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The Man Who Loved Beer

by Kevin P. Gilday

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1.
The Man Who Loved Beer 03:10
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Some of you may be aware Perhaps some of you here That I'm Kevin P. Gilday And I'm the man who loves beer I'm an ale house resident A can carrying man An amber elixir imbiber A Pint swallowing bam An alcoholic interloper Forever available for a drink With an etch-a-sketch diary There's no plan I won't sink - For a night out For a quick one For a lunchtime beverage For a night in For a nightcap For early morning leverage For a swift one For a curer For a Sunday session For the hair of the dog For a few tins For a late night lesson - In how to drink with the best of them Induce vomit ridden stupor And get right back on it without complaint You can't say I'm not a trouper Dedicated to the cause Field marshall general of the drink With strategic intelligence of my targets Instinctively aware of the nearest clink Of glasses shared between lovers, Acquaintances and friends Stories regaled of stupendous feats Bridges burned and made amends The booze seeps into my blood Just a trickle and then a flood It coils around my brain A calmness spreads across my chest My anxiety it soon arrests Replaced instead with a yearning for chow mein You might let me fuck you now After I charm, and wear, and beg But will you still love me tomorrow When I have shit running down my leg When the poison does its bidding Capillaries swell and explode As bile is ejected And stomach lining erodes I pray for some God to take me To heaven, Valhalla or the pub Where the antidote awaits me And therein lies the rub... The comfort The hunger The thirst The craving The longing The lust The demand The desire To feed The urge The want The need For an artificial aid A social vibrator Personality lubrication Conversation stimulator And maybe one day it will kill me And no flags will fly half mast But friends and lovers will tell stories, Share a joke and raise a glass Chisel it on my gravestone The man who rests here: Is Kevin P. Gilday The man who loved beer
2.
For The Love of Beer 03:23
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For the love of beer Fill your glasses Find a table and park your arses Let the multitude of the artform overtake Masterpieces rendered in golden opaque A nectar handed down from the god of hops Be they microbrewed or lager tops All fermented by modern alchemy Magic incarnate we cannot see What transforms simple ingredients: Hops, water and wheat Into this ecclesiastical liquid That transcends conceit Drinking great art Created by anonymous auteurs A liquid based sculpture Admire the contours While alcohol infused brushstrokes dance on your tongue Leaving you feeling comfortably numb My haplessly hammered hobby An explorer of flavour Drunk Indiana Jones Do me a favour Gonnae get me a pint? I don't get paid 'til a week today Just get me anything As long as it's an IPA - Or a Hefeweizen or a Dunkel Or both joined together A Pilsner or a Pale Ale Dependent on the weather A Kolsch or an Alt Warring recipes A stout or a Porter Staunch delicacies Bitter or Mild Lambic or Bock Or one brewed by Belgian monks That renders you unable to fucking walk - Just give me a beer In all its complex majesty Its myriad forms Its simple pageantry And you may mock my loving stance To hold the inanimate so dear But I'll still fill my glass proudly For the love of beer
3.
First Drink 04:38
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Vile Vile, disgusting, putrid, rank, horrid, rotten, horrible I've just had my first taste of beer Age 5 Becks swigged direct from my father's bottle With his blessing Sharing his illicit hobby with his son For his own amusement more than anything To watch me screw up my face and wonder Why anyone would voluntarily drink this Gaseous and living Bitter and unforgiving An elaborate joke Sharp and harsh Discourteous and brash Giving me the boak Devoid Devoid, burning, reeling, cutting, clawing, consuming Vodka, introduced to my life Age 15 Procured with great care And no little ingenuity With surgical precision Shots are decanted into the cap Colourless but with a potent odour Of the kind more associated with treacherous DIY Than exotic alcohol Poisonous and clear With bite and sear Overloading my senses silent and looming Bitter and subsuming My palette wrenches Steaming Steaming, fucked, wrecked, jaked, wasted, pished, drunk On cheap lager Age 17 Released from the shackles of domesticity I stumble bleary-eyed towards independence Cramped university dorm littered with cans My aluminium army awaiting my command A novice's tolerance is supplemented By a miraculous regeneration A superpower now lost to time Unruly and rowdy Then bleary and cloudy A constant haze Moulding and warming Character forming Halcyon days Sick Sick, ill, ailing, delicate, feeble, weak, afflicted By Whisky, an evil spirit Age 23 Mixed with a cocktail of macho bravado and self hatred That rots my insides like rust Drinking to numb myself to the latest romantic betrayal In the ongoing drama that is my life The script is cliché ridden and punctuated by inconsistencies Framed through the woozy soft focus of a drunken director As I lay lifeless, contemplating Soulless and crushing Less than nothing Hopelessly detached Lay my fears bare With consideration and care The surface barely scratched
4.
Hangover Poem #1: The Awakening 01:06
