Like lots of people who can't wait until the Olympics, I can't wait until the Olympics. It takes a boring sport like athletics and makes it fun by adding trumpets!
I thought I would make a joke out of the whole thing.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
STOP FOLLOWING ME!!
Ha ha, not really. Start following me! On Twitter that is. You can follow me @SebastianTopp.
A poem for Twitter
Oh Twitter, Twitter.
See what I Writter, Writter.
About that Pea Fritter, Fritter.
That I Eater, Eater.
It made me Shitter, Shitter.
And Thought I’d Better, Better.
Go and Letter, Letter.
You know on Twitter, Twitter.
Thank you.
I have also created a picture. It’s of me after my holiday to sunny Praakinstow, Austria and with Tweets in my eyes. I call it
‘Tweets in my eyes.’
Monday, October 19, 2009
Sebastian Topp - Grand Prix
Phew, What a busy few months I've had. I been so rushed off my feet that I've not had time to update my blog. Sorry to those who have been coming back day in day out, checking for any news. Well, today is your lucky day, because I have an extra special treat for you.
You see the reason I've been so busy is because I've become a professional stand up comedian. I've toured most of the top venues, such as Bearnsbury old peoples home, Tittleworth Post office and Morkendale's Center for the blind the deaf.
It was through one of my many performances on the road that I got in contact with someone who would change the face of my face forever. It was InternetDude200331 who e-mailed me and said he could help in raising my profile, Whoopee! I replied and promptly gave him the £4,000 that he asked for.
He filmed my performances and has created a series of clips that showcase my talents. I will be posting them all on my blog over the next few days. I hope to be able to release my full show (Sebastian Topp - Humorous Observations of things that I see in everyday life and people) on DVD soon.
But until then, enjoy...
You see the reason I've been so busy is because I've become a professional stand up comedian. I've toured most of the top venues, such as Bearnsbury old peoples home, Tittleworth Post office and Morkendale's Center for the blind the deaf.
It was through one of my many performances on the road that I got in contact with someone who would change the face of my face forever. It was InternetDude200331 who e-mailed me and said he could help in raising my profile, Whoopee! I replied and promptly gave him the £4,000 that he asked for.
He filmed my performances and has created a series of clips that showcase my talents. I will be posting them all on my blog over the next few days. I hope to be able to release my full show (Sebastian Topp - Humorous Observations of things that I see in everyday life and people) on DVD soon.
But until then, enjoy...
Sunday, May 31, 2009
What’s with all these bats flying in my face?
I don’t know what it is, but during the last week three bats have flown into my face. A friend suggested that they may have thought my face was a bats nest, I then told my friend that bats don’t have nests, they hang up-side down in caves to which my friend replied ‘oh’.
I didn’t even know this country had Bats!! Now I do and I wonder how many more of them will fly into my face! But at least it has given me some inspiration and as you know I lap inspiration up as if it were Lucozade Sport. I have composed a painting I call..
I hope this will go some of the way to deterring the bats from flying into my face. Although I'm not sure how many (if any) read my blog.
I didn’t even know this country had Bats!! Now I do and I wonder how many more of them will fly into my face! But at least it has given me some inspiration and as you know I lap inspiration up as if it were Lucozade Sport. I have composed a painting I call..
My Face is not a Cave.
I hope this will go some of the way to deterring the bats from flying into my face. Although I'm not sure how many (if any) read my blog.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Stupid, smelly love.
‘Oh Love, stab they heart out and eat it with your soul teeth.’ These aren’t my words, they were written over 200 years ago by Fickle Mickleton. And they couldn’t describe more the feelings that I feel this day. I told you about Fat Beth in my last post. I’ve spent the last 3 days standing at the bus stop singing and waiting for her to waddle her fat arse down the street. When she finally turns up, I recite my poem and all she does is grunts at me and gets on the bus. Grunts! That’s all she did! A poet of my standing shouldn’t stand for being stood up. So in revenge I’ve written a poem about her (for the last time).
Beth you are so fat,
Beth you are so fat,
You’re fatter than my cat,
You’re fatter than biggest whale,
There’s no disputing that.
Beth you are so smelly,
From just sitting watching Telly,
And stuffing all the rotten food,
Inside your big fat belly
Beth you are so ugly,
You think that you are snugly,
But you walk around with makeup on
That makes you look so smugly, (in that she looks too please with her-self and she shouldn’t because is so ugly.)
