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Closing out the year and rolling into the next with a series of ten essays charting the last days of the poet Keats in Rome. Consider this my Christmas special (sans sleigh bells, fake snow and santa hats) On this day in 1820 the police in Rome began an investigation into the poet John Keats. On 18 December a local magistrate, Stanislao del Drago, first filed a report at the head office and the police opened a case, adding Keats’ name to the investigations register… 3:14 am Complete surrender. A piece I wrote about @petebennettsart ‘s show ‘Headshots’ Big thanks to everyone who joined our live-stream of ‘Body 115’ @bodyoneonefive and Q&A last night. Especially to the wonderful @gregory_leadbetter for conducting such a well considered interview, to @justinbutchertheatre, director, for eloquently explaining just what the hell* this piece is all about, to Melissa Unger @unger_xx for being there from the beginning and of course, perhaps most importantly, to Budge @budgie646 at @audiohire for making it all happen. TONIGHT: A fire dance, a rain chant, an incantation… a live-streamed performance of ‘Body 115’ from 7:30pm… Where we met… and how I left you… Lend me your hand… Two figures, in a landscape, holding hands… Searching for a quick way out? Then this may not be for you… Sometimes we gotta go in deeper, we gotta push on through… Saturday afternoons like this. In the wrong pub, in their pub, in your pub. Lighting up. Not giving a fuck. This was my poem. This was my same again pretending to be someone else poem. Soon it shall be time for my confession. But today, today it’s Tottenham away. Love it. In a season of ghosts… Happy birthday John… Delighted to be joined by Professor @gregory_leadbetter after our live-stream of ‘Body 115’ for a breif discussion at the intersection of theatre and poetry… Up ahead, over the road and then keep going until you find it… A fire dance, a rain chant, an incantation. Not a political slogan, just a suggestion… A short essay about the unendurable beauty of being ignored… I waited for you here. I sat and I waited and the world rolled by. I sat and I waited and then I… This is not a love poem. This is a death of love poem. What was the name of that town we didn’t visit? Where the train didn’t stop? That we passed by in rain? I’d like to go back there. Please, please take me back… A poem for Carlo’s wolf. Open Heart Studio #32. On Substack. Links / bios etc → It happens that I arrive in the rain… It’s the primal scream at the beginning of ‘Revolution’ that became Lennon’s corresponding signature. From ‘Twist and Shout’ all the way through to ‘I’m Losing You’ you’ll hear that primitive yell. I have it in me today. I need to let it out. I need Lennon to show me how it’s done. Sometimes, London, sometimes… N°31 in a series of essays, dispatches and notes towards beauty and the eternal… There’s plenty of badly built poetry out there that should come with similar warnings… Today is the anniversary of the death Vernon Watkins who died 14 years after the death of his dear friend Dylan Thomas. Like Thomas, Watkins also died in the United States, not in sensationalised circumstances in New York, but in Seattle. Playing tennis. More howling into the void, more incantation intended to dispel the effects of bad poetry...

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