This is my first "Chronicle" entry since Xmas 2006! Wow, it seems as if a lot has happened since then: James Brown died (R.I.P. Godfather), Saddam Hussein was executed (for all of the world to see), there's been several teenage shootings in South London and Celebrity Big Brother caused an international row over race-relations in this country..... Happy New Year everybody(?)

One of the main reasons that I've been off the "blog-radar" for so long is because I've been having serious problems with my web-site. Yes, it appears that at every conceivable entry-point within this tiny insignificant URL, the motherf&%kin spammers have found a sneaky way in to post their dumb links. The unbelievable volume caused by such trash has filled up my web-page quota and resulted in my site effectively being "shut down"....thanks guys, you really "spammed" me out of existance this year didn't you(?).

The whole process was surreal, one morning I logged on to update a few things and....."click!"....nothing, Mr Gee no longer existed! Of course I still existed in the real world and still carried on doing various radio and live appearances, but I felt an eerie sense of "loss" as if a part of me had died. It's strange isn't it? how we can become so attached to the modern technological trappings and then use them to define us.

It's like the other day I misplaced my phone and spent ages trying to retrace my steps as to where it could be. During that time I found myself feeling completely out-of-step with the world. I was a walking zombie stumbling throughout the day unable to properly function and communicate with people. That day, I was expecting an important call and I kept on imagining that the caller was leaving numerous messages on my voicemail, the last of which being "Mr Gee, I've been trying to ring you all day, I'm sorry but it's too late... the deal is off!". See, all my numbers are in my phone and I've been too lazy to write them down anywhere else, so the loss of that little oblong piece of plastic effectively meant that I was unable to contact anyone who I knew.

Eventually I found the phone (it had fallen inside my car) and my sense of worth was instantly restored! No longer was I the social outcast, no longer was I lost, left alone to forge my essence within the desert of solitude, I was now able to live, breathe and gloriously interact with my fellow man. I grabbed my mystical little mobile-device and looked through the plethora of numbers that I had been denied for a whole day realising that half of them I hadn't rung in over a year!.....so much for communication!

Anyway the web-site is now back up, I'm still trying to sort out the glitches and block these spammy-bastards.....still at least I've got the ever-faithful Myspace to fall back on. Yesterday I tried logging onto my Myspace site and countless error messages kept appearing. That's how life goes doesn't it? one minute everything is fine the next minute you don't exist (I wonder if Saddam had this problem)...ah well.....here we go again!

Until the future....maybe(!)

Christmas is upon us, and Mr Gee is tired, broke and has no time to type. So here's a survey that I took for a friend of mine a few months ago.... enjoy


Describe Yourself:

Poet..dj...producer...radio presenter...workshop leader... comedy writer.....take your pick!


Miscellaneous Likes:

Hip Hop, Chess, Reading History, Debating, Watching Horror & Gangster Movies, listening to Richard Pryor albums (I own over 20!)


Miscellaneous Dislikes:

Injustice....boring small talk (silence is much better).... traffic.


Biggest Influence on the way you Live:

I lost an argument when I was 14 and my outlook on life has never been the same since...



Favourite Meal:

It varies, but to quote a famous line from Rakim: "Fish is my favourite dish!".



Most used verbal expression:

"Not Easy!"



Favourite Artist:

Ice Cube



Most Overrated Artist:

Hmmmm... hard to say....Sometimes we can be too hard on our entertainers and not allow them time for growth. Remember, today's "overrated" artist always has the potential to become tomorrow's "genius" and visa versa.



Best Performance(s):

Any of my "Brix-Tongue" performances, because I honed my style there.



One Piece to save your Life:

"Empty Stages" (I once performed it at a rowdy Hip Hop night and it silenced the crowd)



Biggest Disappointment:

Realising that not all men are brothers and not all women are sisters.



Greatest Fear:

Losing my smile.



Professional Ambition:

To write a my "Masterpiece": a body of work that I am 100% satisfied with (I still haven't achieved 70% satisfaction yet)



Personal Ambition:

To spend more time with the people who I care about.



Politics:

"Never underestimate the power of negotiating with your enemies", anyone who tells you otherwise doesn't have a true knowledge of history..



Person You'd Most Like To Meet:

Already met him....Muhammad Ali



TV / Radio Programme / Station That You'd Most Like to Shut Down:

The abundance of Reality TV (yawn), it's lazy and requires little imagination.



What Are You Reading Now?

"Rameses II and his time" by Immanuel Velikovsky



What Would You Recommend To Read:

"Power" by Bertrand Russell



The Opposite Sex: Most Underated Virtue:

I am always fascinated by women's ability to multi-task! I can only ever focus on one thing at a time.



The Opposite Sex: Most Overrated Attribute:

Sincerity



A Lesson For Children:

Nobody goes through this world without facing stress, life has a tendancy to throw up obstacles that will knock you down. Take such losses on the chin, dust yourself off and never stop trying to get up again, those who encourage you to persevere are your true friends, those who abandon you or limit your dreams you are dead weight.



Favourite Quote:

"I never lose, I just win successes of a lesser degree" :- the devil

(it's from a short story that I read as a kid where a man has to gamble and win his soul back from the Devil)



Conditions For Your Ideal Evening:

Two smiles reflecting one another in thought and understanding.



I wish. . .

That the so-called "Third World" could reap the financial benefits from all of the materials that it produces. Every chocolate bar, cup of tea/coffee, cigarette smoked or spoonful of sugar consumed comes from countries where people are starving.... this is sickening!



I'd Also Like To Say

"Thanks" to anyone who has ever loved or hated my work, praise and criticism can inspire in different ways.


Until the future-later...

Damn!!! December already??? It seems like only yesterday when I was referring to the "January Blues" and wondering just how the rest of 2006 was gonna pan out. So what was 2006 like for you then?...

hmmmm... that's a difficult one to call. Like most years it had its extreme highs and its extreme lows, I gained a few new friends and made a few old enemies (business as usual really). Poetically this year has been good, my words have taken me to different countries, performing on huge stages, meeting famous folks and being regularly broadcast on the airwaves around the globe. Sometimes I look back on the whole "Journey of Mr Gee" and think, "Wow, just the other day I was reading out my little rhymes in the backstreets of Brixton". Not that I'm some amazing literary genius or something, but the path from reciting in small rooms to writing for mainsteam media has been a strange one (maybe one day I'll actually tell it!).

The year started off on a sad note with the end of Brix-tongue. After several meetings with the Council to appeal for the Art Gallery to remain open, they finally struck the death-knell on the Open-Mic night that essentially birthed me. A special tribute show was broadcast to commemorate our contribution to Performance Poetry on Resonance FM (which has been repeated a few times) and I received a lot of well wishes and warm feedback from several listeners who showed their appreciation for what we were trying to do over the years.

Then the preparations for the third series of "Bespoken Word" on Radio 4 kicked off, I must have listened to "God-knows" how many performances at "God-knows" how many different events to try and guage the tone and pace of the '06 Spoken Word scene. After a lot of hard work and a lot of sleepless nights, we managed to put together a nice little eclectic mix that tried to reflect the diversity within the genre.

Next up, I became the "Poet Laureate" for the Russell Brand show on 6music & Radio 2. After the "structured formality" of Radio 4, this show was just crazy! you never knew what to expect week-in and week-out, it was like having a front seat on a comedic rollercoaster! Because of the naturally quick pace of the show, some serious speed-writing was required. I just tried to frantically jot down something that would try to sum up all the mayhem in the studio. I've since received a lot of mail from people who enjoyed the pieces and even sent me some poems of their own.

Also around this time (May), I had my own series of slots on Resonance FM where I invited several notable artists from London's poetry, music and Hip Hop communities to come on board and perform. The "London Diaspora" series brought together Congolese musicians with Gospel singers, Garage MC's and Spoken Word artists, I think that it reflected London's entertainment scene well and made for a fantastic radio show.

Again on the Radio front, I was invited to be a guest to commemorate the First Anniversary of the July London Bombings for BBC Radio London. In what turned out to be a highly emotional show, I read out a poem that conveyed how I felt about the bombing of my city and how my heart goes out to those people in other countries who live under the threat of an attack everyday. A nerve was touched inside the studio, and I actually found myself struggling to read it all the way through. It was amazing how many of us had repressed a lot of our feelings about that day in our attempts to "keep going and carry on", the phone lines were jammed up with people wanting to relay their stories from that dreadful day. The poem was subsequently replayed several times that week and again the feedback was positive.

In terms of School Workshops and Community projects, most of 2006 has been devoted to this area as opposed to live performing. I conducted a series of workshops at the Base D youth center in Battersea, focusing on sexual health amongst teenagers. We cut a CD of the poems written by the participants and a DVD was filmed which is going to be used as a part of teacher training for dealing with that subject.

