‘Adam Horovitz’

The Borkowski poet in residence, Adam Horovitz, returns with a versicle celebrating the reaction to the England v. Algeria match last night.

I’ve been drowning my ennui
in tequila, beer and noise,
trying to float the bubble
football blows and then destroys

I’ve been drowning my ennui.
I’ve been blotting the despair
that’s been welling up inside me
since England were laid bare.

I’ve been drowning my ennui
in lager laced with lime
and it tastes a little salty
but the drowning feels sublime.

Have you overdosed on the X Factor? Are the opinions of the judges getting you down? Have you felt like venting your feelings about the loss of your favourite contestant? Did Danyl’s departure in the semi-finals really get your goat? Did Lucie losing out to Jedward rile you to the point of despair? Or are you simply sick of the whole ‘poptastic’ shebang?

If the answer to any of these questions is “YES”, Borkowski has a couple of tasty slices of satirical goodness to ease your rage, two fine diversions from a toxic weekend of TV carnage. In a burst of pre-Christmas generosity, we present The Exterminating Factor, a neat-but-twisted X rated game that allows the player an opportunity to vent their destructive feelings. All within the bounds of legality and common sense, of course – we are in no way suggesting that the game’s scenario should be re-enacted in real life.

You see, this twisted little game allows the player to shoot virtual nails into the disembodied heads of Simon Cowell, Danni Minogue, Cheryl Cole and Louis Walsh – and what would there be on TV worth being ranted and fulminated about if The Exterminator Factor were taken too seriously and acted upon in real life?

Better just to play the game and feel that shiver of nervous satisfaction as the first virtual nail strikes and two smaller judges’ heads burst from Simon Cowell’s smiling face. Or gasp as the dimpled smile of a tiny Cheryl Cole disappears forever in a hail of virtual nails.

Based on the gaming classic Asteroids, The Exterminating Factor is the perfect way of letting loose all your pent up frustrations at the 21st Century’s premier talent contest cum soap opera. Click on the picture to access the game.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Borkowski also presents a sharp, satirical poem for all the pacifists and non-gamers out there who are tired of celebrity for the sake of celebrity; of popularity contests masquerading as talent contests; who cannot bear to see the world and its wife doing everything in its power to be famous.

The Sleb’s Prayer, by the remarkable poet Adam Horovitz, features music based on a sample by great 60s garage rock band, The Groupies. The track has been wrapped up in Mel Rodiq’s stunning video in the style of magazines like Heat and OK. You can see it below.

A new poem by the Borkowski poet in residence, dedicated to Nick Griffin, leader of the BNP, who will be making his first, controversial appearance on the BBC’s Question Time tonight. For the audio version, scroll to the bottom of the post…

I’m Anglo-Saxon, I’m of German extraction.
I’m a Celt. My blood’s from the East.
I’m Norman, I’m Viking and I came hiking
to the British ethnicity feast.

Yes, I’m British, British, born of the skittish
aftermaths of empires gone.
I’m mixed, multiracial and no PR facial
can take away from the truth of my song.

I’m Muslim, I’m Gurkah, I’m a social worker.
I’m Jewish, I’m royal, I’m black.
I’m a desperate immigrant, an urgent applicant
escaping from torture, attack.

I’m a Brit, I’m a Brit and anyone’s fit
to take that name with pride as a tag.
I live in a world where one cannot stay curled
hermetically up in a flag.

In the Britain I live in, no one should give in
to hate or abuse or despair.
Whatever my creed, orientation or breed
all that matters is to be kind and be fair.

Yes, I’m British, British, born of the skittish
aftermaths of empires gone.
I’m mixed, multiracial and no PR facial
can take away from the truth of my song.

The British Song by Adam Horovitz [ 0:01 ] Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Our publicist which art in Chinawhite
shallowed be our names.
Thy quick-fix come,
thy stunts be run
in Heat as they are on Popbitch.
Give us this day our daily big-ups
and forgive us our coke deals
as we forgive those who report our coke deals to the press.
Lead us not into the Priory
and deliver us from journalists
for thine is the Twitter, the spin-cycle and the story
for fifteen months and forever.

Amen.

Adam Horovitz

Written after hearing that a chain of hotels frequented by celebrities, which are to be featured in a reality show, have asked to use The Fame Formula as a replacement for the Gideon’s Bible – something for the down-at-heel Z Lister to turn to for inspiration.

The Borkowski poet in residence imagines what Prince Charles would like for his birthday…

I’d like tea with Lord Mountbatten
I’d like a gin with dear old gran
I’d like a brand new book by van der Post
I’d like poetry to scan

I’d like a son who didn’t dress up
like Max Moseley just for fun
and a chance to stop my sons’ lives
from appearing in The Sun

I’d like my plants to answer back for once
and tell me what they feel
I’d like houses built from Portland stone
and not from glass and steel

I’d like a handy time machine
to take me back to 71
so I could marry Camilla then
& have her as mother to my sons

I would like a peaceful life
for the press to bugger off
I’d like them to stop presenting me
as an out of touch old toff

But I would give that all up
if mother would just say
‘Charles it’s your turn to be King,
I’m stepping down today’.