I think that deals with that.
Beth you are so fat,
Beth you are so fat,
You’re fatter than my cat,
You’re fatter than biggest whale,
There’s no disputing that.
Beth you are so smelly,
From just sitting watching Telly,
And stuffing all the rotten food,
Inside your big fat belly
Beth you are so ugly,
You think that you are snugly,
But you walk around with makeup on
That makes you look so smugly, (in that she looks too please with her-self and she shouldn’t because is so ugly.)
I think that deals with that.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Lovely Love
‘Oh Lovely love, how thee is nice.’ These aren’t my words, they were written over 200 years ago by Fickle Mickleton. But they are words that describe my feelings at the moment, for I am In love. Lovely Love. Lovely Loopy Love. Her name is Beth and I have written a poem about her.
Beth. Stop.
Oh Beth, Oh Beth, Oh Beth. Stop.
I saw you at the bus stop.
But it was my heart that did stop.
Not the bus that was late and did not stop.
You ran after the bus and did not stop.
Oh Beth, Oh Beth, Oh Beth. Stop.
Tomorrow I will stand at the bus stop all day reciting this poem in the hope she will be there again.
Beth. Stop.
Oh Beth, Oh Beth, Oh Beth. Stop.
I saw you at the bus stop.
But it was my heart that did stop.
Not the bus that was late and did not stop.
You ran after the bus and did not stop.
Oh Beth, Oh Beth, Oh Beth. Stop.
Tomorrow I will stand at the bus stop all day reciting this poem in the hope she will be there again.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
No Money for Old Rope 3.
I know you've all been refreshing this page for the last week, waiting and wondering when the next installment of my Opus will appear. Well I can answer your question now, because I've posted it now.
No Money for Old Rope.
Part Three: As the sun rises on a September morn.
ARRRRGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!. ‘Same nightmare again?’ Frank thought to him-self, he rubbed his bold head. It was the same every-time, he would sit down in front of BBC 1’s Eastenders, a drama Frank liked because it involved people like him-self so he could relate to it. Then just as the theme music kicked in the television would inexplicitly turn off. He would spend the rest of the dream smashing his fist against the screen whilst crying; it was then he would wake up screaming.
Frank pulled him-self out of bed. It was still dark out side and he had to be at work in a few hours. But dare he go back to bed and risk having that dream again?
‘No’.
He got up out of bed and thought about his favourite Eastenders moments.
Like when Dot said ‘Far be it from me to interfere’ Frank laughed to him-self.
“Dot. Always sticking her nose in other peoples business.” Or when Phil thought he might be Gay. Or when Sandra thought the Billy was cheating on her but Billy was taking extra dance classes so he could treat Sandra on her birthday and so she followed him one night but got mugged and Billy found her beaten on the side of the road and he picked her up and took her to the hospital and when she recovered he called her a ‘Tart’.
Frank sat back on the bed, he didn’t feel like going to work, he didn’t even feel like going to Caffe Nero. It was the lowest point in Franks’ life. But somehow Frank knew that everything would be O.K from now on. Or would it? Properly it would he thought to him-self. But too soon? No.
The End.
Well, there you have it. It took three entire weeks of my life, it drove me to drink and drugs and almost killed me to finish. But here it is finished. All for your entertainment. Some call it my masterpiece, but I'm sure I will top it sooner or later.
No Money for Old Rope.
Part Three: As the sun rises on a September morn.
ARRRRGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!. ‘Same nightmare again?’ Frank thought to him-self, he rubbed his bold head. It was the same every-time, he would sit down in front of BBC 1’s Eastenders, a drama Frank liked because it involved people like him-self so he could relate to it. Then just as the theme music kicked in the television would inexplicitly turn off. He would spend the rest of the dream smashing his fist against the screen whilst crying; it was then he would wake up screaming.
Frank pulled him-self out of bed. It was still dark out side and he had to be at work in a few hours. But dare he go back to bed and risk having that dream again?
‘No’.
He got up out of bed and thought about his favourite Eastenders moments.
Like when Dot said ‘Far be it from me to interfere’ Frank laughed to him-self.
“Dot. Always sticking her nose in other peoples business.” Or when Phil thought he might be Gay. Or when Sandra thought the Billy was cheating on her but Billy was taking extra dance classes so he could treat Sandra on her birthday and so she followed him one night but got mugged and Billy found her beaten on the side of the road and he picked her up and took her to the hospital and when she recovered he called her a ‘Tart’.
