EXCLUSIVE • INDEX SIN CD 9 #5 | poems r us

Late night poem for Holly. Originally here.

▼ SIBLING IB + SONIC YOUTH: INDEX SIN CD 9 #5 (IB's PROVIDENCE MIX) from  
    "Bleachers In Dub" CD IB (IBCD 001) (UK) 2018

EXCLUSIVE • three inked nudes | poems r us

For the Mark E. I don't, by habit, subscribe to obituaries. Here, here and here.

   NAKED
▼ SIBLING IB: THE RETURNING BALLAD OF THE BURNT FISH BONE from "Naked On 
    The Bleachers" CD IB (IBCD 002) (UK)
▼ SIBLING IB: BUTCHER'S GIRL from "Naked On The Bleachers" CD IB (IBCD 002) (UK)
▼ SIBLING IB: FAT CUNT from "Naked On The Bleachers" CD IB (IBCD 002) (UK) 2018

     UPDATEi
    MIXES
▼ SIBLING IB: THE RETURNING BALLAD OF THE BURNT FISH BONE (IB's LONG JOHN 
    SILVER MIX) from ""Bleachers In Dub" CD IB (IBCD 001) (UK) 2018
▼ SIBLING IB + SVEN WEISEMANN: FAT CUNT (IB's SPHERIC MIX) from "Bleachers 
    In Dub" CD IB (IBCD 001) (UK) 2018
▼ SIBLING IB + FAUST: BUTCHER'S GIRL (IB's RAINY DAY DRY MIX) from "Bleachers 
    In Dub" CD IB (IBCD 001) (UK) 2018
▼ SIBLING IB vs. KING TUBBY + SCIENTIST: BUTCHER'S GIRL (COPPER SHOT DUB) 
    from "Bleachers In Dub" CD IB (IBCD 001) (UK) 2018
▼ SIBLING IB • GUS GHOST • KEN RAMSAY: THE RETURNING BALLAD OF THE 
    BURNT FISH BONE (GHOST MIX) from "Bleachers In Dub" CD IB (IBCD 001) (UK)
▼ SIBLING IB: THE RETURNING BALLAD OF THE BURNT FISH BONE (BRØTHERHOOD
    OF DUB REMIX) from ""Bleachers In Dub" CD IB (IBCD 001) (UK) 2018

EXCLUSIVE • open invitation | poems r us

"MIX UP ON THE BLEACHERS!"

Fourth instalment in this series on the BLEACHERS. In which we throw out an open invitation to all visitors: take a naked reading for a test drive, and create your very own mix. Whether you're quick on the DAW or simply a budding conjuror, there are no prerequisites beyond your enthusiasm for all things dub. All we ask is that you submit your end product here for download and potential issue on a strictly limited CDR. If you would like to participate in our project, we will be hosting naked readings on the bleachers for that purpose in the coming days, in addition to selected mixes by the Ghost Men. Originally here, here and here.

   NAKED
▼ SIBLING IB: MONK'S GIFT from "Naked On The Bleachers" CD IB (IBCD 002) (UK)
▼ SIBLING IB: AFTER SIBERIA from "Naked On The Bleachers" CD IB (IBCD 002) (UK)
▼ SIBLING IB: TORRO! from "Naked On The Bleachers" CD IB (IBCD 002) (UK) 2018

   MIXES
▼ SIBLING IB + GUS GHOST: MONK'S GIFT (GHOST MIX) from "Bleachers In Dub"
▼ SIBLING IB + GUS GHOST: AFTER SIBERIA (GHOST MIX) from "Bleachers In Dub"
▼ SIBLING IB + GUS GHOST: TORRO! (GHOST MIX) from "Bleachers In Dub"
    iUPDATEi
▼ SIBLING IB + THELONIUS MONK: MONK'S GIFT (JEREMY RAVEN MIX) from 
    "Bleachers In Dub" CD IB (IBCD 001 • 003) (UK) 2018
▼ SIBLING IB + DELINQUENT HABITS: TORRO! (N∅ MIX) from "Bleachers In Dub" 
    CD IB (IBCD 001 • 003) (UK) 2018
▼ SIBLING IB + LEGENDARY PINK DOTS: AFTER SIBERIA #3 (JEREMY RAVEN MIX) 
    from "Bleachers In Dub" CD IB (IBCD 001 • 003) (UK) 2018
   
ROLL UP! ROLL UP! • JOIN OUR MIX UP ON THE BLEACHERS NOW! • ROLL UP! 

