Kunal Singhal music promoter interviewed by smart musicans club

Cigarrettes and Alcohol

I don’t remember what I did,
because I drink and smoke.
I can’t explain why I did what I did,
because I drink and smoke.
If you knew what I did,
you’d have thought it was a joke.
I do the things I do,
because I drink and smoke.
When I say the things I say,
it’s like I haven’t spoke.
When you ask me questions,
it’s as if I’ve had a stroke.
I spend money that I haven’t got,
that’s why I’m always broke.
I’m just like all of you,
I’m just a normal bloke,
who likes marijuana and alcohol and
sometimes, a little coke.
It’s not the taste I like,
it’s the feelings they evoke.
On the memories that I have…
They often make me choke
With shame, with laughter and just a little shock.
I’m seldom happy until I’ve had a toke,
couple that with a couple of cans
and it’s like I haven’t woke.
Although I smoke, even though I drink, my problems don’t come from that, I think.
Because I smoke because I drink, occasionally I stink.
My skin is sallow, my nose is pink, in my armour there’s a chink, in my mind there’s a kink.
Before you blink, before I wink, I will down my drink and just to make the link,
off to
have a
smoke I
slink. :)

There is only one Heaven

Tranquil, sweet sense of peace.
Encompass me, envelope me in your serenity.
Hush me, soothe me, allow me to wallow in your placidity.
Let me drift on your breeze.
Surround me, comfort me.
Take away the bustle of my existence.
Silence me, smother me.
Extinquish  my childlike persistence.
I beg of you put me at ease.
Cool me, soften me.
Make me more than reasonable.
Calm me, tame me.
Put me at my most agreeable.
Nullify the panic in my heart, fill my soul with your serenity.
Quieten the rumours and murmurings until I
succumb to the joyful loneliness of tranquility.

The murmering bartender

“Order the Guinness FIRST!”

“Ask people what they want BEFORE you start ordering a round.”

“I am merely operating a machine, IF I could make it faster, I would.”

“Learn to articulate simple requests such as ‘two bottle of Becks, please?”

“No problem!”  ‘One pint of lager for the cunt who can’t say please and a vodka lemonade for the fuckwit who puts up with him, and breathe…and…’ “Smile…Anything else?”

“Some pubs sell different beers. Did you notice you were in a DIFFERENT PUB?”

“Yes pointing, that’s polite, just point…”

“I have no idea what you might possibly, want. If I could tell what people wanted by looking at them I would not be working in a fucking bar!”

“Our wines? Like? Kind of like wine, only more so, we, here, like to think both privately, and on this one occasion, publicly that our wines are very much LIKE wines, they come to us in wine bottles, we serve them in a wine glass to all sense and purposes they are no dissimilar to wine!”

“My favourite people are those that order than walk away, to the loo.”

“I like people waving money at me.”

“I enjoy people who tap or whistle.”

the quick thing

The quick thing slithered, slid and slank

Where it had been was cold and dank

Where it had been was cold and dank

where it had been was barren and stark

Where it had been really stank

It may be quick but it is also large mean it was bigger than a barge

It was huger than a giant

and it's back was very pliant

which meant it could bend and seem small

and you wouldn't find it in the hall

It could hide inside your pocket

Then grow quickly like a rocket.

And if you smelt good like children do

It might turn you into goo

and suck you up or into two

or small enough so it could chew

your arms, your legs, your head and guts

It would swallow you like nuts

you'd be gone and it would grow

Because it was quick and you were slow.

The Race

Ahead was the bustle of the street, with lights and cars and people hurrying to and fro.  He could hear the calls from the burger trolleys and nut sellers.

Through the gaps in his fingers he could see flashes of cars, taxis, buses, the smoke from exhausts and the steam from people's mouths rising and disappearing as they hurried along with packages and bags, xmas presents for children, wives, husbands, mothers and daughters, then another flash of bright white as the trainer slammed into his hands, snapping his neck back with it's venom.

Keeping his hands to his face, and his arms protecting his ribs, he tried to move towards the light, inching along on his knees, trying to keep focus. Peering through his fingers he saw the trainers stepping back, readying to smash him again.  He swerved to the right just at the right time and the assailant missed completely and fell backwards.

This was it!  His chance at freedom from the next onslaught of pain.  He withdrew his hands from his face and clutched at the wall for a hold, digging his nails into brick he dragged his body to his feet and tried to run.  But the pain he had endured and the power of the first blow slowed him.

A dense fog drifted into his vision and the lights looked like a slow release photograph and his brain couldn't decipher the image.  Still, fear has it's own drive and fear pushed him on.  like a bear in treacle he waded through the pain. Holding onto the wall he dragged his aching body towards the confused fairy lights of the street.

He heard the quick fist coming and fell to his knees automatically.  The fist hit the wall above his head and his attacker screamed in pain.

Crawling seemed safer so he crawled, his bruised hands squashing stuff his brain didn't or wouldn't recognise under him until he was almost in the light.  The last words he heard were:  "you're dead now you bastard!"  Hissed through the teeth of his assailant as the final blow shattered his skull against the wall.

touching on lancelot's truth

Leaves scattered as hooves clattered

Across the river his image was shattered

On brazen armour mud splattered

For him honour was al that mattered

The kind and strong Sir Lancelot

He listened no to tittle tattle

Hi did not herd sheep or cattle

His joy was in the latest battle

And returning to Camelot

Stale sweat, blood that was caked

Stuck in armour on a body half baked

Through the fields his horse snaked

To the core his feelings shaked

The loving, brave Sir Lancelot

By the river he knows so well

His heart begins to swell

Now is heaven, the battle hell

He can see beloved Camelot

Across the river he sees the isle

That has been there all the while

And seeing it brings on a smile

He knows hi home is but a mile

The orphaned, white knight, Sir Camelot

An on the island in that place

There lives…a fairy…none shall see her face

But her songs they say are full of grace

And the call her the Lady of Shallot