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The Night is Cold

Sean — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 08:15:08 +0000

The Poetry in Motion film I shot is now completed. The Night is Cold (from my book Empire of the Mind) has been edited into a film.

Starring myself as the poet and Ellana Gormly as the Vampire, The Night is Cold was shot in SA.

Writer/Director Sean King
Director of Photography Mat Zilm
Sound Joshua Williams
MakeUp Carly Jeffries and Kelly Jade
Edit and Post Sound Design Sean King

Thanks;

Shaylee King, Iain Wright, Jarrad Thomas

Boskanna Way

Sean — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 01:16:31 +0000

his name was Joe
he told me to meet him in a small street they call Boskanna Way
when I arrived he told me about his plans to take over the world with his army of hookers(Joe ran himself a brothel once on the south side of town
the real dirty type
whores who’d do anything for a single dollar bill)
he had one of his hookers standing by his side
one he called ostascious
tall and skinny with jet black hair that looked like it had been cut with a pair of child’s scissors
she was one of those types
the type you see that are so ugly they border on being the most beautiful in the world
marxist eyes
blue tracks on skinny arms
and black jeans torn in all the wrong places
she held a book in her hand on guerrilla warfare
and I could see a switch blade sticking out from one of her tight front pockets
her lips were corpse blue and her eyes squinty
like a crossed Chinese girl in too bright sunlight
modern art
with no room for elegance or tradition and the sound of Lennon following her every step
her life
just a pair of open legs and broken promises
and mine?
the same…

You can listen to the recorded version of this from my spoken word album below;

Latest tracks by Sean King 3

THE WOMAN THAT NOBODY KNEW

Sean — Tue, 13 Sep 2011 09:17:54 +0000

THE WOMAN NOBODY KNEW

she was always there
in the back of my mind

the woman nobody knew

I never seen her again
A cold night
After few but all so warm
She never said why
She never said what it was
That turned her sour
That made her dislike

I always felt it was my writing, that she didn’t understand the words that came from my pen
Not through lack of intelligence for she taught me that even the most stunning woman you have ever seen can also be the most intelligent you have ever met

It was through

Misinterpretation

Misinformation

Mis…s

I wrote about her, about paintings that passed me by every day
paintings of dancers
Paintings of beauty
About long blacks
And
Intellectual tennis
About stars not moving
But ground instead

And I didn’t write about her as well

I guess she was always out of reach, despite the reality of me reaching her

The hurt isn’t in the missing for there wasn’t enough of her to miss
Though in time there would have been
The hurt is in the lack of knowledge
The lack of reason
The lack of explanation

I am evil
But not that evil
I am crazy
But not that crazy
I can be selfish
But never that selfish

I will die without her knowing
As she will without understanding
Or explaining

That woman nobody knew

Yet I know it was some sort of anger, that hurt is something hard to get through, and trust something hard to give, and believing, believing in something unknown, someone, well…

The Middle East is coming
And going
Like the slight catch of an autumn breeze
Or the bullet shot from a gun in a bricked alleyway
And even these pathetic words
About the woman nobody knew…

New Book Soon

Sean — Tue, 31 May 2011 12:05:21 +0000

So we started shooting photographs as cover possibilities for my next book titled “Like the Dog I am”. Here are a couple of the shots so far.

Let me know what you think so far

DEAD CHILDREN ON DEAD STREETS

Sean — Wed, 11 May 2011 13:10:05 +0000

Down the interstate in a
big red car
topping 150 like an accountant
shredding the evidence
past the pink flamingos that
don’t exist
heads stuck in white
picket fences blurred by change
throwin’ dimes a passers
by
the black the red the
yellow the white
screamin’ ding dong the
witch is dead
and following phantoms
without any heads
up looks down while down
looks up
and I speed sideways
through rusty memories and
the bottom of too-soon-ending
alcohols
rushing
rushing
rushing

towards what?

vision has no end no goals
vision has no wisdom

another cigarette another
dead animal more excuses
with no reason to blink
excessive and obsessive are
a marriage in heaven for
the falling leaves the falling
stars the falling men and
women and children of a
backward rotating world

gone mad

unsticking the stuck like
popping the cork on a
dusty once forgotten
bottle of fine, fine
red

160
170
180
speed past the poor
at the end of a stick
swung by the blue

past the dead children
on the dead streets of
a city dead of love

no mind for no time
cause time moves as it
likes across the faces
of the people
shadows
fast and extreme

