The teachings of Schmudda

My good friend Nicky Palmer and I invented a religion a few years back and this poem is my attempt to encapsulate it in verse. She is of course the head of worldwide Schmuddism (the Dalai Palmer). I’m a bit annoyed about the dalek meditation thing that’s been going around recently because it’s totally stolen my thunder. Buy anyhoo, crack out the scented candles, fondle your crystals and prepare for my dulcet tones helping you to JUST FUCKING RELAX.

This one is really a performance piece, so please have a listen. And if anyone wants to make me an amazing video to go with it so that we can achieve viral notoriety together and retire on our vast earnings, please get in touch.

The Teachings of Schmudda

there are seven steps to a complete meltdown
I want you to focus on that hard kernal of stress and death-fear deep within you which
occasionally surfaces at three in the morning
now just fix in your mind the triumphal expression on your brother’s face after he has just forced you to slap yourself whilst pinning you down completely
it is very important that you breathe as shallowly as possible
imagine breathing in the reek of cat piss on newly laundered sheets
OK…it is time to tap into the seething resentment caused by successive occasions of
being overlooked for promotion
you are a spreadsheet
your conditional formatting is signalling something awry and all of your cells are slowly turning red
visualise your limitations…they are very real and all-encompassing
you are barely capable of rational thought let alone stunning insight
your mind is a piece of broken plasterboard in the rusting skip of the cosmos

these phrases from the masters will help you
“he started it”
“you can only do what you can do”
“if you’d only let me finish”
“I’m bored”
remember the parable of the twisted arm
the instructive fable of the lazy cuckoo

say sayonara to samsara with new schmudda spray!

you are now ready to think about stuff
there is a terrifying amount of objects surrounding you and they are incredibly fucking real
think about the amount of cars which you saw this morning on your way to work
exactly how many extra strong mints are contained in all of the glove compartments
of all of those cars
I want you to think about shrink-wrapped coconuts, inaccurate models of Parisian landmarks and implements associated with dentistry
when I count to 10 nothing will happen
you will come to your senses exactly the same as you were before

you are not melting into the ether, there are immovable barriers which you will never transcend
you are the thing that will stop you becoming the thing that is not you
thing thing thing thing thing thing thing
I find that this is usually a good point to listen to Gabba and think about
finite resources

your mantra must be annoyingly unpronouncable and impossible to remember, containing at least 7 successive consonants, a hidden swearword, the chemical ingredients of a de-greasing agent and an alphabetical list of Welsh mining villages
try to say it as often as possible in a voice which is a composite of a magpie’s cackle and a horribly tranquilised newsreader

Schmudda skim-read the Wikipedia entry on Buddhism at least once to enable him to formulate these precepts
He thought about suffering and cracked one off
He ate all the rice, all the pies, the whole universe
He formulated the noble two-fold path, right good and right wrong ‘un

Let’s all be quiet for just a fucking minute and think about Schmudda.
Let us offer up the sacred slow handclap and think about the 6 thingies, the 7 whatsits, the 8 whatever they ares
Om Mani Paddy Power
Om Mani Paddy Power
Om Mani Paddy Power


Notre Dame

This new poem was inspired by the unease I felt after seeing fellow tourists recording worshippers’ private moments of prayer during a service at Notre Dame.

Notre Dame

a glorious hulk run aground in the Seine
the pierced hull allows
schools of phosphorescent phone-fish in
to swim around the drowned nave

buttressed bulkheads
in the nautical gothic style
failed to protect the transept
from sudden inundation

the worshippers are lashed to the pews
their watery prayers
seep through the depths
in homeopathic concentration

interrupted intercession
glimpsed through a view finder
silent conversations
with a drifting bell diver