Pretention

Taken When Jonty Was Listening To Me Read Him My Poetry

Jonty returned home from hospital today, he hasn’t said much and he’s got a bruise on his face. I think he may have got this last night when he got beaten up in the kitchen for being a show off.

Anyway, to cheer him up I decided to read him some poetry that I wrote today with Max. Today’s picture shows Jonty rapt and enchanted by my words, he’s wearing a shirt and jeans from Gap.

I know this site is supposed to be about what Jonty wore – that’s why I called it that – but I thought it would be an ideal opportunity to showcase some of my many talents. Namely my genius at poetry and poems!

Today was tough for me but Max has been ever so helpful, he even took time away from helping out at the underprivileged writers collective to stay in bed this morning hugging me. It was his idea that we do some poetry – or soul cleansing as Max calls it – to really help get our feelings out.

So that’s what we did, we started by doing a little bit of chanting in the morning and then settling down to write – after a lovely dinner of mange tout and whelks – later in the afternoon.

I know what you’re asking yourselves though. Where was Jonty? Exactly!

He was lying in some hospital somewhere feeling sorry for himself, not even bothering to call and make sure I was alright! What he forgets is that it was worse for me than him, I’m the one that had to find him lying in the kitchen, I was the one that had to phone the ambulance, I was the one that would have spent today being ignored. If it wasn’t for Maxie I’d have had no attention for over 20 hours!

As Maxie says you’ll never change someone like that, it’s all self, self, self with Jonty.

Do you know what else he had the gall to do? Shout at Maxie!

That’s right Maxie. The same Maxie who drove all the way up from Shoreditch to see me and get in bed and hug me last night while I fell asleep. Do you know why Jonty shouted at Maxie? I’ll tell you.

Jealousy.

Jonty is jealous of Maxie, just because he drives a nice car – it’s a silver one – and just because he’s a successful artist. Maxie worked hard to become a painter. He begged his daddy for months to buy him a studio and he had to practically get down on his hands and knees to make sure he had the £5,000 a month to really focus on his painting without having to worry about the stupid things in life.

Maxie even nearly thought about getting a job! He was that serious about wanting to paint. Jonty’s never had to work that hard, so he just doesn’t understand.

Anyway I’m probably boring you with all this talk of Jonty and his silliness. It’s time for some poetry!

The poem I read him is called Seraph On The Zephyr and I wrote it with a little of Maxie’s life experience.

Oh mighty Seraph on the zephyr
Where are you headed for
To vintage shops for a bargain shoe
Or American Apparel for tights in two
Colours

I see you, yet I do not
I feel you, yet I cannot

O Seraph you are as complex as I
Together we spend our moments
Wondering when our genius will be met
Wondering when the money it deserves will be given

O Seraph have you cruel parents too
The kind that don’t understand the beauty of the shoe
The scarf, the silk, the skirt, the colours of life

Our lot is to suffer
Seraph fear not I know suffering too
Those that fear us do not understand us

Seraph you and I shall escape
Escape on the zephyr of fame away from our controlling ones
No longer their piteous dowry holding us back

How can artists such as we
Be expected to live
On what we are give?

It really explains my feelings on my situation right now.

speak up

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