The Man Who Loved Beer

by Kevin P. Gilday

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about

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

credits

released June 21, 2015

With thanks to Scott McCallum for recording the event.

tags

license

all rights reserved
Track Name: The Man Who Loved Beer
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
Track Name: For The Love of Beer
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
Track Name: First Drink
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
Track Name: Hangover Poem #1: The Awakening
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
Track Name: And The Plates Keep Spinning... Pt.1
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...
Track Name: Too Fuck To Drunk
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
Track Name: Feeling Mortal
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
Track Name: Hangover Poem #2: The Sickness
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
Track Name: Booze Haikus
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?
Track Name: Penury
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
Track Name: Pyjamas
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
Track Name: Hangover Poem #3: Hungover Sex
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
Track Name: Guilt Edged
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
Track Name: Silent Partner
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
Track Name: Hangover Poem #4: The Recovery
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
Track Name: And The Plates Keep Spinning... Pt.2
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...
Track Name: There's A Workie In My House
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