During summer, I was a part of the BBC Blast team, (alongside Jonzi D) helping young people to construct and perform poems. I also ran creative writing workshops at Millbank and Burdett-Coutts schools who then entered their selected students to participate in the Annual Westminster Poetry Slam. This was a high-profile event featuring over 600 entrants, and I'm proud to say that the schools that I worked with came in 1st and 2nd respectively (yes!!! :) with one of my students winning the best performance category.

There have been many more notable events this year that I haven't really got the space to mention: I ended up being a show announcer at a rock concert facing down a thousand eyes of rowdy Oasis fans, one of my poems was published as a part of an overview on "Multi-Culturalism", I gave a series of lectures to a huge group of teachers about how they can encourage creativity within the classroom, I recorded a podcast to promote UK Spoken Word, I went to Edinburgh.....and came back down again :)

Yeah, the "Journey of Mr Gee" has been a strange one indeed during 2006. I keep saying that I'm gonna pack it all in soon because it can get exhausting at times, but as with most journeys, I'm sure that the end will eventually make itself clear.

Until the future-later...

I think that I really need to get out of London! This place is starting to do my head in! It's not the rising crime or the dealers that seem to be everywhere. Nor is it the marauding hordes of prostitutes that you see late at night pitching their dubious wares to feed their feloneous drug habits. It's not even the ever increasing costs of road tax, congestion charges, the council tax, fuel, water, gas and electricity price hikes. No, what has caused this great city to rapidly fall short of my affections is the fact that its transport system seems to be grinding completely to a halt! (ha haa I'm a typical Londoner, self-centred to the end!)

I got caught up in the rush hour nightmare yesterday. It took me almost four hours to get from central London to South West! It's almost as if God decreed that nothing was to move on that accursed day. Train stations were packed with endless crowds of people and when you did finally get onto a train, it would stop in the middle of the tunnel for ages allowing for the charm of sweet claustrophobia to be your only comfort and guide. I don't know about you but being crammed inside a tube carriage with my body pressed up against some poor old lady who may be about to intake her last polluted breath, is not my idea of a "pleasant journey". Eventually, I just quit after one stop and went overground to try my luck on the buses.

Bad move Gee, the buses were worse! Imagine a huge red mobile prison cell saturated to capacity with the blood sweat and tears of a miserable mass of battle-weary commuters (sounds enticing eh?). What made the buses worse, was that through the front window you could see this never-ending stream of red lights from the cars ahead of you mocking your pitiful attempts to travel forward. At least on the Underground there was the faint hope that once you got moving then you would arrive at your desired stop quickly, but on the buses, you were made painfully aware of the depressing fact that you were now stuck in this quagmire of traffic that had quite literally ceased up.

Now maybe I'm exaggerating here, I mean after all I did eventually make it to my destination and I have evidently lived to tell this sordid tale but yesterday I was close to breaking point! I found myself squashed up on the bus with somebody's elbow in my back and an annoying kid in front of me playing some wack tune on his mobile phone! In order to compensate (in a last desperate bid to save my sanity), I started to create dreams and fantasies of living in some quiet village where there was tons of space and serene rivers ran gently into far and wide open valleys. Sounds dumb doesn't it? But by that time such country life seemed like heaven.

In London we spend painstaking hours of our lives every day just to travel a few miles. Whenever you are in North London you find yourself needing to be in South London, whenever you are in West London suddenly you have a pressing engagement in East London, the merry-go-round of rushing never seems to stop. These places are not far away in terms of distance, but to get there by bus, car or train can sometimes take you ages. There are just so many people all bustling around with the same crazy appointment schedules as yourself and like you, they too are killing themselves to meet this never-ending series of deadlines.

Ok rant over! I feel a bit better now (pause, breathe in......relax). Upon reflection, as much as I want to get away from the craziness of the city, there's a part of me that will always miss it. You never know, my next entry might be an endless tirade about the stressful effect that rivers and valleys are having on my peace of mind!

Until the future-later...

A long time ago... In a galaxy far, far away.... I wrote my last Chronicle entry. Since then many things have changed, but then again, many things have remained the same. For a start, I hit an extreme low point a little while ago, certain demons from the past came back to haunt me (I guess that they wanted their usual pound of flesh, and as per usual....I stupidly gave it to them).

That's the problem with life isn't it? You start off as a child, you make mistakes and hopefully you learn from them. Then you become an adult, you're a man, all grown up, calmed down and you're apparently meant to be more "mature". So "mature" in fact that you often sit back, reminisce and laugh at your foolish ways and the reckless things that you did in the past. You're supposedly wiser now, you've seen more, you've learned more, you've done more, you should know better..... shouldn't you?

What then do you say, when you find yourself facing the same demons, in the same guises, playing the same tricks in exactly the same way? Surely you've learned from your past mistakes....haven't you? Surely you're in a better position to evaluate and assess situations? Surely both your judgement and perception of reality have refined over the years with the passing of time?....Sadly my friends, I'm afraid that the answer is "No".

Sometimes the same mistakes that we make in our youth are the same mistakes that we make throughout our lives. Maybe once we grow old and find ourselves staring out of a window in a home for the elderly, will we stop and think, "What the F%&£ was I doing?". Or maybe our past mistakes will rob us from even enjoying the luxury of old age.... for nothing in this life is promised, and so even a promise gives comfort only to a fool.

Daaaaaamnnnn!!! I'm just reading back what I've just written and I realise why I haven't been on here recently! See this place has always been special, (these Chronicles usually bring out a different side of me) I can very much be myself here (unlike anywhere else) but sometimes "Being yourself" is frightening and wearing a mask is a whole lot easier, that's why I needed some space.

I've been flitting about inside the amazing world of myspace, jovially replying to e-mails and accepting requests from "friends" who I will never meet, nor ever hear from again. Myspace is like daytime television, everybody is soooo happy and friendly. We're all superstars in our own heads, proudly displaying our "friends" and comments for everyone to see how "loved" we are! And I myself too have participated in this joyous cabaret eagerly, with a heightened enthusiasm and a renewed vigour! It doesn't matter how crap your life is, or how alone you feel nor if you are one hit away from an overdose, as long as you've got new "Friend Requests" awaiting on your home page, things can't be THAT bad can they?

No, things aren't THAT bad... many things have changed, but then again, many things have remained the same. So I for one, look forward to peering out of that window with older eyes. I really do wonder what I will look back on with fondness and what I will look back on with regret... probably this Chronicle entry, but then again, nobody reads it anyway (they're too busy on Myspace... ha haa!)

Until the Future-Later...

I've had Death a lot on my mind recently. This cycle of life is an enigmatic one indeed, providing us with endless hopes and disappointments, endless charades and dramas to keep our little minds occupied. We all claim to be aware of our inevitable demise and I wish that I had a penny for everytime I've heard the phrase "Live your life to the fullest, 'cos we all gotta go sometime", but how many of us actually BELIEVE it?

Not me... that's for sure. I. like most other homo sapiens on this planet, live my life with the supreme illusion that somehow I'm gonna cheat death! I don't know how, this miracle is going to occur, nor do I know at what point I will have to implement my ingenius death-defying ploy. But, I figure that if I survived my school exams (especially geography) and I survive rush hour traffic every morning on the way to work, then outwitting the grim-reaper should be a cinch!

I do realise that I'm not alone in this understanding, I've had many a conversation with people from all denominations who frankly tell me that Death is but a transitional stage that we must pass through. Illustrious and vivid pictures are then painted of how our "soul" departs from our body and then rises up into the glorious splendour of the afterlife. Hmmm, I don't know, I'm kinda sold on the idea of the finality of Death, but then again I was also sold on the idea that once I left university I was going to be a millionaire! Now I didn't know HOW this financial miracle was going to occur, nor did I know at what point in my fragile existance the implementation of my ingenius fiscal ploy would bear fruition. But I figured that since I was most assuredly going to cheat death, then I would at least have a few millenia to play with!.....(ahhh the perfect insanity of self-delusion... you gotta love it!)

The reason why Death is now inhabiting my thoughts is because it has struck a little too close to home recently. Like most people, I career around totally self-absorbed, blissfully unaware of life's disasters until BLAM!! one such disaster strikes near the mark. I breathe that selfish sigh of relief (as I realise that I'm still here) and then I start to reflect on the inevitable fact that one day someone else will be reflecting their existance induced by my own sudden demise.

There's not really much else that I can write here is there? We Human Beings treat life so cheaply yet deep down we know that it is the most precious thing that we have. Now if that's not insanity, then I don't know what is!

"Live your life to the fullest, 'cos we all gotta go sometime"... and please donate one penny to the "Mr Gee wants to be a Millionaire Fund" (!)