Frank sat back on the bed, he didn’t feel like going to work, he didn’t even feel like going to Caffe Nero. It was the lowest point in Franks’ life. But somehow Frank knew that everything would be O.K from now on. Or would it? Properly it would he thought to him-self. But too soon? No.
The End.
Well, there you have it. It took three entire weeks of my life, it drove me to drink and drugs and almost killed me to finish. But here it is finished. All for your entertainment. Some call it my masterpiece, but I'm sure I will top it sooner or later.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
No Money for Old Rope 2.
After a grand few days wait I present to you part 2 of 'No Money for Old Rope.' The socially realistic story of Frank, a low income truck driver. Part one was a grand success with one person telling me they almost posted a comment, I am glad it reached people like I knew it would. Part two is a little more serious and deals with the subject of death. But I won't say too much as I wouldn't want to spoil it for you, but in case you are worried Frank doesn't die, he's fine at the end.
No Money for Old Rope.
Part Two: Sometimes you have to do what you think is the best thing to be done.
Frank lined up his rifle. His last shot loaded in its mechanical belly. The Zombie stumbled towards him, its mouth hanging open, its empty eyes fixed on its target, Franks brain.
“Not today zombie” frank murmured under his breath. BANG. The bullet flew towards it intended target. SPLAT. The bullet hit its intended target. The Zombie.
“Finally” Frank took a Kleenex out of his coat pocket and wiped his brow. “The last one”. It had taken him a while but Frank had managed to get rid of the Zombie hoard. There hadn’t been a Zombie invasion in years. Frank hated Zombies. “Bloody zombies” Frank cried, loudly. “I hate them”.
He walked towards the nearest Caffé Nero. Somehow Frank knew that everything would be O.K from now on. Or would it? Properly it would he thought to him-self. But too soon? No.
Will Frank enjoy his Caffe Nero coffee? Will the Zombies come back? (no) Will you log on again for part 3? (yes)
No Money for Old Rope.
Part Two: Sometimes you have to do what you think is the best thing to be done.
Frank lined up his rifle. His last shot loaded in its mechanical belly. The Zombie stumbled towards him, its mouth hanging open, its empty eyes fixed on its target, Franks brain.
“Not today zombie” frank murmured under his breath. BANG. The bullet flew towards it intended target. SPLAT. The bullet hit its intended target. The Zombie.
“Finally” Frank took a Kleenex out of his coat pocket and wiped his brow. “The last one”. It had taken him a while but Frank had managed to get rid of the Zombie hoard. There hadn’t been a Zombie invasion in years. Frank hated Zombies. “Bloody zombies” Frank cried, loudly. “I hate them”.
He walked towards the nearest Caffé Nero. Somehow Frank knew that everything would be O.K from now on. Or would it? Properly it would he thought to him-self. But too soon? No.
Will Frank enjoy his Caffe Nero coffee? Will the Zombies come back? (no) Will you log on again for part 3? (yes)
Saturday, May 2, 2009
No Money for Old Rope.
A new story today. It's part of a Trilogy about Frank, a working class man, Its a social realistic comment of the lower classes of today. People underestimate the lower classes, they don't know how hard it can be. It's not all Coronation Street and Pot Noodle dinners. When I was at Art College I had to live in a house share, it was like being poor and I finally got to understand what it might be like to be homeless. I've drawn from these experiences to create a story that is as harsh as it is real. Be prepared to be woken from your middle class slumber.
No Money for Old Rope.
Part One: The misery of work.
Pins and Needles in his eyes.
‘Pins and Needles in my eyes?’ Frank shook his sleepy head. ‘I must have fallen asleep on my eye -balls’.
He rubbed his face, the numbness ebbed away and the pins and needles disappeared. He roared a yawn, beckoning the sleeplessness out from his mouth. He looked at the clock, four hours sleep, not bad. Flicking on the radio he caught the end of a song he liked.
‘Damn.’ He whispered ‘I like this song and would have liked to have heard the whole thing’ He started to sing along.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
He carried on singing.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
He thought the song had ended and stopped singing, but he was mistaken.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
The song ended for real. Frank had enjoyed singing, always did, he was like that.
‘I should pull over and get some coffee, wake my-self up a bit.’ He pulled the giant, heavy articulated lorry over to the side of the road and climbed down to the pavement. He walked towards the nearest Café Nero. Somehow Frank knew that everything would be O.K from now on. Or would it? Properly it would he thought to him-self. But too soon? No.