EXCLUSIVE • billy the kid's last breakfast | poems r us

The third instalment in a series of readings on the BLEACHERS. Once more, with mystic instrumentation supplied by Gus Ghost. My mixing is still very rudimentary, to say nothing of the actual vocal recordings, but it is what it is. Originally here.

▼ SIBLING IB with THE GHOST MEN: (PAT GARRETT) UNTITLED #1 from "Bleachers In Dub" CD IB (IBCD 001) (UK) 2018

EXCLUSIVE • triage | poems r us

The second instalment in a series of readings culled from the BLEACHERS' back pages. Please bare with me. The naked essence of the recording may drift into the red on occasion. A streaker stepping off of the benches to tango up in blue. Originally here.

▼ SIBLING IB: TRIAGE from "Naked On The Bleachers" CD IB (IBCD 002) (UK) 2018
▼ SIBLING IB • jONDER • NATHAN NOTHIN': TRIAGE #1 (NØTHIN' REMIX) from "Bleachers In Dub" CD IB (IBCD 001) (UK) 2018

EXCLUSIVE • mon uncle | poems r us

Brothers and sisters. Siblings all. As promised earlier, SibLINGSHOT ON THE BLEACHERS is pleased to present the first instalment in a series of esoteric readings culled from these very pages and brought to life by the magic of an ailing ethos digitalis. Ably backed by Gus Ghost, this first reading is dedicated to the legacy of Joe Meek. In addition, I would also like to thank brother jonder for his abiding curiosity and politeness in the face of rude dereliction. For those of you of a fragile disposition, a subtitled text can be located here. Thank you.

▼ SIBLING IB with THE GHOST MEN: MON UNCLE | LATE NIGHT #2 from "Bleachers In Dub" CD IB (IBCD 001) (UK) 2018

kollaps #1

music

If you listen hard enough you will hear

            the music

it is there in the punctuation:

            the comma, the semi-colon;

most of all it lives, hides, in the full stop

            period.

A rosebud unfurling

            runaway cargo in a primed syringe

elastic delay at the junction

            between clenched fist and elbow

A moment of clarity

            where once there lurked cloud

a prelude to a rude excision

            the post-mortem of a kiss

If you listen close enough you will hear

pennies

"To perish there among the crabs and anemone sewn across the dark seabed."

It was the Hallmark spectre of a Christmas looming which officially stamped the demise of one era. The ushering in of another.
     It led him around the corner and into an Early Learning Centre.
     He was tangled in the process of re-education of sorts, the pushchair snagging on the tails of hand-carved wooden crocodiles, when he locked wheels with the mother of a good friend he had once ill advisedly fucked.
     "The Campbells Are Coming" wheezed from a loudspeaker mounted just overhead. Small change, at least, from the obligatory psalm.
     It gave him pause to prepare a smile.
     She waved back at him, her hand fluttering like a stricken Robin.
     She in charge of twins, granddaughters, he his only begotten son.
     They exchanged small talk.
     She looked at him stiffly and asked if he knew that Alan had died. A cardiac arrest.
     He felt an odd discomfit settle in his throat like acid indigestion and wished for a cigarette.
     Alan never smoked in his life. Well, once, perhaps. When they were kids.
     Both of them green. Overawed by phosphorous igniting.
     She asked him if he was alright.
     Neither of them spoke for a time, each of them too ashamed to swap further pleasantries. The game of pass-the-parcel on hold indefinitely, a truce, no gifts in their baskets to bestow upon the infant Jesus.
     He remembered how they had flattened pennies of the railway line running behind their parents' bungalows. How his father took his own life with a rope not long after his own dad had died. How they drifted apart until an awkwardness stood between them as strangers.
     He remembered screwing this woman's daughter one fragile night in December. How she had tasted on his tongue. The trembling in her thighs.
     He remembered how close they once were as nine-year-olds.
     Never less than at home in the Wendy House in the back of her garden.