Until the future-later...

I've just returned back from Scotland after checking out the Edinburgh Fringe festival. Now this is my third year of going up there and consequentially it's my third year returning back with the elusive dreams of having my very own one-man show (sigh!). For those of you who've never been, the Fringe is an enticing world of theatrics and starlit dreams, all saturated with the relentless vision that one day they may materialise into "something more". Everybody you meet is a performer/actor/comedian/playwright/reporter/talent scout/producer. Yes, for a brief suspended moment in time this proud ancient Scottish city becomes a harem of artistic licence, a cornucopia of insatiable ambition, a coral reef abundant with hidden treasures (and pleasures!). Fortune and misfortune walk hand in hand through the archaic cobbled streets of the Royal Mile, graciously doffing their caps to all that would catch their eye. I must admit, even my language has become remarkably more colourful and my mannerisms more theatrical due to my brief sojourn to this "Circus Extravaganza".

I have a simultaneous like and dislike of the Fringe festival. I like the feeling of freedom and enthusiasm that is abound everywhere, I've been involved in countless conversations with a plethora of artists who are all engulfed in their respective artforms. Many of them are performing more than twice-a-day for a month, so you can see it in their eyes that the essence of their show has consumed them. Think about it, every day they have to endure the highs and lows of doing a show, every day they have to hustle onto the street and give out flyers (along with over a thousand other hopefuls) and every day they will feel the elation of good reviews and the disappointment of bad ones. The demands of the "Show" are unwavering.

Just by walking around and speaking to people, I can see that the cynicism that is usually all so prevalent in British culture has been briefly left behind. When you put on shows and events down in London, people are quick to dismiss your efforts as being pointless and will take great joy in highlighting any failures that inevitably will come your way. Not so at the Fringe, here dreamers are rewarded and celebrated, for todays small ideas can realistically become tomorrows big shows.

But with such boundless positivity, what can their possibly be to dislike? Hmmm, this is where I have to remove my "enthusiastic" cap and firmly re-affix my "cynical" spectacles (devoid of rose-tints). You see to put on a show at the Edinburgh Fringe, it costs a lot of money. That is the stark bottom line, in order to hire the venue, organise the flyers, take the month off work, sort out accomodation and budget for living expenses, a performer needs to have some serious form of cash input to get the whole machine started. Such economic factors effectively price a lot of artists out of the game, and the aim of the game at the Fringe is to get your artform seen by people who can further promote you. I can very easily perform every day in London and recreate my own "Fringe Experience" where at least I'll be able to keep my day job going in order for me to survive, but all the main press and media reviewers will be up in Scotland. For many acts, the Fringe presents the one opportunity where they can get their tiny inauspicious show seen by a major reviewer. This invariably means that most of the acts that are assessed will hail from affluent white middle-class backgrounds.

Before his passing, comedian Richard Pryor tried to set up an award to encourage more artists from ethnic minorities to put on shows in Edinburgh, which strangely enough was met with some resistance by certain voices from the Fringe. The reason why I find this resistance strange is because by just walking around the Fringe and looking at the majority of the acts there, one could easily be forgiven in thinking that people from minorities have no interest in the performing arts whatsoever. Yet there are such shows and events put on regularly by people of colour in every major city in Britain. This is why performers such as myself and many others need to really pull our fingers out and represent ourselves up there (and give them a taste of chocolate!).

Politics aside, I had a great time up at the Fringe. I was essentially there to do a specially penned poem for BBC 6music which I also performed on Festival FM and at a caberet night. From the positive feedback that I received, I would say that the majority of people attending the Fringe have never encountered the "street style" of poetry and comedy that I am from the school of. This is all the more reason why they need a greater diversity of shows there, because both the artists and the audiences are missing out.

Until the future-later...

Two teenage boys decided to have a staring competition at a bus stop. Now they weren't exactly friends nor were they really arch-enemies, but they'd both known of each other for quite a while having grown up in and around the same area. "Friendship" can be a strange thing though, sometimes there are people who we can meet and greet on a daily basis and yet still have nothing in common with. Then there are those friends far away in foreign lands, of whom we hardly speak to and (realistically) may never actually see again, yet we will readily count them amongst our "closest brethren". And so it was with these two fourteen year olds who were more a case of the former and certainly not an example of the latter.

Now over the years they had watched each other grow up, as their parents lived but two streets away. They shared many of the same friends, hung out in the same spots and even had to catch the same bus home from school. They didn't actually attend the same school, but they'd both secretly fancied the same girl who was also of a similar age. Both of them had plucked up the nerve to ask her out on separate occasions during the last year and, as a result, both of them had been flatly rejected on the grounds that they were "too immature". Sadly, this girl was oblivious to their teenage desires for her attention was firmly fixed on an older boy who worked at the local cinema.

This invariably led to both of them experiencing that painful sting of hurt accompanied by that red-mist of jealousy. They were often subjected to watch the object of their affection swoon every time she passed by the cinema in the vain attempt that this older "more mature" boy would look in her direction. But alas, it seemed as if the spirit of rejection and unrequited love was becoming quite popular in that area and had been booked to play a triple-bill, for the boy who worked at the local cinema never once looked her way.

Now it has been often said that "misery likes company" and you would've thought that these two individuals would have found some degree of solace in the commonality of their shared experiences. Maybe some interwoven thread to their existance for, though they were very different in appearance, their lives did mirror each other in many ways. But no, sometimes there are some people who you just don't get along with, you can't rationally explain it, there are just various people on this planet to whom your spirit doesn't really take to.

I like to think of such circumstances as a "natural validation for your emotions" (woah, steady on! that's a bit of a mouthful eh Mr Gee?). What I mean by that, is that we have all been given a vast range of emotions and feelings (anger, love, jealousy, joy...etc) and I believe that there are some people who just signal the green light and bring out stronger versions of these mental states within us than others. So much in the same way that you can just accidentally meet someone instantly "click" and become very good friends, I reckon that you can "accidentally" make enemies in the very same way.

So let's fast forward to the events at the bus stop. One of the boys had originally been waiting there in order to get back home. It was dark and late at night, the wind was blowing gently, carressing everything all around causing the trees to laugh occasionally as if being sporadically tickled by an unseen feather. It wasn't really raining, but there was a slight annoying drizzle in the air, enough to make you step outside of your home, look up at the sky, curse and then go back inside to get a jacket for fear of it getting worse. Now the first boy had been waiting for the bus for some time, he had been out and about visiting his friend and playing on his computer all night. By the time he'd realised how late it was, he ran out to the bus-stop and just missed a night bus by a few seconds before it started moving off (damn!), so he was already resigned to the fact that the next one was going to take ages to arrive.

He started off his wait by stewing alone with only his bad mood to keep him company. He was tired, exhausted from running and also vexed at himself for not having left earlier. He'd also started playing that torturous mental game of visualising himself heroically running faster and catching the earlier bus... (sigh!) he would've already arrived at home by now. In this alternate reality he had just fixed himself a sandwich, was in the process of eating it and would soon be fast asleep in bed, graciously snoring away the evening's festivities. But the presence of the wind and the rain around him were a sobering reminder that this was the real world, so in order to pass the time, he hummed his favorite tunes and imagined himself as a rap superstar with legions of women adoring him.

It was at this point in time that the second boy arrived. He too had been out to see some friends and together they'd been hanging around the cinema earlier that evening. He'd bumped into that same girl that he liked and once again he tried to catch her eye. Mustering all the courage in the world, he managed to utter a simple "Hi", the echoes of this greeting just hung there, suspended in the air, begging to be reciprocated. But his amateur seduction attempt was greeted by a speculative look of bemusement as the girl once again passed him by and started moving off (damn!).

By the time he reached the bus-stop he was in a similar bad mood from this perceived rejection, only to be greeted by the sight of the first boy just sitting there humming away to himself. His first thought was "Oh sh*t!! there's that prick who lives two streets away". As he approached, the first boy looked up, his thought patterns mirrored those of his counterpart, there was almost this mutual disdain for each other and they both decided to stare each other out.

Now the secret behind macho staring is to make the firm decision in your mind, from the outset, never to look away. Such an action is perceived as a weakness and those who contemplate it should never embark on such confrontational expeditions in the first place. The problem with staring, is that looking deep into someone's eyes has a powerful effect. Some people's eyes are controlling and can sometimes pierce into very fabric of your existance, this can be unnerving, unsettling and can provide a good indicator that impending violence may erupt.

Such was the case when these boys decided to stare each other out. At first they were self-assured with an inner confidence that the other was going to back down. Soon however, they became increasingly incensed with rage as they incorporated their bad moods into the very nature of their stare and intensified their glare. Then came the painful realisation that this was going to end in a fight. Deep down they'd never really liked each other over the years, but couln't explain it. They'd only tolerated each other's existance until today, and if today was the day that they would act out their simmering rivalry...then so be it.