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Oh my god Oh my god What is this? What is happening? Why is it happening? I'm just gonna... Oh fuck Oh no Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck No sudden movements Ok, let's piece it back together Did I get a taxi? How much money do I have left? Oh fuck, nope Games a bogey Back to sleep No kidding on Eyes closed Sleep it off I'm alright I'm alright I'm alright... I'm not alright I'm gonnae be sick
5.
And The Plates Keep Spinning... Pt.1 03:18
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My life is dictated by my bank account Digital digits displaying an arbitrary amount An abstract expression of my personal freedom Missing the laughs like a Dad's Army re-run Drifting aimlessly like a sallow corpse on the dead sea Because cash rules everything around me And the plates keep spinning... And the plates keep spinning... And I try to be a good man, with all that entails But I go to sleep each night on a bed of nails Gnawing doubts surround and attack Haemorrhaging hope like I'm tied to a train track I try to be a man of honesty, truth and love But trouble just fits me, hand in glove And the plates keep spinning... And the plates keep spinning... And my family doesn't even know who I am They receive coded missives from a mysterious man Purporting to be their son or brother Scheduling conflicts just to see my mother I try to explain to how hard it is to breathe Absent, as always, without leave And the plates keep spinning... And the plates keep spinning... You might say I'm a wank, but I know I'm an artist Explaining what I do is always the hardest Sit around all day with my dick in my hand Experience more anguish than any man should withstand Just to jot down a few lines of kinetic creativity Before deleting them again, alone unequivocally And the plates keep spinning... And the plates keep spinning... My time is siphoned by the beast of necessity My days spent in a faded room sealed hermetically Just to make enough money to eek out an existence Keep breathing due to others insistence While debt casts a shadow across all future endeavours Contributing to a rising arterial pressure And the plates keep spinning... And the plates keep spinning... And the plates keep spinning... And the plates keep spinning...
6.
Too Fuck To Drunk 03:18
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I'm too fuck to drunk Too stagger to hammered Too function to pissed All my words come out stammered But you invite me home to your back Start kitchen in the kissing Throw my pants down your hands Try to figure out what's missing My stir starts to penis But my limited is reaction My strike have went on genitals I can't get no satisfaction You get eagerly working And I effort the appreciate But your unrewarded goes enthusiasm Cause I'm afraid I can't participate No amount of shaking hip erotic Can slumber me from my awake It's all the drank I've booze It's drained the venom from my snake So just stroke my sick while I'm back I'll be morning in the useful But for cuddle just give me a tonight And at least you know I'm drunk when I'm truthful
7.
Feeling Mortal 02:49
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Today, I'm feeling mortal The veneer of life has been exposed As nothing more than wishful thinking My confident gait has been transposed Twenty thousand leagues below sinking I face a world of dangers in a suit of jelly, Shoes shined, hair styled, prominent beer belly Today, I'm feeling mortal Harangued by a hangover induced fear I swear I can hear my life ticking away Shower supplemented by a misplaced tear Make hay while you may Because some days begin with a convex head And end in a confessional box shaped like a bed Today, I'm feeling mortal Like every step will be my last Like my time is up, my fate is sealed Like I'm living a dream of my past Picking a scab before it's healed Stripping away the layers with impunity Just long enough until I get my opportunity Step off the pavement I'll be hit by a bus Slip into a silent coma Go without a fuss Burn like a torch Charcoal and pus Death is waiting for me Smoke poisonous fumes My lungs give out Beaten to death In an infamous bout Contract a tropical disease A viral rout Death is waiting for me Today, I'm feeling mortal Acutely aware of my imminent demise Knowledge of the end divined Too full of random elegy to surmise Too far gone to change my mind Mortality - an empty room, a hopeless plea Always, death is waiting for me Today, I'm feeling mortal
8.
Hangover Poem #2: The Sickness 01:09
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It starts with a rush From somewhere near my balls And soon becomes apparent The acid rises My stomach falls - The sickness is here Laid waste to myself Internal friendly fire Stomach on the fast spin Never-ending cycle Due to expire - The sickness is here A titular possession Ghoulish manifestation Phantom arm up inside me Works me like a dummy My conspicuous vocation - The sickness is here Same results as before A lifelong experiment Kept the controls the same Just increased the volume Always to my detriment - The sickness is here
9.
Booze Haikus 04:01
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Pale pallor rises Through wild, anarchic bubbles Into perfect pint Eager legs give way To limbs on loan from stranger Wine runs through my veins Pub on a Tuesday Why do we need an excuse? When life serves us shit Pub as public forum Social soapbox for boozebags Set the world to rights The unbearable Lightness of being cunted Drunken rent-a-quote The philosophers' Stoned brethren gather round Share drinks, ghost stories Drink's secret power To render the intake of Hot smoke attractive Best got new liver So drinking may continue So why not me too?
10.
Penury 02:38
