Christian Watson

Christian Watson is based in Hastings, East Sussex though he grew from a boy to a man in the city of Bradford, surviving underage drinking, riots, gang violence, random arson, horror films, destructive vandalism, rooftop graffiti, recreational drugs, occasional squatting, an overactive imagination, joyriding and all the other fun stuff that teenage life throws at you and came out pretty well adjusted on the other side, apart from the tendency to write poetry about all of the above and perform it on stage.

 Christian started writing when he was so young to think Luke Skywalker was the cool one in Star Wars. By the time Phantom Menace came out he was adept at writing bad teenage poetry which communicated the pain of not having much to be in pain about apart from being a virgin, acne, running out of weed and being hungover. By the time the world was given the chance to see Anakin become Darth Vader he had started to write poetry that was almost entertaining and didn't make people within listening range cringe into their wringing fingers.  Now that everyone agrees the last three films were awful he's become a regular face on the spoken word circuit, performing at festivals and nights throughout the country.

 Christian released limited edition self recorded EP in 2010 called "The No funds, One Take EP" which was sold at gigs and through his Myspace www.myspace.com/tallpoetry and sold out within two weeks.  He is currently recording a split EP with Hastings musician and singer Otti Albietz and also working on a project called Chasing dragons with producer Snitch from Brixton, both of which should see light of day late 2010.  

For booking information contact:

Lurchingadams25@hotmail.com 

To Listen to Christian Watson go to:

http://www.myspace.com/tallpoetry

To watch Christian Watson go to:

www.youtube.com/the deadhenrys

Undead Face Chomping Kiler Cannibals
 

To begin with opinions varied

 Some said it was a virus from outer space

Others said the cause was nuclear waste

 The religious danced with joy preaching it was judgement day 

Leaving the churches full of atheists who knelt and prayed

The paranoid said it was a government experiment but

were shouted down by realists said the cause was irrelevant

 they said stop chasing pink elephants and look at the facts

The dead are coming back

it’s as simple as that.

The first to react were the middle classes

They didn’t panic as the virus infected the planet

No

They wrote letters complaining of property damage and asking

“Where are the police? Why do I pay my taxes?”

Letters to the daily mail written in tight lipped polite language

Hinting at immigrant workers being the first carriers, saying

“This would never have happened if Diana was alive”

But she isn’t, so they did nothing, just complained, and died.

The kids raised on Playstations thought it was great

“It’s like ‘Resident Evil’ for real, like ‘Left 4 Dead’ but not fake”

Though there’s no extra lives, no glitches and no ammo cheats

So these kids couldn’t compete with the hordes of shuffling feet

They didn’t last a week and were chewed up by chipped teeth

But what do you expect when your half obese from sitting on your arse

With only burgers to eat?

 The older generation they’d lived through the war

So they taped up their windows and locked their doors

Hid in their basements like from the bombs before

But the lessons from the blitz were no use any more as the zombies sniffed them out Ripped up the floors and

Ate their grey flesh with no sign of remorse

 The whole world was consumed by Mass riots and mass death

Looting

Shooting and

Crowds with bad breath who

Stumble and grab at anyone left

With a breath in their chest and a heart that won’t rest

Growing in numbers they groan and pace

Killing and assimilating all who get in their way

Only to be stopped by a hole in the face from

A well armed citizen fallen from grace

 Just remember

One bite and your dead

You can slow them down if you take out their legs but

The only way to kill them is to take off their head

The best way to do it is with a double barrel shot gun

Though if you haven’t got one

a shovel

a machete

or better yet just run

No where is safe you just have to keep moving

Looting for weapons

Jumping John Woo style shooting with a gun in each hand

popping undead warped mutants

 Surviving on an earth which is now a burning hell

Where the living die screaming but don’t stay where they fell

Instead rising up to join the putrid swell of undead hordes tolling the bell

 Keep running as they shuffle

Move fast and don’t stumble

Keep ahead of the pack and never look back

Never get trapped

They’re slow

Your fast

You can climb and hide

They can only lurch and grasp

 You’re not the last

keep telling yourself that

you’re not the last you’re not the last you’re not the last you’re not the last

 There must be others out there alive and fighting

hiding and surviving

there must be there must be there must be there must be

 And if there isn’t

There’s nothing

Only a barrel in your mouth and a bullet in your brain

Just to make sure you don’t rise again

 Just to make sure you don’t join the gormless hordes

That only feed and consume

That turned this once pleasant earth into an undead tomb

No more special than you
No less special than God

I grew from a boy to a man in the city of Bradford, surviving underage drinking, riots, gang violence, random arson, destructive vandalism, rooftop graffiti, recreational drugs, occasional squatting, joyriding and all the other fun stuff that teenage life throws at you and came out pretty well adjusted on the other side, apart from the tendency to write poetry and perform it on stage.

I started writing when I was so young I thought Luke Skywalker was the cool one in Star Wars. By the time Phantom Menace came out I was adept at writing bad teenage poetry which communicated the pain of not having much to be in pain about apart from being a virgin, acne, running out of weed and being hungover. By the time the world was given the chance to see Anakin become Darth Vader I had stated to write poetry that was almost entertaining and didn't make people within listening range cringe into their wringing fingers.

I now live in Hastings, a little seaside town on the east Sussex coast which is known for it's beach launched fishing fleet slightly less than it is known for its casual violence and heroin problem. It's not as bad at it seems at first, and you can't beat having your food snatched out of your hands by agressive seagulls whenever you decide it might be okay to eat outside.