It was at this point that I drove by them and stopped at the nearby traffic light. I could detect the tension in the air and feel the quiet hush that something was indeed about to kick off. I looked into both of their eyes, I could see the years of misdirected hate and a thought struck me: "No matter how much we clamour for peace, somewhere deep within the heart of man is a twisted desire for conflict". The light turned green.... and everything started moving off (damn!).

Until the future-later...

OK, I'm starting to see a trend occurring here.

I seem to be constantly apologising to people for my neglect of this website, I know that I haven't been regularly putting up dates of events that I'm performing at, I know that my Chronicle entries have become almost non-existant as of late and I am also aware that I haven't been sending out mailing lists to remind people of what is happening in G-World. Once again, I'm sorry.

So Mr Gee, what exactly IS happening in G-World then? Well it's been all go-go-go here for the past month! the series Bespoken Word on Radio 4 was hailed as a resounding success, I received several e-mails containing praise, positive criticism and marvel at the diversity of modern day performance poetry. It was a well balanced series featuring some amazing artists and we all put in a lot of hard work to make it happen. I've also been rushed of my feet putting together, presenting and producing another series of four monthly "London Diaspora Live" shows for Resonance FM. I'm quite proud of what the series has thus far achieved, as it featured some of the amazing unsung talent that perform on the underground circuit within this great metropolis. As with "Bespoken Word" it also showed the untapped entertainment value of Spoken word artists as they performed alongside rappers, singers and musicians.

Like any other red-blooded male, the World Cup inevitably consumed me, I tried to watch as many of the games that I could and found myself involved in a plethora of late night arguments/debates/rants with other passionate individuals who also were engrossed in the tragic theatre of red cards, goals, glory and headbutts! I even wrote 2 poems on the whole spectacle of it all, one of which I performed live on the Russell Brand 6music show and the other?.... aha...well I'm saving that for my live gigs!

Speaking of live gigs, they have been coming in thick and fast. I performed at Reading and Marylebone festivals, I hosted 3 events for the Streatham festival, trekked up to East Anglia for the Latitude festival and hustled my way down to the Southampton festival (and I do mean "hustled", I'd lost my wallet on the way and found myself stuck down there with no money and no credit on my phone!). I then headlined a tribute gig for the One World Community who put together a rememberance ceremony for Jean Charles de Menezes, the brazilian tragically shot dead by the police last year who mistook him for a terrorist. I added a revised verse from my "Stop and Search" poem which chillingly brought the point home of howvunerable we all are.

The School workshops have been going well, I was back in for another season in Pimlico School, I performed alongside El Crisis and Dorothea Smartt at a conference in Westminster promoting "Diversity in Publishing" where we all conducted Spoken Word workshops to show the benificial value of poetry within education. I have also been involved in a project with BBC Blast alongside Jonzi D, where I took a group of about 12 young people and got them all to construct and craft short poems to be performed live. The results were then filmed as videos utilising a backdrop of images that they had all collated with a digital camera. It culminated with a big finale featuring breakdancers, singers, short films, a Jazz band and of course Spoken Word! The days were long and we sweltered in the heat, but I'm proud of the final results for the team worked very hard to finish their creations.

I recently attended the "Wise Words" Spoken Word summit last week. It was organised by Kat Francois and TuggS.T.A.R. It basically was a meeting to highlight the current achievements of the Spoken Word scene, pay homage to the past and look to the future. By just looking out into the audience I could see such a variety of different poets who all have entertained audiences from different stages and platforms over the years. It was a truly inspirational gathering and many of the issues discussed were relevant to us all as both artists and organisers.

I'd like to take time out to thank Doton Adebayo for inviting me onto his Radio London show to talk about the recent developments within the Stephen Lawrence murder case and to perform my poem "The Price is Life" which I wrote after watching a documentary last week that suggested posible police corruption. I tried to keep my comments as measured as possible, but it is an emotive subject and one that has tragically highlighted the problems of racism that are still within this country.

OK, I'm starting to see a trend occurring here. I'm reviewing what I've just written and it's all been "Me, Me, Me". I have to be wary of this, because I've been engrossed in too much writing and performing recently keeping a balanced perspective becomes blurred sometimes. maybe it's time to step out of the confinement of "G-World" and take a real look around.

Until the future-later...

I have been recently reminiscing back to my old school days, ahh the innocence of it all(!) I can remember that I had a prized Adidas sports bag, in which I could carry everything (and I do mean everything). I also had a SONY walkman which never left my side and always bumped the latest tunes. Back then, I used to carry two pairs of headphones: a cheap pair to wear when you were by yourself on the street (to deter any would-be thieves who were liable to run past you and suddenly snatch them) and an expensive pair to show off to your friends (to gain their "acceptance" and also to enjoy the luxury of the extra bass!).

Another thing that I've been recently remarking on, is the way in which even as children we used to separate ourselves instinctively into little groups. When I was 12, I played with the other 12yr olds in a certain part of the playground and never ventured anywhere else. Upon reaching 13 we all then moved to another area, which had kindly been vacated for us by last year's former 13yr old inhabitants. It's not as if there was any formal order (shouted from a school rooftop by a teacher with a megaphone) for this movement to take place, we all just naturally moved on. In fact, come to think of it, there was little or no interaction between the different age groups at all, so for you to be a 12yr old and have a friend who was 14 was really something to boast about.

I had the privilege of such a "friend", he was about 2 years older than me and we used to get on the same bus together to and from school. Being that we were both heavily into Hip Hop, my part of the friendship was to provide him with a constant supply of the latest tunes (I used to tape all of the Rap radio shows religiously) and his role in the friendship would be to "borrow" them (sometimes indefinitely!) and let me into his circle of friends. Looking back, I was just a little kid trying to hang with someone older, but it was all worth it, just to break out of the confines of being a 12yr old and the strict rules that came with it (also, nobody messed with me because they thought that they'd get their ass kicked!).

But age wasn't the only dividing factor that we self-imposed, sometimes we would separate ourselves along racial lines (and the confrontations could get quite ugly), or sometimes it would be something as innocuous as: who was in the sports team and who wasn't, or who snuck away to have a cigarette at lunch-time and who didn't, or who had gotten off with a girl and who hadn't... in fact there seemed to be no end to the number of catagories into which we could divide ourselves (who had expensive headphones for their walkman and who could only afford the cheap ones!). So growing up, you begin to find yourself wearing several different interchangeable hats, each one is as meaningful (or as meaningless, depending on your viewpoint) as the previous one.

The 2006 World Cup is in our midst, and for the next week or so, football is consuming the airwaves (Television, radio and the internet). Sad to say, I haven't been able to watch as many games as I would've liked to, but I have been observing the group mentality that always accompanies such an event. Just like being back at school, we all instinctively divide ourselves into different groups. Some become defiantly "English", others root for the teams of their parents (Italy, Trinidad, Holland, wherever), and some start inevitably "supporting" Brasil (yawn) because deep down they want to feel safe backing a team that they feel is most likely to win (you know who you are!).

People take their designated groups very seriously, I have already seen two after-hours fights between football fans who, ironically enough, were all wearing England tops! Even now as I type, there are countless debates raging up and down the country about every single member of the England squad and their every single move, it's funny how football can simultaneously unite and divide us with equal measure.

Believe it or not, the world of Spoken Word Poetry has it's own similar divisions. There's a Black scene and a White scene, a London scene, a Manchester scene, a "fill in your local town here" scene. there's: Dub poets, punk poets, Hip hop poets, Love poets, poets who believe that poetry should be utilised to make a political statement, poets who believe that poetry should only be funny and ironic. Poets who only rhyme, poets who never rhyme, and the timeless debate of "Poetry for the page Vs Poetry for the stage" (yawn)... the list goes on and on and on.

When compiling Bespoken Word for Radio 4, we tried to accomodate for all of these different genres and styles to present a small peek into what is happening in and around the country. Recently, I've been replying to quite a few e-mails about your comments on this series and I usually end up by stating that there is only so much that we can realistically fit into four 30 minute shows (seriously, if you want to hear more then tell the beeb). It's interesting that there is such variety in what we envisage as "poetry" and people are passionate about their different groups, much in the same way that back in school we were all passionate about our groups.

The World Cup needs it's different teams to make it the wonderful passion-filled event that it is and Spoken Word needs its different voices to make it the eclectic mixture of expression that it is. So regardless of what type of headphones we choose to wear for whatever reason, hopefully at least we're all listening.

Go Brasil!!! (smile)

Until the future-later...