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Skint, again It's gone before I get to see it These wee numbers They stick around for a while, before buggering off Away to another bank account One with company And the ones that stick around? The hardy few They get converted into money Real money Tangible money To be exchanged for beer To help me forget About the others that left And we get caught in a loop Everyone needs my money The council needs my money The tax man needs my money The landlord needs my money The bank just takes it anyway There's not much left for me But at least I have a house With heating And that degree didn't come for free So we rationalise it: The guilt Of spending what little we have left On a liquid To be maligned and blamed And pissed away But it's ok... Because what was I going to spend it on anyway? I don't want a mortgage No stocks and shares Investment in home furnishings No Artisan bread Can I really be blamed For seeking an escape Through an open door to inner tranquillity Like a bottled nirvana That turns out to be a mirage The happiness holds for a while Before slipping like sand Through my fingers
11.
Pyjamas 03:14
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When we first got together we set world records We would have stood in front of the world accepting our medals Still fucking on the podium Morning, noon and night our bodies compelled us In your friend's bathroom, a double decker bus Or the backseat of the Odeon Frantic and savage, loving and tender Hold me tight, I could have been a contender Instead of a bum which is what I am Bodies entwined like ancient branches Glances precipitate wordless advances The storm always came before the calm But there's only so long you can keep it up Before familiarity breeds a mundane fuck Pull down your pyjamas just enough What replaces the carnal ecstasy of sex And the implicit intimacy it reflects When all overtures are rebuffed? No specialist techniques, no counterfeit force Just standard rudimentary intercourse The little death becomes a bereavement You're wiped out, exhausted - too tired to get it on But your t-shirt says you've run a marathon Another hand-me-down achievement Now the silken glue that binds us together has come unstuck My hormones rage with all the subtlety of a monster truck Revving my engine for no-one And as I take you gently from behind I can reach every part of you except your mind Your bedroom a doledrum
12.
Hangover Poem #3: Hungover Sex 02:29
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I lie like Christ crucified on your bed Oblivious to the words you said Sick to my stomach, sick to my soul Admirably sporting a conciliatory tent pole I may be on the edge of spewing But that doesn't mean this avenue's not worth pursuing Under the covers my hands explore with stealth Only your touch can restore my health And I know I'm at my least attractive And there's no chance I'll be overly active But this could be the turning point of my day A chance to ejaculate those blues away In the misty haze of the morning, sorry – mid afternoon My Serotonin rises like a raging typhoon Be a humanitarian and help me out I don't believe in God but you can make me devout For a few minutes at least, more if you're lucky Abuse me like a chicken direct from Kentucky Tenderly assault me as I lay defenceless Stripped, unburdened and unpretentious I want to frame you like a secret pornographer Let me be your personal cartographer Mapping the minute terrain of your body Amateur photography – my favourite hobby And with formalities complete I rise like a phoenix to the shower To bask in the glory of my re-found power High on endorphins my headache recedes Brain gains traction amidst the tumble weeds But we all know this is a temporary solution Feeble body gaining some restitution For the vulgarity inflicted upon this ruined temple the night before Behaviour that should appal and abhor And so the sickness rises again after this dreamy interlude And on my optimism, reality intrudes You see for every dirty deed there's always a receipt And for every big comeback there's always a defeat
13.
Guilt Edged 02:47
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I can tell something is wrong By the way that we're sleeping Parted like the red sea Intimacy seeping But I don't remember last night There's obviously been a confrontation Coldness across the breakfast table Syllables drop like lead Conversation unstable But I don't remember last night When the night before I went for the jugular With my lethal weapon tongue To win a stupid fight Crushing disparages were swung But I don't remember last night I don't remember last night My memories have been intercepted Redacted for decency Censored then rejected I don't remember last night Or what tasteless phrase was trotted out To win an unknown argument Like a semi-literate lout But you remember every detail Intangible specificities Word perfect quotes Minute idiosyncrasies But I don't remember last night I've no idea what caused this rupture Or what part I had to play Heavy words so lightly thrown leaving us in disarray But I don't remember last night Self righteous pontification No doubt was my undoing As it's been since I learned to speak Arrogant pish, forth-ward spewing But I don't remember last night And I'm sorry I really am And I apologise But I don't remember last night
14.
Silent Partner 04:31
