Rudyard Kipling, Penetration & Rebel Inc

I had the good fortune to get these first four copies of the original Rebel Inc magazines recently, also an original chapbook by Edinburgh poet Paul Reekie and A Visitors Guide to Edinburgh, a collaboration between Kevin Williamson and Irvine Welsh. That’s what I’ve been reading this week and it’s been great. A Visitors Guide to Edinburgh is very funny, very old school, very of its time and a nice take on my beloved hometown. It made me remember the first times I took ecstasy, odd little bars and shops tucked away in town and favourite clubs I used to go to when I was fourteen wearing velvet hotpants and platforms – like Pure on Calton Road, or sometimes the bigger ones in Glasgow. The interview between Kevin and Irvine recorded when they had taken ecstasy together for the first time is kind of innocent, it’s nice, it reminds me of what seemed like a hopeful time. I saw James Kelman speak recently on how he felt about being a post-colonial author. He said he did not see the fact he writes in his own tongue, in his own way, as a colonial issue but a class issue and one that has been going back throughout Britain forever. He said he never felt like he needed to stick his hand up and ask for permission on how he wanted to write a story. We need literature that does not hold it’s hand up and ask for permission, that does not sit up nice and play ball, that does not ask politely to be let through doors, we need it more than we ever have done!  I also enjoyed Zap- You’re Pregnant by Paul Reekie. I liked a lot of lines — including fuck you, Rudyard Kipling, or, the radio speaks to me, every bad songs about us or: got to get my flaps down here, excellent. I’m sure I know the private party of the opening poem. I did not get to see Reekie read in Edinburgh when I lived there and will not have the chance to now as he recently passed away, I hear he is exceptionally well missed by those who love him. The Visitors Guide to Edinburgh has Greyfriar’s Bobby on the front of it. I was playing in a punk band in Edinburgh when I was fifteen and there were rumours among the punk community that it would be a good idea to ram raid Bobby right off his marble statue and take the wee iconic mutt hostage. This plan originated from my old bass player Angry Al and was thought up to save a venue that was frequented by many musicians, artists, degenerates and general lunatics and was being closed down by the council. We didn’t do it but it did make me laugh when I saw the cover. I’m off up to my homelands this week and I intend to drink water from the tap, talk loudly in my own tongue at the breakneck speeds we at home call ordinary conversation, have a cup of real tea, go read a poem to a Highland cow (from a distance cos those fuckers are unpredictable) spend some time with friends and also bring me back some stones from my own shores. Below I’ll post a pic of my first band with me Angry Al, and Dave dcb. I think they called me Jailbait as my stage name, our bio said I slept in a body bag and claimed to have been conceived at the exact moment that a pregnant Sharon Tate was slaughtered by one of Manson’s gimps. This would have made me about twenty years older than I am but I was so young when I was gigging that it didn’t really matter much. Sometimes it is the myth of a thing, the creativity of perception, that is what counts. The Failures Bought was taken at the Water of Leith, right down on the docks where we used to rehearse, by an old scrapyard near the rehearsal hut thing we had. Penetrating voices going through my head, I haven’t listened to a thing they said, always there with the answers, won’t suffer the consequences … don’t dictate to me. My favourite song when I was fifteen xxx

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  1. Pingback: Fuck the Mainstream « In Search of the Lost Elation

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