"It's been a long time.... I shouldn't have left you,
....without a strong rhyme to step to!"
Eric B & Rakim:- "I Know You Got Soul"

Yes, yes, I know that it has indeed been quite a while since my last blog entry, I've been away from here for far too long. And now I find myself once again sitting in front of my trusty (and dusty!) computer keyboard attempting to relay some words that will set this pondering and reflective train trundling off again into the sunset. Wow!...Now that I'm here, I really don't know what to say... No seriously folks, I REALLY don't know what to say!

First let me give thanks to all the people who have e-mailed me about my appearances on Bespoken Word, The Midweek Show, The Late Show, Russell Brand's Radio 6 show and the Resonance shows. Yeah, it feels as if I have been living on the radio for the past month (you know me: have poems, will travel!), but thanks for all the comments, e-mails and support. I've also got to apologise for not being quick enough to post my performance dates and broadcast appearances up on the website (I know that I've been slacking soooo badly in this department).

And last (but certainly not least) I must apologise to all the Chronicle fans for falling behind in my duties as an internet waffler! I've come to realise that I have now developed a cyberspacial alter-ego who some people relate to....and even miss (ahhh....shucks, I'm blushing!)

You have to admit though, this concept is quite peculiar isn't it? I mean there now seems to be two Mr Gee's. One who writes his little poems and totters off around town to perform them at Open Mic nights in an attempt to hopefully shift a couple of CD's. Then there's Mr Gee "the Chronicler" who appears solely on people's computer screens and just bores them ad nauseum about what amazing things are going on in his world (or in his head even!).

See, I can't lie to you guys, for the past month or so I've been plagued with a writer's block (aaargh!! the horror...the horror!). All the rushing around for the Radio show and rehearsing for certain big performances has left me depleted with not much to say really. Even the simple task of posting up events on my website (which must now be done simultaneously on the ever-addictive Myspace site) became a chore, so effectively the cyberspacial Mr Gee....just disappeared off the face of the Net.... like Keyser Sose in that film "The Usual Suspects".

Now this goes completely against the grain of the whole idea of self promotion, I mean a poet who can't write is pretty redundant isn't he?

"Surely Mr Gee, you need to keep people up-to-date with things in order to sell yourself better? And what's with the whole writer's block excuse?....sounds like a cop-out to me!"

"Yeah.... I guess that I do need to keep on top of things more, but it's just that I don't always have time to write everything down. Sometimes documenting and philosophising on everything that you do, gets in the way of just doing it and can seem a bit vainglorious after a while. If a poet does a performance to an empty hall does anybody hear his haiku?"

Anyway, enough of apologies, I'm going to try to get back into the old habit of doing the "Chronicle thang" again. For the past year or so, I've tried to use this page to practise writing and hopefully improve myself. Sometimes I take a stock and review over the past entries, some I read with a quiet pride, whilst others force me to run away and cringe with embarrassment(!).

But even though I've been away for a while hanging out in radio-land and writer's blocksville, this is still my little place. Yes, I know that the roof needs repairing and the walls probably need a new lick of paint and I've been meaning to fix that creaky hinge on the front door.... but you know what? it always feels good to be home.

Until the future-later...

A few nights ago, I found myself in a 24hr Tesco's supermarket doing some late-night shopping in the early hours of the morning. Now for me, I actually prefer to do my shopping at about 3am when it's nice and quiet, the main reason for this is because I just can't stand shopping when the shops are heaving with people. I hate the screaming kids, I hate waiting in a line that's longer than the cast of extras for "Lord of the Rings" and I really hate it when the shopping till gets shut down just as I've finished unloading my stuff from the trolley (that's a bitch ain't it?). But most of all, I hate having to try to manoeuvre a stupid wobbly trolley through the congested aisles to avoid hitting some old lady who has decided to make an impromptu sudden stop in front of me!

(ok Mr Gee.... calm down..... take a deep breath... inhale.... exhale.... and lets try all this again!)

I'm sorry about that folks, I was (ahem) starting to go off on a tangent there! anyway, a couple of nights ago I was out doing some late-night shopping, when I noticed something that I'd never seen before or even given much thought to. There was this strange guy who was shuffling along at a slow pace behind me in the breakfast cereal section. It seemed as if he was looking for something very specific, as every now and then he would stop and stare vacuously into the depths of the shelves before moving along. As I turned around he would momentarily catch my eye, before quickly averting his gaze.

Now at 3 o' clock in the morning, there aren't exactly too many noticeable characters who frequent the 24hr supermarkets. you usually get the late shift train workers in their fluorescent overalls who are there to buy some cigarettes and maybe a snack. Then you sometimes find the odd group of giggling students who have been blazing and getting high in their dorm rooms all evening only to be hit by a sudden attack of the "munchies" at 3am. Or if you're really lucky, you can get to watch the security guard kick the crap out of some old rowdy drunk who has tried to steal a cheap bottle of cider (Hey, it beats hearing the painful drones of countless little kids pestering their parents for Easter Eggs eh?).

Then you have the store's night staff, who can usually be found stacking shelves, working behind the tills or cleaning up. This particular person who was behind me was in fact a member of staff but he didn't seem to be doing anything, so I couldn't quite figure out exactly what his role was. At first I thought that he was just following me, when you're a black guy, some people in shops can automatically assume that you're a thief about to raid them. Sometimes they follow you around the whole store politely asking "Is everything alright sir" until you feel so uncomfortable that you eventually pick up and leave (ha ha, I call this "petty etiquette!"). But after some thought I had to quickly dispel such paranoid thoughts from my mind. I mean, after all this is a 24hr Tescos and it's about 3:30 in the goddamn morning! when compared with the stoned students or the shoplifting wino, I should be a contender or at least in the runnings for "Model Customer of the Year!".

Eventually my curiosity got the better of me and so I had to stop and ask this guy "Excuse me mate, what exactly are you looking for, have you lost something?". He was quite aback by my directness but he took it upon himself to explain to me that his job was in fact to oversee the whole supermarket. He had to spend his time scanning all the shelves in all the aisles making sure that everything was where it was supposed to be and in its proper place, because the order of the store must be maintained! I could hear from the enthusiasm in his voice that this was a position that he relished and that my question had indeed "made his day".

Wow! it was as if I had just met the Architect of the Matrix!, I also felt a little embarrased. As I watched how meticulously and thoroughly he executed and explained his role, I couldn't help but think back to the countless times that I had picked up (say) a bottle of Ketchup and dumped it amongst the dog food section when I realised that I didn't need it. Little did I know that this poor guy (who I had affectionately labelled "Mr Picker-Upper") would be there, when most of us were sound asleep, to dutifully rectify such a displacement thus restoring the Ketchup equilibrium and bringing peace & harmony to the Cosmos!! I guess that there was a part of me that naively assumed that the shelves somehow magically corrected themselves (like that old Disney cartoon with Mickey Mouse and the broom!)

If you think about it, our world is full of "Mr Picker-Uppers", people whose role it is to keep things in check and maintain the semblence of order. Societies do not just spring into existance and grow organically and sporadically, even the most (so-called) democratic of nations are heavily regulated and state-controlled. Sometimes the controls are there for us to blatantly see and sometimes they are done more covertly. Some controls make our lives easier, whilst others restrict our existance. It amused me that for even the most stupid pseudo-rebellious action that I could take, there would someone there to correct it.

So as I was about to leave the store, I picked up a bottle of Ketchup. As I stared deep into its gleaming shiny red exterior I thought about Mr Picker-Upper endlessly scanning his shelves in his faithful attempt to preserve the "norm". I said to myself "No Gee, tonight you can't just recklessly dump this bottle amongst the dog-food section and cause this poor man anymore grief....
..... No tonight you're gonna hide it behind the boxes of tea bags!"

Viva La (Pathetic) Revolution!!

Until the future-later...

Apologies to all for the lack of Chronicle entries, but I have been soooooooo tired, I'm so tired that even narcoleptics have taken to calling me "sleepyhead". I'm so tired that my eyelids feel like they weigh two tons apiece! I'm so tired that I can't even think of another example to elucidate how tired I am!.........hmmmmm......ok, (here's one)......If you looked up the word "tired" in the dictionary, you'd probably see a blank space next to the definition..... because I was too damn tired to turn up for the photo shoot!

"So what could possibly be the cause of such exhaustion Gee?"........believe it or not.....it's poetry!!

For the past few months or so, I've been heavily involved in the putting together of the "Bespoken Word" series for BBC radio. The aim of this show is to try and showcase the artform of Spoken Word Poetry in all of it's different genres and styles. We've put together poets from all around the country, some of whom are the established older names in the field alongside others who are younger and relatively new. The previous series of the show which I presented last year was hailed as a resounding success, and I still receive e-mails today from people all over the country who say that they never knew how diverse the world of Spoken Word was.

