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As I have expanded, been puffed up on fictions, deflated, and lessoned, I have been provided with many different uniforms. The grey was for infants; the red was for year 7, year 8, year 9; the blue was for year 10, year 11. Following these numbers I am now in year 26; the uniform is designed to produce as little discussion about the exterior as I can manage whilst at the same time attempting to attract another person in the hope that a conversation can happen which isn't uniform.
The effect of film on my mind when I was younger and on it now is something I am intrigued by. Nobody ever told me it wasn't real -
even though I knew it wasn't. But there was a person called Michael Caine, and a man called what stopped Muhammad Ali who interviewed him. The fact of this matter being that I knew it wasn't real, but there he was talking about his life. So how wasn't he real, when I knew he was, even though he wasn't.
I just ate some more toast and went to bed and wanted to save a girl in school from something - anything, it didn't matter - I just wanted to save her like I had seen it happen on the tele.
lyrics
You can go out on your bike,
it’s alright, just don’t be too late in.
Playing on the building site,
at night, was so exciting.
Lying up awake at night
stars, in the black sky.
So infatuated with a girl
and she wore a red dress.
they all wore this red dress
we all got our uniforms
from the same place I think
school stores
school stores
Braces and straps on my shoes,
a blue box for the sandwiches,
I didn’t like tea yet.
Hanging round afternoons
with Johnny Buckle,
crashing cars in the sunlight and marmite.
Playing along at Zulu
on the white-line sports field,
I watched it on Sunday afternoon.
Michael Caine I love you,
making me duck and shoot
making me duck and shoot.
I want to be like you Michael,
cos you are so cool,
in your red uniform,
killing the natives and
did you get killed I can’t recall.
When it’s spring we will go to Jersey on a plane
and my brother will have to piss in a coke can.
There is a place by a beck is not a river it’s the same,
there was a part of a tree a funny shape. I ate a Club biscuit,
cos I was afraid, of going to school,
hanging on to the sliding doors in the living room.
Which is not under-stan-ding, it is just a way,
there is a sound and a car, a blue Ford Escort,
a rubber plane for doffing out mistakes in pencil,
sitting in a circle on the buffed brown floor, singing Yellow
Submarine with the arms linked,
talking in groups, feeling left out,
a man who stands up. Who’s that?
I’ll tell you about him.
He has the power, cos his name is Mister
Bradley was the headmaster of Hempland
School where I went to - I wonder did he
watch it too. And was it a historically correct
document - I’m talking about Zulu again -
or was he a bastard – Michael Caine I mean -
no he was on a talk show,
and there are pictures of him
round his mam’s in the sixties
smoking fags and drinking tea…
Recently I watched a man on TV
knock another over
because he let him, on the tele.
There is a place it has something, I can’t stay away,
we did something on the field for science on Monday,
a kid had to go all the way to the end of the sports field
and crack some cymbals. The sound travelled
but slower, and that is the speed of light and sound
but what about thought? dissatisfaction like a wall
in a mansion of a man who is dead.
And how am I here? When I was there,
in a blue uniform, a red uniform, a grey uniform,
a blue sailor suit, carried home from the hospital,
where my mother pushed me into it,
and out of that I am grateful, I think.
This album by Kenyan electronic producer rPH and poet Kins of Spade reflects on the impact of religion in their lives and society. Bandcamp New & Notable May 12, 2023