we all
swallow our suns
sometime …

LIKE HEMINGWAY AND JEWS AND FREEDOM

Sean — Wed, 11 May 2011 13:07:39 +0000

By Sean King
she came around on a wednesday. it was after hearing that i had destroyed my life and severed my love. again no less. she bought wine with her. i don’t drink wine. i can’t drink wine.
“here, i bought wine.”
i poured us a couple of glasses as she settled in for an attempt at the long haul. alcohol, it seemed, was where i was being drawn again. an inability at peace and quiet the only draw card to fuel further hatred at what i had become. i guzzled. the taste was like acid and acid was just what the order of the moment turned out to be.
“so,” she said, “i was reading your book again today.”
“yeah. my book. my blatant attempt at creating some type of self-justification for the fucked-up-ness of my wandering mind.”
“your work is good. sometimes too good.”
“my work is my honesty and my honesty is my downfall. you of all people should understand that.”
“honesty hurts people. i know. you’ve told me that before.”
“I’ve told you many things before but it’s never made a difference. to life. to us. to the world around us. words, that’s all they ever were. it’s all my life ever has been.”
drinking another glass amidst a silence that emanated undertones of her sexuality and my discontent, proved only to scare me into the reality that alcohol could be my downfall like it came so close to being so many years ago. with that i grabbed the bottle and re-filled our glasses. she was wearing a dress. it was a short dress and her thighs seemed large. enticing. like crystal clear water on a steaming day, or a loaded gun when it all becomes far too much. like it is now.
“you know i’ve always loved you. wanted you.” she moves those thighs when she speaks and i see a glimpse, though ever so slight, of blue panties. it stirs my rampant groin.
“so you’ve said. look babe, i don’t know what to say to that. i want to fuck you. i want to fuck you right now, right here. and then i want you to go away. i don’t need this. christ. i can’t even get it together enough to eat. all i do is sit here in this dark room, this dark world and this dark mind and drink bitter coffee after bitter coffee and smoke cigarette after cigarette writing words in a pad that will never see the light of day. i’m destroying myself from the inside out and it’s all i can do.”
she puts her glass down and opens those thighs of steel. i get a longer look at those panties and the shape of that wet pussy, that animal instigator. i get a glimpse at my downfall. at every ones downfall. i get a glimpse at my immediate future and i wonder, for just a short short moment in time, whether women were put on this earth to destroy the male population in an attempt to maintain a needed male/female balance.
glass down and legs again closed she moves from her chair to work on my zipper while i sip at the red and create great fantasies about a world with no rules where dogs of war no longer dictate the futures of masses they have never met let alone care for in any way. she sucks hard and she sucks well though not as well as the last, or the one before that. but close. is this what it all comes down to? the animalistic desire to sow your seeds through fornication? we are the animals. just like the cats and lions and birds and snakes and elephants and insects. our only difference is the ability to hate so much between the moments of desire to nurture and carry on the species.
and with the moment she stands and removes her dress. that dress, the cover that’s worn through shyness and prudence and more. that dress which now lies humped at feet still encased in bright red heels. her breast are quaint with no real shape yet already the sign of age drags them toward the ground. antiquities in the making. gravity. the force that works against us all. and thumbs locked in the bands of those revealing and blue panties drag downward while that very gravity contradicts the outcome and makes the whole show an awkward attempt at sexy.
“fuck me,” she says.
i empty the last of the wine from the bottle, drop it to the ground, assess the sixties bush and wonder whether i now sit in a time warp. a non-reality. free love that is never really free. freedom that is just a covert word for restriction put in place to stop the writers writing the rapists raping and the germans from ever having to admit their stupidities.
i drape her over my chair.
i fuck her hard.
she moans and i wonder about those moans. are they real or just the need of an expectation set by the very same society that dictates we live by a mythological list of commandments put in place as a means of excuse to get rich, to justify dictation. i opt for the latter with all disdain and drive harder and faster like it’s a last ditched attempt to get across the finish line. of life. of life. the finish line of life. and i fuck her and she moans and i fuck her harder and she moans harder and harder and harder and it all means jack shit at the end of the day the year the world and life.
she orgasms and i don’t because i just don’t anymore. the pleasures derived from life are far and few between and this whore that now lies panting and sweating and semi-ejaculating over my life is no exception to the rule. i don’t come because this outer shell is all that’s left and i don’t come because i don’t exist any more than a lepers fantasy for a long life full of love and sexuality. i don’t come. i can’t.
i push her out the door. throw those blue panties out after her. she looks hurt and frightened and confused and i don’t care about that either. you got what you came for and now it’s time to leave me alone. go. go. go gossip about your glory and your pride and tell the lies you so need to tell to make it seem different than what it really was. go. go live your life in your bubble while clinging desperately to your dreams. go. go. go. i have. i did. and i never came back. that is the reality of what awaits. nothing more and nothing less.
“but why?” she pleads in all her femininity.
“because like hemingway and jews and freedom and truth…i am dead.”
Sean King 2010

Collectors Edition Poster

Sean — Sat, 22 Jan 2011 11:08:00 +0000

So I thought that in celebration of the release of issue #1 of Finger Magazine I would create a collectors edition poster featuring one of the images I shot for the fashion spread in the middle of the mag. The theme was recycled and retro clothing for the shoot so I figured an older style of poster might look good.

Tell me what you think and if you would like a copy of the poster let me know as I will be selling a limited number of prints. I plan on doing a five foot high one of these on canvas for the reception wall at the office.

Official Trailer for A Nun a Gun and a Prostitute

Sean — Sat, 22 Jan 2011 07:49:13 +0000

Here it is, the official trailer for my mini-series.

A Nun a Gun and a Prostitute Official Trailer from sean king on Vimeo.

Purchasing Empire of the Mind

Sean — Sat, 22 Jan 2011 07:38:23 +0000

You can now purchase my book Empire of the Mind from the FINGER magazine site. To do so just head to – http://www.fingermagazine.com.au/fingerstore.php - where you will be able to buy through PayPal using your PayPal account or credit card. Your book will be posted to you straight away.

Thanks for your support.

Finger Magazine

Sean — Sat, 22 Jan 2011 07:35:17 +0000

Issue #1 of Finger Magazine is released on Monday. For more information about Finger and to subscribe please go to the website;

http://www.fingermagazine.com.au