This year we're hoping to attract all of those "secret" poetry writers, you know, the ones who like to express themselves poetically, but only in private. This I fully understand, because even today, poetry still isn't deemed "cool" enough to be openly appreciated in the same way as comedy, singing or rapping are (ha ha, I myself was a "secret" poetry writer for almost 2 years before I started performing all over town!). Don't get me wrong, the audience for Spoken Word is HUGE, but it is still very underground. See, most of us as kids were bored senseless by the mundane over-analysis of poetry in the classrooms. We all suffered the drones of one English teacher too many, so we sure as hell weren't going to express any interest for poetry in later life. I think that this is the reason why Spoken Word has evolved so quietly beneath the media radar over the last 20 years. It has slowly permeated into every sector of society until today where you can now find that most entertainment nights (especially in London) have showcased at least one poet in their time.

But the one thing that I have learned from my involvement in BBC radio is that Poetry does have a LOT of fans, and these fans are from all walks of life up and down the length and breadth of the country. As an artist, I have performed in front of all crowds inside all types of venues. Spoken Word is not race, gender or age specific, it is not the preserve of the so-called "cultural elite" nor can it be solely attributed to the streets. Over the past few months I have been listening to and reading poems from Playwrights, Actors, Hip Hop MC's, Filmakers, UK Garage & Grime DJ's, Rock-Star guitarists, Novelists, Punk Rockers, Builders, City Workers, Science Teachers, Ex-Cons, Jazz Singers, Reggae DJ's, Comedians and the list goes on and on. It seems that there are many more "secret" poetry writers than I could've ever imagined.

This is what has been causing most of my sleepless nights, for as the main presenter of the show, I've had to thoroughly research and get up-to-speed on all of the potential candidates for the show. I've acquainted myself with their work (by reading their books or listening to their CD's), I've interviewed them personally about the poetry scene in their area and in many cases gone to see them perform live. Because Spoken Word covers such a large spectrum of different people and different styles, I wanted to get a fuller understanding of all of its myriad forms in order to present it properly to the general public.

I now honestly believe that Spoken Word has a lot of potential as a viable form of entertainment. I admit that it doesn't carry the "instant joke" appeal of Stand Up comedy, nor can it get you nodding your head in the same way as a singer/rapper/DJ can, but it does engage you to think and form an opinion, and this is it's strength. I see Spoken Word as a natural backlash against the "dumbing down" of popular culture, and there are a growing number of "secret" poets out there who feel the same.

So hopefully, the sleepless nights, the exhaustion, the tiredness and the stress will all be worth it as we aim to showcase this largely overlooked artform.

Until the future later...

This past week, I've been listening to the sounds from the legendary King Tubby. King Tubby was a prominent reggae producer who operated out of Jamaica during the 70's and 80's (until his untimely murder in 1989). In the reggae world his name is spoken with a revered awe, as he is generally recognised by most as being one of the founding fathers of Dub music. He had the advantage of an electrical engineering background which led him to tinker and experiment with different sound technology, thus enabling him to revolutionise reggae music. This he achieved with a remarkable effect, in fact, many of today's studio techniques implemented by modern music producers (of all genres) were pioneered by King Tubby in his little studio.

There is so much more to Dub than just a reggae instrumental from which the vocals have been removed. The intricate use of sonic effects such as: reverb, echo, distortion and feedback are all wielded by the producer and are sometimes treated with as much care as the sounds of the actual instruments themselves. The Song's vocals are moved away from the listener's main focus and can thus be "played with", punched in and phased out of a track with amazing results. Every drum beat, keyboard chord or guitar lick can also be manipulated, amplified or deconstructed at any time, this gave the listener an eerie feeling that there was a hidden "Dub-maestro" behind the scenes who, with the mere flick of a switch, was in control of every sound, every echo and every silence.

I do realise that Tubby's rhythms may sound primitive to our 21st century ears, (because nowadays we take the idea of "remixing a track" for granted), but it can be argued that his innovative-style formed the basis of today's modern music production. I once read an article about him which stated that:

"One of King Tubby's greatest strengths was that he recognised the musical power of silence and he was not afraid to use it".

Yes, it was a standard Tubby trick to suddenly cut out all of the instruments on a dub track and maybe just allow the faintest echo of the song's vocals to be heard (leaving the listener feeling uncomfortably aware of the sudden invasion of silence surrounding it). Tubby would then increase the volume of this echo until it became distorted, sounding much like a lonely wail in a dark and empty space. This would heighten your ears expectations as to what could possibly come next........ To answer such a call, Tubby would respond accordingly by unleashing the thunderous crash of the drums and bass sounds with a majestic and triumphant return to the tune's familiar groove (guaranteed to get any head nodding in approval!) As I have said before, this technique is still used in most dance tunes world-wide and even many of today's Spoken Word artists are now using voice-boxes and echo-looping machines to enhance their performances.

The concept of using silence as a tool is an interesting one. The playwright Harold Pinter became famous for introducing his celebrated "Pinter pauses" into the body of his work. These were long moments of silence purposefully written into the storyline where no dialogue at all was spoken. This created an intriguing effect; the atmosphere becomes more tense, the audience become unsettled and unsure and they may even emit a few faint echoes of nevous laughter as the power of the moment is being fully realised. And almost as if King Tubby himself was behind the mixing board, the ice-breaking line of speech that Pinter writes into his plays is delivered like a cutting sword, swooping down to create maximum effect. Pinter often stated that he liked to utilise pauses simply because his characters had run out of words to say to each other. He figured to himself that it would be far more natural and realistic to preseve this silence rather than to construct a forced dialogue to fill it.

Last Sunday, I found myself on stage at Kat Francois's "Word-4-Word" night at the Theatre Royal Bar in Stratford. I don't know why, but I was feeling extremely nervous from the moment that I stepped up to perform. Whenever you get up on stage, you can feel this strange hush of silence as you realise "Wow! I'm the only person here who's about to speak in this whole room!". Sometimes it can be welcoming and at other times......terrifying(!) You find yourself standing there alone looking out into the sea of eager faces as you feel the last dying claps of the applause (generated by the host's introduction) evaporate and become faint echoes resonating throughout the room. In your mind you can hear these echoes increasing in intensity, becoming more amplified and distorted, (much like the effects used on an old King Tubby Dub track). This makes you instantly aware of the invasion of silence surrounding you as the crowd wait in heightened anticipation for you to speak...... And like the great soundmasters of times gone by, it is how you recognise and handle the power of this silence that invariably determines the strength of your performance.


Until the future later...

A few nights ago I found myself driving through Enfield in North London at about 3am in the morning. Don't ask me where I'd just come from, nor in fact where I was actually heading towards, I was just caught up in the moment of transition between such places. I've always liked driving around late at night, the city can be deceptively quiet and the roads are usually so clear that it's really the only time that you can easily get around London without much fuss. During the day however, the streets tend to tell a different story: you can be stuck in the middle of some stupid traffic jam for about 10 years afterwhich you find that you still have only progressed to the end of your goddamn high road! But in the wee hours of the morning it's smooth sailing, here you have only yourself, your shadows and the few other meandering solitary souls to keep you company.

I also find it a lot easier to think about stuff when I'm out on the road at night. Much like London's traffic-laden streets, my mind can also get cluttered with an abundance of useless information during the day. Things that I have to do, bills that I have to pay, appointments that I have to keep, telephone calls that I have to make. When did we all get so busy? just living your life from day-to-day can be like running a goddamn multi-corporate business! Everyday there's some new drama or challenge that requires your "immediate" attention (which invariably takes the shape of a huge bill that you're trying to stall on paying!), sometimes I just want to take a break from it all and disappear amongst the shadows. I once read a book about modern philosophy that stated that "man can never truly comprehend life because the trivialities of living will always distract him from such a noble endeavour" (or something like that!....I must admit that I was too busy to finish that book off because I had to ring up my credit card company and query a transaction on my statement.....they had me on hold for almost an hour!)

Anyway enough of that, back to the street. As I've said, night-driving allows me to think more clearly without all the trauma and stress of the day. I like to imagine myself as Robert DeNiro in the film Taxi Driver, just soaking up the pace and pulse of the city. "Endless avenues and lanes all deeply immersed and saturated with the stain of a billion memories just float past me in the blink of an eye as my car speeds by" (see?...I'm getting all poetical just by recollecting!;).

I know my way around London quite well now, so most of the time I don't even think about the route that I'm taking, the name of the roads that I'm on or which is the best way to turn, it's become instinctual to me. I navigate my way around solely by seeing familiar places, sometimes it's a particular tree, an illuminated shop sign or maybe even a pronounced bend in the road that reassures me that I'm going the right way. Funnily enough, amidst all of the shadows, strangely everything seems clearer.

