusion of you can wear that shirt all you want, you still give your money to Bon Jovi were alright when I was fourteen. No, my love is like Bad Medicine is on the shelf, in the fridge there were some old cucumbers we had not eaten them, the salad I made was shite. I just couldn’t get it together with the marinade. A lot of things on the table at the moment, on the tele. A lot of things on mine too. Cheese, glasses, carrier bag, bottles of sauces i’m not gonna throw out. Nah i’m not coming out. No, come on. No, i’m not coming out. The Man from Laramies on at four and 3:10 to Yuma.


Normal Tea was written and recorded by the time I was 29 I really didn't think I could be arsed anymore. Because of this I asked a man for the money he owed me and he said a lot of things on his part of the internet and not much on mine. Because of this I bought a copy of a copy of a copy of a lot of people recently have huffed when I've made another point. I haven't minded enough to comment but I have noticed that the lessons been curtailed by ten minutes so they can get their collective cars out of the car park. Collective cars? Bars are beautiful places to find your perfect match probably doesn't go out and get smashed till two most nights of the weekly. Mine own estimation on why you're deficient in that vitamin is if I tell you you'll want to know again why I don't take paracetamol when I get all the headaches you have that I don't.

I blame Andy Gray.


released January 30, 2019


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Mark Wynn York, UK

Based on a true story.

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