Watch out for Part 2 coming soon.
No Money for Old Rope.
Part One: The misery of work.
Pins and Needles in his eyes.
‘Pins and Needles in my eyes?’ Frank shook his sleepy head. ‘I must have fallen asleep on my eye -balls’.
He rubbed his face, the numbness ebbed away and the pins and needles disappeared. He roared a yawn, beckoning the sleeplessness out from his mouth. He looked at the clock, four hours sleep, not bad. Flicking on the radio he caught the end of a song he liked.
‘Damn.’ He whispered ‘I like this song and would have liked to have heard the whole thing’ He started to sing along.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
He carried on singing.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
He thought the song had ended and stopped singing, but he was mistaken.
I’m a man not a boy, I’m a man not a boy.
The song ended for real. Frank had enjoyed singing, always did, he was like that.
‘I should pull over and get some coffee, wake my-self up a bit.’ He pulled the giant, heavy articulated lorry over to the side of the road and climbed down to the pavement. He walked towards the nearest Café Nero. Somehow Frank knew that everything would be O.K from now on. Or would it? Properly it would he thought to him-self. But too soon? No.
Watch out for Part 2 coming soon.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Falling down
I was racing a cat up a fence the other day when, to my absolute horror, the fence began to fall. As I fell to my death I gave a long hard think about to how I could turn my pain into Art. The moments it too for my frail body to hit the hard concrete I wrote a small poem I call…
Hard concrete, soft body and that bloody gravity.
ARRHHHHHHHH!!!
I shouted as I fell
ARRHHHHHHHH!!!
The ground grew
ARRHHHHHHHH!!!
This is going to hurt
ARRHHHHHHHH!!!
Why had I raced that cat?
ARRHHHHHHHH!!!
I don’t even like cats.
ARRHHHHHHHH!!!
Thud…
I lived. The Cat wasn’t so lucky, it broke my fall.
Hard concrete, soft body and that bloody gravity.
ARRHHHHHHHH!!!
I shouted as I fell
ARRHHHHHHHH!!!
The ground grew
ARRHHHHHHHH!!!
This is going to hurt
ARRHHHHHHHH!!!
Why had I raced that cat?
ARRHHHHHHHH!!!
I don’t even like cats.
ARRHHHHHHHH!!!
Thud…
I lived. The Cat wasn’t so lucky, it broke my fall.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
More about Me
A lot of you know Sebastian Topp the Artist, but you don't know much about Sebastian Topp the person.
I would like to inform you more, in the form of a Peom. It's called..
Sebastian Topp and his Heroic large muscles.
His muscles bulged as he lifted the heavy log,
he carried it's two ton weight through the misty fog,
The girls they swooned as he biceps they got bigger,
As he swam to save a child drowning in the river,
The crowd shouted 'Oh ye' Sebastian, you are so great',
Its a pleasure, not a chore, I am here to serve, mate...'s,
Please be our king and rule us for ever more.
I must say alone, I can't live by another's law.
And so the Great Sebastine walked his lonely walk.
the adoring crowds followed but they darn't talk,
for Topp was the greatest that they had ever seen.
They'd been big fans, since he was but a teen.
People across the land adored him, A statue they arose.
The detail was exquisite, from the head down to the toes.
They gave him all there money, every last note.
For the amazing art, film, scripts, paintings, drawings, thoughts, stories and poems that he wrote.
It's more or less all true.
I would like to inform you more, in the form of a Peom. It's called..
Sebastian Topp and his Heroic large muscles.
His muscles bulged as he lifted the heavy log,
he carried it's two ton weight through the misty fog,
The girls they swooned as he biceps they got bigger,
As he swam to save a child drowning in the river,
The crowd shouted 'Oh ye' Sebastian, you are so great',
Its a pleasure, not a chore, I am here to serve, mate...'s,
Please be our king and rule us for ever more.
I must say alone, I can't live by another's law.
And so the Great Sebastine walked his lonely walk.
the adoring crowds followed but they darn't talk,
for Topp was the greatest that they had ever seen.
They'd been big fans, since he was but a teen.
People across the land adored him, A statue they arose.
The detail was exquisite, from the head down to the toes.
They gave him all there money, every last note.