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I became a silent partner Invested what little I had Threw in my lot with you Through good times and bad Let you do the talking With your renowned charm Trusted your inebriated instinct Would keep me safe from harm I became a silent partner Kept my opinions to myself When things got out of hand I made deposits with my health When no dividends were paid I did not make a scene Just kept my eyes shut tight Like my mouth should have been I went back to you like a battered wife Even after all the damage you'd done I went back to you almost every night Convinced I could have won I went back to you like a weary habit Slowly wearing down my resolve I went back to you silently For my sins to be absolved I became a silent partner Handed over the keys Let you take the wheel While I got down on my knees I abdicated consent Lost all my control Sober me finished last In an public opinion poll I became a silent partner While my other half entertained With anecdotes and revelry And conversation unrestrained I maintained my silent burden As a pointed internal voice Surrendered my endemic dignity As if I had a choice I went back to you like a battered wife Even before the bruises healed I went back to you almost every night My true desire concealed I went back to you like a weary habit Slowly wearing down my resolve I went back to you silently For my sins to be absolved
15.
Hangover Poem #4: The Recovery 01:49
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Dry toast Slowly Eager nibbles precede A rush of nausea A waterfall of bile in reverse Rising up Teasing my oesophagus But stopping short of making its presence known Lights out But shards of grey penetrate Minuscule gaps in the curtain Taunting me With a day lost to sickness The unique possibilities Of what could have been Irn Bru Gulped direct from 2 litre bottle Sweet nectar Aiding recovery With a heady mixture Of sugar and burps Light movement Attempted then abandoned Strength to stand But no head for heights Urine must be held Tight grip The convalescence wank Masturbation acid test Here's to my health Toilet seat An unforgiving cold Receptacle of debauchery Lukewarm shower Sickness quarantined in situ Fully recovered
16.
And The Plates Keep Spinning... Pt.2 03:39
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And what comes next is anyone's guess Seems to me life has a tendency to digress To trick a man off his path, up a cul-de-sac Make choices from which there's no coming back But would a son or daughter be the answer to my malaise Or just another generation infected by my black dog days And the plates keep spinning... And the plates keep spinning... And I used to dream of success but now I just hope for survival Either that or a highly paid poetry revival Struggling for respect from my friends and peers Feeling my relevance erode with each passing year I was never really cool, but I pretended to be Losing my edge like that guy from LCD And the plates keep spinning... And the plates keep spinning... I promised myself I'd see the world before I die But furnished myself with an iron clad alibi That adventure requires money and time When all it really needs is bravery and wine Can two weeks abroad really change your cultural outlook? Or am I resigned to be forever an empty book? And the plates keep spinning... And the plates keep spinning... Morbidly courting death with each passing day In an atrophying body wasting away Intrinsically aware of the passing of time My funeral set as an immovable deadline Before I reach that point, I must justify my birth With something more substantial than my general net worth And the plates keep spinning... And the plates keep spinning... Will booze dull this loud buzzing in my ear? My subconscious compelling me to be sincere Will it bury my ambitions under a landslide of excuses? Plucked from the inertia alcohol induces Will it seep through the cracks of all I hold dear? My potential drowned in a tsunami of beer And the plates keep spinning... And the plates keep spinning... And the plates keep spinning... And the plates keep spinning...
17.
There's A Workie In My House 05:17
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There's a workie in my house He's fixing the boiler Or something I'm not too sure But he wears overalls and boots Just like my da There's a workie in my house And I should probably offer him tea But that seems offensive When did we decide That all workies liked tea There's a workie in my house And I'm watching him work In silence It got really weird Over a minute ago There's a workie in my house He's about my age So he should really know the score Follow the rules mate Ask me if I saw the game If I saw the game last night Where that team were shite and the manager will soon be on his way They spent millions on that guy And all he does is fucking dive At least then I'd have something to say There's a workie in my house And I wonder if he judges Wallpaper and furniture Probably not He'll have seen worse than mine There's a workie in my house And I'm trying to play it cool Though I admire his skill And his craft And his rationality There's a workie in my house And he knows all about it Pipes and stuff But all I can do is write Bad poetry There's a workie in my house And I really shouldn't feel This level of angst Existential or otherwise Because he does something useful Just like my da

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Recorded live at The Old Hairdressers, Glasgow on 19/01/2015.

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released June 21, 2015

With thanks to Scott McCallum for recording the event.

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Kevin P. Gilday Glasgow, UK

Kevin P. Gilday is an award-winning writer and spoken word artist from Glasgow, Scotland.

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