Street Art Photography by wiredforlego ∞ Poetry by Bradford Middleton

Gears by Matthew Scieluna

A life on the bottom rung in this town

Is nothing more than dead-end jobs

And run-down housing which you’ll never be able to afford

Benefits street is not where I want to live and

Here in this last resort we are stuck

Forever trapped in a time warp, our terrace intermingling

With million pound neighbours and holiday lets

Whilst out maintenance guy is forever trying to blend us in

By doing up the outside, leaving the inside

To crumble leaving us residents feeling despair


There are fourteen of us here, some have stayed

For years and years, me I’m her now for

Almost six years whilst others come and go

Six month contracts after which they can’t wait

To get out.  Me, the only thing that used to

Keep me sane was the pub on the corner I used

To drink in most days but now that has gone

Down so low even I can’t bring myself to drink

Not at four quid a pint in the company of

People who don’t get me and mostly simply hate me


Back when I first moved to this town the place

Was a refuge for like-minded people, away from the bearded

Hipster crew as our music was generally quiet but great

Leaving space for conversations and friendships to develop

But then one day, out of the blue, it all changed

New owners who promised no change at all but

Then a few days into their reign, new bar staff

One of whom I used to work with and who I never really liked


Then came the night everything changed

And the crowd grew meaner, punchier and drunk their own beers

From the pubs fridge.  There was a woman one night

And I was stoned and she was red, and I sat next to her

At a table as I always seemed to do

But that night I decided to put my rusty moves to work

Only to discover that her boyfriend was a drunken brut

Who didn’t mind telling me to be more careful around his woman

Cos he’d been known to kick the shit out of guys who’d talked

Just like I had to his girlfriend


Now it seems that every time I walk past only they remain meaning

I must continue to pass but still I ain’t found anywhere to move on

I’ve no interest in the craft beard scene and to put it bluntly I don’t like dance music and I’m not gay so round here now can I ask where I can go

To get out of my mind, a pre-requisite for this kind of life

Creative Thinking by Ten Hun




It was a time I should never have remembered but it lasted so long and helped make me what I am today

The times of getting high, getting deranged, getting loaded lasted so damn long it almost feels like I’m still coming down

When every Saturday night was spent getting loaded with the walking dead, Sundays were spent feeling like death

Then it started being every day, every single damn day, when the lines or a pill would be needed to just get through

And of course there was always the need for a fair amount of weed as back then I always just wanted to get really fucked


I remember the routine as if it were something I did just last weekend when in fact it’s been years since I was a naughty young man

We’d arrive at our club, hopped up on a few lines and with our heads loaded with beer and whisky chasers

And then once we’d seen our dealer I’d go off to the toilet and unwrap and load it up, lines off the cistern to get me flying

Then it would be time to smoke a really strong joint to help us keep our cool and not get too involved in the dancing

As it wasn’t really our sort of thing, we’d just sit around, holding court with our group of real weirdoes


I’d finally do the rest of the wrap and go and dance on the techno floor, banging beats that sounding like a marching band

Drink was everywhere back then, we could even bring our own in the glory days

But when I was in the zone, ATR, Johnny violent, ec8or, that was the last thing I wanted as I just wanted to get fucked

Dancing to the noise, looking at the beautiful mad girls who frequented the place

These were the times of youth, the times when I was young and madder than I ever am now

Grinding my teeth down to a shell I would dance, drink, smoke and snort anything that came my way

Until one day it just became boring and with that I fucked them all off and never to return

Knowing that life was to be lived and not spent feeling like death

RIP Anemal




The night was running out

Out of control and out of luck

No money in his pocket

Meant no place to go

Not even a beer in his fridge

Or a smoke in his tin

Meant it was going to be a long, hard night


A long, hard night that would inevitably end

With him stood on the checkout at work

Drinking coffee and barely able to see

He would hang in for as long as he could

Then slide home after only a few hours work

In this day and age

That counts for a job


Sixteen hours a week is always too much

For my mind, body, spirit and soul

But never enough to live a life, not here

Not in this town

I get rich students looking down their noses

Whilst homeless drinkers peer up from their pavement

Begging for change that I can never spare


Not here, not in this town

This town that prides itself on its liberalism

But where the twitter fiction king

Could find himself out on the street

Drinking the drink of the pavement dwellers

Whilst remaining to work at the job

His new found friends always steal from.

West Oakland Warehouse

See more street art photos from Wired For Sound Wiredforsound23

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Global artists and writers dedicated to sharing creativity around the world.

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