Lit-zine
JU
A coat tail melodrama
Jack Steel
Life, a coat tail melodrama,
pissing in the gutter,
seeing reflections of the stars.
Quoting Oscar is
the nearest I
get to the BBC.
Imagine an audience,
listening or cheering.
Even shouting
or swearing.
Some attention would be nice.
Pluck the strings,
you screw all things,
quoting Oscar is the nearest I
get to the BBC.
I saw a man once,
with a famous face.
I ripped it off,
and put it on my face.
I danced around
and did a jig,
but no-one knew
because it only looked like him.
I wonder if stardom
is a thing for the wicked.
Or a thing for the pretty,
or the obnoxious or cute.
Implications of a lifelong
obsession are heavy
on a laboured soul.
Maybe if I style my hair like him,
will that do it?
If talent's enough then
why aren't I Jesus?
Is it because I buy my fake tan
from Tracy's delicatessen?
Everyone knows that Kim Kardashian has the secret.
It's locked in her cupboard
with more important things.
Except they're not are they?
What do I care,
if my breasts aren't quite as famous?
I wonder if Oscar ever worked at the BBC?
Probably a weatherman
or the economics editor.
'Our talent isn't wasted sir,
it's delegated.'
Meritocracy is anarchy
although I suppose it's impossible anyway.
Unless Simon Cowell
thought I could sell records.
And I could as well,
if my breasts were as famous as Kim Kardashian's.
We're living in a post Cafe,
royalty free world,
and I fucking hate it.
My plans for the future,
ruined by inadequacy.
Plans which extended no further than
about 6 and a half paragraphs
of metaphors and cheap thrills.
That's enough, surely?
Oh won't you let me be famous now?
The BBC probably wouldn't even hire him.
He'd fail the interview
because he's an ex jailbird.
'Bloody criminals,
should lock them all up.'
You'll never see me on the NHS.
I wonder if limos,
come with free champagne?
Or if the champagne will
come with free limo's instead?
How many words in a best seller?
And do they all have
to be good?
Give it a year or five,
and I'll be on the red carpet with Bono,
vomiting into a pint glass of Marks and Spencer champagne,
with my free limo overturned in a skip.
Living the high life.
Jack Steel is an aspiring novelist in his early twenties, currently working in The Midlands but hailing from the north of England. More or less unpublished, he is now working on his second novel, hoping for some luck in finding an agent at the second attempt later this year.
His works are available here: http://jottify.com/writer/bungalowbill18/"