So as I was driving through Enfield the other night, I passed down a street along which I had driven a million times before. Suddenly there was a power-cut! the whole street went pitch-black and I was overwhelmed by shadows! It was so immediate that the feeling of being engulfed in darkness was very powerful, all the street lights and shop signs simply vanished! The whole nature of my surroundings had now changed, the only lights visible to me were my own headlights shining ahead and those of the stars shining down from above. I looked up in awe, as I could finally see how majestic that they all were, when you live in a big city you rarely get to properly view the stars, sometimes I forget that they're even there and the moon always seems so lonely by himself.

I started to slow down the car and drive more carefully. Everything appeared to be so different, there was no familiar tree, no shop signs or road bends visible, my orientation had evaporated completely before my very eyes and I could hear the faint laughter of the shadows that were mocking me (evidently I wasn't ready to join them yet!). One minute I knew where I was going, and the next?.....(wow!)....I was totally lost. But then as quickly as they had disappeared... the lights came back on and everything was seemingly back to normal!

Believe it or not, the lights made an actual faint humming sound when they were turned back on. It was something that I'd never noticed before, it didn't completely drown out the echoes of the shadow's jeers and taunts, but it was still a comfort to hear. What was even more comforting was that upon being bathed in the luscious rays of clarity that the street lamps provided, I instantly found my bearings again and proceeded with my journey. I decided to leave the shadows behind, to keep going forward and carry on ahead.... just me, myself and the few other meandering solitary souls to keep me company.

Until the future-later...

What is history? surely it's nothing but a collection of stories, vague memories, biased viewpoints, imaginary facts and varying opinions. These are all then mixed and concocted into a palatable stew and fed to us as being definitive historic moments in time. I remember that I once watched a news report about the launching of a NASA space-rocket a little while back. The TV news channels were abundant with such stories covering it's mission to intercept this nearby comet. It was a great day indeed for astronomical science as the hidden secrets of these mysterious comets were about to finally be revealed.

One of the station broadcasters became overly excited in his report of the day's events, "Ladies and gentlemen! Stop what you are doing, for you are about to witness History In The Making!".......Hmmm, it's a grand statement for what I must admit was an even grander event. I mean "Wow!... a rocket actually targeting and intercepting a comet?", this was the stuff of the old black and white science fiction movies that I used to watch as a kid. But it was the useage of the phrase "History in the making", that intrigued me.

As far as I am concerned history is always being made, and we are all a living testament to it. As I type this, I am here creating history (albeit from my little computer at a god-forsaken early hour in the morning!). And similarly, as you read this (from your home/office/padded cell/wherever) you are witnessing a part of this creation, whether or not you agree to my historic credentials.....well....er....that's another debate entirely. Now I feel obliged to let you into a little secret; in the middle of writing this historic Chronicle entry I paused for a historic cup of coffee and an equally historic bagel (it's good too!) and all this happened whilst comets passed overhead and shooting stars fell from the sky!

[pause]
(damn! this is a goooood bagel!)

O.K.... where was I? (he says... wiping away the crumbs from the keyboard).... oh yeah.... "History"
I guess that what I'm trying to say is that historic events don't necessarily have to be grandiose or earth-shattering affairs. Many a great career or occurrence can often be born out of the most unremarkable of beginnings. It's only when we look back that we tend to attach our own elaborate significance to lend credence to the weight of a story.

For example, I am currently involved in trying to promote Spoken Word poetry to the broader media as a growing form of entertainment that needs to be appreciated. If you look at the history of the stand-up comedian, the rapper or even the DJ, they all had to go through a growing process of evolvement before they became accepted as artforms and I recognise that Poetry must also go through the same. So whenever I see the increasing amount of Spoken Word poets and events that have been taking place over the last few years, the different performance styles and the varying subject matter that is now being covered by these underground wordsmiths. I too, could very easily say to myself that I am also witnessing "History in the making"

Hmmmmm, this bagel could be the beginning of something.

Until the future-later

Things have been going quite well, I recently did a gig in Whitechapel last Thursday which went ok (depending on who you ask!), but what made it unique was that some of my real old friends from way back came down to see me perform. It was great to catch up with the crew and just fall back into the old groove of just running jokes and cusses on each other. In fact, some of the jibes and comments that we passed around between ourselves after the show was probably more entertaining to watch than my entire set on stage!

It just makes me realise that the most entertaining thing in life.... is LIFE itself. As artists and writers we all can try to capture these vivid moments on film, radio, television, paper or on stage, but in fact, nothing is more amusing or entertaining than our own personal real life funny experiences. Just as you can also say that there is nothing is more moving and emotional than our real life tragic experiences as well.

This probably will seem to you as if I'm stating the obvious (or that I'm about to start testifying to the congregation like I'm in church!), but I've been very preoccupied as of late with a tremendous amount of writing. I've been writing scripts for radio, short stories for my workshops with children, I've written some comedy sketches for a friend, some new poems and some monologues for a film scriptwriter. During such endeavours, all that I've been attempting to do is to "recreate" the emotional experiences of reality and translate it into an entertaining format.

This can get really difficult at times (which is why the professionals get paid bucket-loads of cash to do it!), for in some instances I'm writing to make you laugh whilst in others I'm writing to make you think. Then again, the real challenge for a performer is to attempt to bring out a whole range of different feelings from an audience (both positive and negative) but yet to still keep them feeling that they are being entertained. Sometimes I've succeed in my endeavours and during other times.. I've failed embarrassingly....(ouch!).... (I guess that this just shows that there is always room for improvement).

That's what was so amusing about last Thursday's gig, within my set I covered a cross-section of subjects to represent a multi-faceted view of reality. Once it was finished, everybody just congregated outside the KFC on the main road and just hung about on the street to chat. Now I'm always open to feedback, and what I got was mixed. Some people loved it all whilst other people only liked certain sections..... some said that I should concentrate more on the humour, while others said that they liked the political stuff better.....(I guess that you can't please eveyone...........nor should you try to).

So after the show, I met up with my friends and we just starting falling into our old patterns of conversation. We spoke about life, death, politics, women, music, art and everything in between. We reviewed the night, made comments on how it went and discussed the whole role of trying to entertain an audience. I just stood back and smiled to myself, because this conversation contained within it all of the elements that I have been trying to recreate on stage (and in my other writings). The seamless mix of observational comedy, political commentary and trivial banter was the most entertaining thing that I had experienced in ages (even though I got praised and ridiculed by them in the same breath!), if only I could recreate such moments whenever I sit myself down to write, then I'd definitely be on my way up(!) I guess that it's true what they say... "We are all our own superstars, but we just tend to forget sometimes!".

Until the future-later...

Today is a special day.

Now, I'm not saying that any of the other days in the yearly calender hold no significance or worth for me, nor am I implying for a minute that there won't ever again be any more "Special Days" in the future....... but for me, in my own little world.... today is a special day.

"So Mr Gee!" (I hear you all cry) "what makes TODAY March 7th of all days so special? After all, it is only a Tuesday and most people up and down the country are still locked in the daily grind at work. The shining light of next weekend seems so far away that we can barely conceive it, and the heady excesses of the weekend just gone are but a distant hazy memory in our minds.....in fact Gee, if you come to think about it, today is just a pretty ordinary day!"

Hmmmm, you all raise good points (especially you there at the back of the class!), many of which I can't argue with (in fact, I'm sneakily typing this from work right now!), but this date is still special for me, because on this day a couple of years ago......I played my perfect game of pool! ;)

Now this may not mean much to all you non-pool players (in fact, I'm sure that it most probably doesn't), but I believe that EVERYBODY has got the perfect game of pool inside of them, and when you play it....it is indeed memorable. This was a day when all the shots that I lined up came true for me, the rebounds and the lucky breaks simply fell into place, even when I made mistakes I was always given a chance to correct them....(wow!).....On that day, I was the man! I remember feeling so happy and joyous, I was like a kid dancing and playing in the snow on that first winter's day of snowfall! But of course, in the dark and moody environment of a pool hall in Islington, I had to control my emotions and play it calm, cool & collected (street-style).

I don't know who invented such laws of conduct, it's a shame though, because if you are elated and ecstatic about something you still have to pretend to be unconcerned and nonchalant or else risk looking like an idiot. Why is the outward exhibition of happiness so frowned upon? (especially in London). I personally blame this song that I used to sing in school as a kid called: "If you're happy and you know it clap your hands (clap! Clap!)". Back then, we were all made to stand in a circle and the teacher would make us sing this stupid song and clap our hands in time. By looking at the other kids opposite me forcing their palms together through the strained smiles of feigned interest (as they secretly pined for playtime), I began to equate happy people with idiots!