I run a night called Sunday Veg which is a monthly poetry night that occurs on the second Sunday of every month at The Rooms, St-Leonards-On-Sea. It's a small open mic night which has one headliner per month and we have been graced with the presence of some fabulous out of town talent as well a whole host of homegrown talent, such as Steve Tasane, Ashley Ffrench, Adam Kammerling, Lucas Howard, Paradox, Adam Rosenberg and many others. It will be our third birthday in October 2010 so keep an eye out for something big. 

I also run a slam night in Tunbridge Wells with Lucas Howard called Slam Sandwich which is now on it's third night, a bi-monthly slam competition where we try and get bigger names in poetry to headline and have so far had the likes of Dave Pepper, Kate Tempest, Robin Lawley, Paradox and Alexander Vellis. Keep watching for more news.

A few years ago I started a poetry magazine called No.1 Fake which is now on its ninth issue and comes out every two months. You can find the group on Facebook by searching No.1 Fake Magazine. It is primarily illustration and poetry and is run by me and my mate Paul Aitchison (who is also an incredibly talented poet and illustrator) and is a community venture where we try to include as much work by local poets as well as nationaly recognised poets and illustrators. It is a very DIY affair taking a lot of influence from punk 'zines from the late seventies. At the moment I am working on a series of fold out poster specials. Check the group for details.

I used to be in a accousta-punk-poetry duo called Come On Coma Victim- a link to the Myspace is in my websites- and am now working on two complimentary musical ventures with the aim of producing a split EP by the end of October. The first is called Chasing Dragons and is made up of myself on vocals and Richard Martin/Vital Substance on production duties, this team up will be used to express the darker, moodier side of my poetry. The other venture is with Otti Albietz and is called (imaginatively) Watson Albietz, with me on vocals and Otti on all the instruments (he's a very talented man) and this team up will primarily explore the lighter, poppier side of my poetry, setting out to make feel good summer hits with catchy choruses whilst maintaining the integrity and depth of the original work.

For booking details contact lurchingadams25@hotmail.com, or if you just want a chat or to get involved in any of the nights or the magazine.

I've done loads more with my life, but I'm saving that for the autobiography. Check bookshelves around Christmas time.

Constructing Eve

I fell in love with a mannequin. 

I found her on the way to the tip,

Just the bottom half, feet knees and hips.

She was cut off at the waist so imagined her a face,

Put nipples on her breasts and a belly button at the waist,

I painted a picture of perfection and completed her with a name,

I called her Nemesis, my one true love, and filled her up with blame

I blamed her for my patience

                                           My plastic smile defence

I blamed her for my static howl

                                           The distance between friends 

I blamed her in my panic I blamed her in my shame

I blamed her in the darkness for making monsters tame

For taking all my childhood fears

                                           For replacing them with time

I blamed her for my lonlieness

                                           Her imagined hand in mine

I blamed her to her face for being half the woman I designed

And behind her back I’d set up traps to capture her decline

I fell in love with a mannequin

I found her half naked in a skip

Legs cut off at the waist so I imagined

her some lips

Drew in a tongue, teeth, saliva

moved closer

stole a kiss, gave her a throat, lungs, breath so she may make a wish

                                                                                                               She declined the offer

                                                                                                                                               Instead

She asked me why I made her what material gave her life

Why I gave her pain and the ability to cry

How did I complete her? Fill the vacancy this high?

She was happy with her heels, toes, knees, shins, hips and thighs

She said she was half an idea of woman who felt complete inside

She asked me if my love was punishment and she asked me not to lie

                                                                                                               So I didn’t instead

                                                                                                                                               I told her

                                           There are lies we accept and lies we refuse

That every lie spoken is a form of truth

That every lie hidden is a form of abuse

That every lie silenced is so close to proof

That many accept without question

That they are here to be used

                                   They accept freedom in ignorance

That happiness is cheap

                   That people can be bought and sold

                                                  And the strong protect the weak

                   That wisdom follows experience

                   That ideas always survive

                   That words will never hurt you

                                                  And evil can never hide

                                                                                           I said

When we corner truth we find we’re happier with lies

                                                                                           I told her

Love is the material of life without each other we’d die

                                                                                           I told her

Pain will always heal and that it’s easy not to cry

                                                                                           I gave her a

Chance to speak she only looked me in the eyes

I fell in love with a mannequin

Who’d been put out with the trash

Half an idea of a women I tried to make intact

                                                                               with paper, paint, gum, hair, ashes, water, wax

Then

Let my desire fill the gaps where my craftmanship was lax

I hid all the rough edges

               Smoothed over all the cracks

                               Made her perfect in my mind then

                                                                               Gave her a part to act

She was the woman to save me

                                               I was the man who gave her life

But ideas needs more than desire

                                               And marriage is more than a wife

                               I asked her why I couldn’t make her happy

                                                               No matter

                                                               how hard

                                                               I tried

In reply she smiled me a question and                                           

                                                               then

Slowly closed her eyes before revealing

                                                               what

She missed from her past life in fateful fragile sighs  

She missed

the approval held in her arms she believed would never leave

She missed

the hair wrapped round her throat a rough net to catch her screams

She missed

the swelling of her stomach the words that made her bleed

She missed

the way her hand held the brush that would never scrub her clean

She missed

the kisses on her neck softly falling autumn leaves

She missed

the kisses on her neck fading with her dreams 

She missed

the kisses on her neck happy to be deceived

She missed

the kisses on her neck that will never come from me

She held me with her curious arms and whispered her goodbyes

No apologies she told me And you can keep your lies

She said you can’t blame me for your mistakes

And I can’t blame you for mine

Then she discarded who I made her and left as she arrived

A naked mannequin foot to waist and very much alive