The Best Gift by Adam Horovitz [ 0:01 ] Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

The Borkowski poet in residence’s reaction to the American election.

I don’t want a White House,
I want a light house, a right house.
I don’t want a White House,
I want a beacon ‘gainst the night house.

I want a dream in every heart house,
a no one kept apart house.
I want a truth house, a youth house,
an open not uncouth house.

I want a hope house, a joy house,
a no lies to deploy house.
I want a trust house, a just house,
a proactive and robust house.

I don’t want a White House,
I want a freedom walking tall house.
I don’t want a White House,
I want a no colour at all house.

I Don't Want a White House [ 0:01 ] Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

The Borkowski poet in residence’s take on Jonathan Ross’ part in the scandal currently consuming the press. Vocal rights for this podcast have been subcontracted to EDF.

Jonathan Ross is, Jonathan Ross is
a sacrificial lamb for the BBC bosses
he may be cheeky, sweary and slick
a gold plated carrot on the end of a stick
but however many kids he got watching the box
his stellar career is now on the rocks
at least at the Beeb, where he’s put on ice
for phoning up actors and not being nice

but Jonathan Ross is, Jonathan Ross is
perfectly capable of cutting his losses
he could go anywhere, and quickly get work
with a wink and a wave and a quirky smirk.

Jonathan Ross is, Jonathan Ross is
highly unlikely to be carrying crosses
he won’t walk on water but he’s not going to drown
however much the press try to push him down.

The Jonathan Ross Song [ 0:01 ] Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

The Borkowski poet in residence reflects, in oblique headlines, on the part Russell Brand played in the affair currently consuming the front pages.

Brand Banned
Brand Gland Banned
Brand Gland Hand Banned
Brand Tanned Gland Hand Banned
Brand Manned Tanned Gland Hand Banned
Brand Banned
Stand Brand
Brand Stand By Banned Gland
Brand Ban Planned By Bland Gland
Brand’s Banned Gland Planned To Expand
Brand Unmanned By Bland Gland
Bland Gland Planned to catch Brand Strand In Hand
Brand Banned
Stand Brand
See Bland Gland Unmanned

Brand Banned [ 0:01 ] Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

The Borkowski poet in residence returns with some thoughts on the upcoming American election

Sarah Palin’s impaled on a world that is failin’
Joe Biden is bidin’ his time.
Old John McCain strives again and again
to prove the economy’s fine.

Barack Obama stands taller and calmer
on the shoulders of Democrats past.
He seems victory-bound, this statesmanlike charmer,
but how long will the honeymoon last?

Obama’s getting barracked ‘bout his colour and Iraq
but still he don’t notice the knocks.
The average Joe’s seen the economy slow,
just wants a Prez who’ll take care of his stocks.

The hottest of tips is McCain’s had his chips
& that Palin’ll be free to hunt moose.
But we all know what happens to unsinkable ships
& what they did to the golden-egged goose.

If there’s only one truth we learned from George Bush
it’s that elections are easily lost.
You can’t do an Al Gore, be too smug and too sure,
’cause the voters don’t like to be crossed.

And though Palin’s impaled on a world that is failin’
& Joe Biden is bidin’ his time,
old John McCain might suddenly start sailin’
from the ridiculous to the sublime

cause voters are fickle and a hubristic stick’ll
bring out the Republican vote,
while the Democrat vote’ll slow to a trickle
if Obama’s supporters just float.

The hottest of tips is McCain’s had his chips
& that Palin’ll be free to hunt moose.
But we all know what happens to unsinkable ships
& what they did to the golden-egged goose.

The Good Ship Obama [ 0:01 ] Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

In memory of fashion guru Isabella Blow, who died yesterday.

In the afterlife the angels
are shifting on their clouds
and the hosts of the deceased
are reassessing their shrouds.

All the chubby cherubim
have a glad glint in their eyes
as they lift up their smocks
to expose their fleshy thighs.

Saint Peter’s wearing a lobster hat
and a McQueen creation,
Gabriel’s dressed in Gucci
there’s a new sort of elation

flooding through the heavenly hosts,
an Elysian rosy glow,
as heaven welcomes through its gates
Isabella Blow.

The cherubs are all wrangling
to be the most like Sophie Dahl
and demons are begging entry
with a raspy, pleading snarl.

Other gods and goddesses
have booked a place to stay.
All the metaphysical world’s
joining in the fray.

There are thunder gods
and goddesses with the heads of cats
queuing up with the ordinary dead
for advice from Issie on hats.

Jesus has stopped wearing sandals
and has set a new afterlife trend
and Saint Michael’s set up Second Coming
a fashion line set to ascend

through the heavenly bodies
if only Isabella approves.
With Isabella’s arrival
heaven’s jumping from its grooves,

has hired as a catwalk
the Norse Gods’ rainbow bridge
and is only keeping Champagne
and lettuce in the fridge.

Fashion Goes to Heaven Play Now | Play in Popup | Download