Anyway, back to the game, by the end of the day I had pulled off the smoothest of moves and made the slickest of shots, leaving a lasting impression amongst all concerned. On that day, I was a King! I felt on top of the world.....it was almost like falling in love!

Since then, I've tried to recreate the magic, I admit that on some occasions I've come close to reclaiming the glory and on others....I've failed miserably. In fact my track record has been abyssmal recently, I just never seem to have the time to work on my game. I'm so bad now that I'm sure most people will have forgotten the splendour and wonder of that perfect game oh so long ago, but I can still look back at it, remember it and smile..... which is why today is a special day.

Until the future-later

I've just been involved in one of those Great "Men are from Mars & Women are from Venus" debates that invariably occurs whenever you get a congregation of people together in a room. You know the type.... "why are women so difficult???" or "Why are men so insensitive?"... we've all been involved in them throughout the years.

I remember first indulging in such a pastime waaay back when I was in school. The conversation would generally start off when a girl that you knew would suddenly come up to you and say something like: "So, what kind of girls do you check for?". Now guys are generally dumb in school, and they don't ever realise that this question is usually asked because either: a) the girl likes you herself and she's making a direct play, or b) she's asking on behalf of her friend, but she's still curious for herself (the more likely scenario). So, boys being boys, tend to eagerly list all the curvaceous physical attributes of our favourite movie/music/TV stars not for a single moment realising that we're steadily blowing our chances as we proclaim our lust for some model on the other side of a television screen (who, let's face it, is not exactly gonna be rushing home to kiss our spotty teenage faces is she now?). Thus the disparity between the sexes is born, and further questions ensue: "Is that really what you guys want?" (Fellas, make note, whatever you say after such a question is futile... the game has already begun!)

But the reverse is also true, we guys will sometimes ask women the same question "What do you look for in a man" (hoping that somehow from the information that we gleam, that we'll be "in with a chance!" whoo-hoo!). But alas, once this question is uttered, the answer that you hear will be so long, tedious and drawn out, detailed with so many unattainable emotional characteristics, that any hope that you originally had of making a move, evaporates and quickly goes out of the window! The ironic lesson that I learned from these amateur exchanges at school, was that many of the constructed "desirability" lists that the guys and girls gave to each other back then, were rarely materialised in the flesh when you met their first girlfriend/boyfriend, (we were all so green then). This was an important revalation for me, because it made me realise that many of the verbal exchanges that take place during "The Great Debate" are usually just people blowing hot air to each other!

Once I got to University however, the Debate took on a different format. Most of us had already been in a few sexual relationships (and were eager to be in a few more), but the game had changed, there was a new dimension to the conversation that now went beyond just physical attraction: "Can Men and Women ever truly be friends?". That was a stinger! (wasn't it guys?) I hated that question, because my immediate "schoolboy" instinct was to yell out and respond with a resounding "NO!!!". But yet like everybody else in Uni, I had to maintain my nice-guy image and so I kept my game tight and entertained many a discussion, carefully crafting my answers to remain likable...and stay in the runnings! (I'd wised up a lot since school).

Of course, now I'm a lot older and I realise that Men & Women can be friends, only that the friendship is always going to be of a different sort. The conversations that I have with my boys is always going to be of a more frank and honest nature, because many of us are going through the same situations and we have a similar viewpoints. Whereas, if I'm speaking to my female friends, it's difficult for us to both reveal all our secrets to one another without entering "The Great Debate" territory. The main reason why I have select female friends is because they are usually different to most of the other women that I've encountered in life. It's good to have interesting people around you who stretch your mind, and I don't think that people should let sexual politics get in the way of a good friendship (See? I've wised up a bit since Uni!)

Anyway, this version of the Debate, took place this week in a bar with a work colleague of mine. I was on my way home and I received a call from this guy I work with called Tony, (he's old school, from the Caribbean and about 50+) he said that he had been out drinking and was unable to drive and he wanted me to pick him up from this bar in the West End and drop him home in his car. Since I was around the corner, I figured that I'd oblige. When I saw him, he was in the bar shouting at this group of three women (who were all of a similar age) "You women are IMPOSSIBLE to please! Nothing makes you happy unless you're making men miserable! That's why we die younger than you!!". I felt as if I had just stepped into a war-zone! but (to their credit) these ladies gave as good as they got. "Tony!!!" one of them roared back, "you've been a miserable old git for years! even when you were young! Your problem is that you don't even know how to make a woman happy, you don't even have any women as friends so how in the hell could you ever know what they want?"
"Friends? Friends?..... No woman could ever be my friend, I only need a woman for one thing and one thing only (heh heh) right Gee?! Ask my friend Gee, he'll tell you!"
It was at this point in the "discussion" when one of the women turned to me and said "So (Gee)....Is that what you guys really want?"......

As you can guess, this was where I got unwillingly dragged into the debate. It was difficult for me to even get a word in edgeways with these people who were so much older than me (and I didn't really know them well at all) because they viewed most of my comments as childlike. Eventually I dragged Tony out of there in his drunken state and drove him home. As we sped into the night through streets of London, I turned to him and said "Woah, that was a heated argument, you guys don't pull any punches when you get down do you?!". Tony just laughed "Don't pay them no mind Gee, one of them is my ex-wife and the other is my ex-girlfriend......and the other?...well.... ha ha, you need to wise up on women son!"

Until the future-later...

Question:

Can anybody please tell me what the actual aim and purpose of Junk mail is? I mean, what exactly is its role, it's function, its desired contribution towards the greater good of mankind?

Like most people, I go into my different e-mail accounts to check up on things. We all have our different accounts to serve our different purposes, I think that most people like to compartmentalise various areas of their lives and tend to deal with them at separate e-mail addresses. Yet the one concurrent theme that transmits itself everywhere across the board is endless spam.....yeah, y'know....Junk Mail! It has been said that modern medicine is closer to curing cancer than it is to curing the common cold. I too would like to add my two cents in by stating that we are probably more likely to cure the common cold, Aids, Third World debt and reunite Ike and Tina Turner on a Sunday morning than we are to eliminating junk mail!

Just by casually looking through my Inbox I can see mortgage advice, savings advice, website advice, sexual advice and health advice etc, but I'm yet to see any "Hey, Mr Gee, I'll get rid of all these other Junk Mail Suckers for you forever homie" advice! I often wonder just how much success do these "companies" really reap? Is there some equation where they link the billions of these stupid e-mails sent with actual profit? I'd really like to know because I now just permanently delete anything that I don't recognise.

I saw one e-mail suggesting that I can lose weight by using a miraculous slimming pill, while another offered me a chance to improve my love life by "gaining extra inches" (ha, I guess that size really does matter :). Even on this website, my poor Guestbook gets polluted daily by a babbling mass of crazed cyber-merchants all clawing away to ply their dubious wares. I try to delete as much of it as I can (apologies for any genuine entries that get lost in my sweeping culls), but much like King Kong on top of the Empire State, I'm evidently fighting a losing battle. Where do these people come from? Do they really think that someone is gonna visit my humble little site and think to themselves "Hey, let me check out what Mr Gee is up to..... oh, I see that he's still doing the Spoken Word... hmmm and he's got his little CD for sale... and (ha ha) he's still blogging away ferociously in his Chronicles!!..... but you know what I really like about Mr Gee's site? it's all the porn/antique furniture/energy pill/guitar string links that he provides in his Guestbook, it adds such a unique touch to his work!".... the mind boggles (or "Googles" as the case may be!)

Even in the "real" world, junk mail still rules unchallenged as King. I sat down yesterday and waded through an ocean of leaflets and envelopes that were threatening to consume my very being. Hundreds of offers and deals were all silently screaming at me from this formless mass of mindless paper! Special deals on Pizza Delivery, a new Indian restaurant has opened 5 miles away, cheaper rates on cosmetic surgery/double glazing and faith healing (sadly... not a combined service!). It appears that leaflets for every conceivable trade or service that I don't need finds its way into my world.

Sometimes I muse to myself, I wonder whether if I actually blindly subscribed to all of these services, would it indeed change my life for the better? Maybe I'm the one who's at fault here and that all of this Junk that I seem to be getting is actually coming from a wise source ('King Junk himself!) Think about it, if I went along with the madness, I'd have all the advice that I need, the physique of an adonis and a few extra inches downstairs! Then I can pig-out on take-aways, enjoy my double glazing and listen to my faith healer on my antique couch!

No, sadly, I'm not THAT stupid......(despite what people say!) Variety and choice is a beautiful thing, and I understand that everybody needs to advertise themselves in this fast-paced world of consumerism but we don't need it rammed down our throats! So the next time you see a glossy envelope on your doormat with bold letters proclaiming "You Could Be a Winner", throw it into to the bin and smile "I already am....a$$hole!"

Until the future-later...