For the amazing art, film, scripts, paintings, drawings, thoughts, stories and poems that he wrote.
It's more or less all true.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Film
I have turned my hand to the medium of multi-media-video-film. Many have tried to master celluloid before and have failed. But I was confident that I could create something worthy of applause and I have to admit that I have had a massive amount of success.
This short is based on a real life dream experience I had many, many weeks ago. As I'm sure you will see it has allot of visual metaphor and contains hints toward 'Herbert Polouskies' early 'Real Life' works. It also contains a deep characterization of the Greek God of Smell, 'Umungus'.
It is about 1min 22secs long and is called... 'The Man Whose Soul Exploded'
This short is based on a real life dream experience I had many, many weeks ago. As I'm sure you will see it has allot of visual metaphor and contains hints toward 'Herbert Polouskies' early 'Real Life' works. It also contains a deep characterization of the Greek God of Smell, 'Umungus'.
It is about 1min 22secs long and is called... 'The Man Whose Soul Exploded'
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Individual Brains.
Your brain is individual to your-self. It’s yours and yours alone to have and to think with. That’s the truth. It’s impossible to share a brain with someone else*.
So it stands to reason that every Idea you ever have is original and yours. Take it, put it in a jar and show it to your family. Don’t shake the jar; shook ideas lose their value.
‘What are you trying to tell me Sebastian Topp?’ I hear you asking your computer screen. Well, I’m going to try something very new and dangerous today. I’m going to have the most original and fresh Idea ever. It might be too much for some to bear, so I urge you to take extreme caution in reading the idea. I would also like to note that it is very like that the ‘powers that be’ might take my Blog off the internet, new and original idea’s go against the grain and scare more suite wearing Gordin Brownies.
So here it is, my most original and fresh Idea.
‘People in Brown coats cough the alphabet backwards through straws of coconut water, whilst hopping on a cobble made of jam.’
Wow, that was a little more unpredictable than I first thought. I hope you enjoyed it.
*If you are reading this in the future where brain sharing has become not only a reality, but also the norm, then please discard this post.
So it stands to reason that every Idea you ever have is original and yours. Take it, put it in a jar and show it to your family. Don’t shake the jar; shook ideas lose their value.
‘What are you trying to tell me Sebastian Topp?’ I hear you asking your computer screen. Well, I’m going to try something very new and dangerous today. I’m going to have the most original and fresh Idea ever. It might be too much for some to bear, so I urge you to take extreme caution in reading the idea. I would also like to note that it is very like that the ‘powers that be’ might take my Blog off the internet, new and original idea’s go against the grain and scare more suite wearing Gordin Brownies.
So here it is, my most original and fresh Idea.
‘People in Brown coats cough the alphabet backwards through straws of coconut water, whilst hopping on a cobble made of jam.’
Wow, that was a little more unpredictable than I first thought. I hope you enjoyed it.
*If you are reading this in the future where brain sharing has become not only a reality, but also the norm, then please discard this post.
Friday, April 10, 2009
3 Steps to Creativity.
Most people reading this blog won't be creative at all, I'm not being nasty its just a scientific fact. Only 1 out of 10 people have a 'creative bone' and even fewer (i.e Me) Know how to use their bone.
But I can help you to entice any morsel of creativity you might have hidden in that dull uncreative body of yours.
Here is Sebastian Topp's 3 Step guide to extra creativity.
1. T.Y.B.T.B.I or Train your Brain to be Insane. I know this sounds like a crazy idea, well LOL to you because it is. Literally. Being mad is the biggest step in being creative and becoming mentally unstable isn’t something that just happens to you, it can be trained. Start by doing the exact opposite of everything you would usually do. Say No when you would say yes, Punch people when you would kiss them and urinate in the corridor. Yes you might loose a few friends, but they will all come running back when you make loads of money being creative.
2. Think backwards. Thinking backwards is thought to rejuvenate your brain cells and make your more intelligent. This helps with the process of being creative. Although hard to master it is easy to get started. Just do this daily exercise and you will be fine. Take this sentence, Hello my name is Sebastian Topp (Use your own name if you wish) Name Write it down backwards ‘Topp Sebastian is name my hello’. Keep repeating it, once you feel comfortable use another sentence. Like ‘Isn’t the grass lovely in the summer’ (Summer the in lovely grass the isn’t)
3. Eat more bread, yes, it might make you really fat, but you will have up to 10% more ideas. There is a compound in bread that speed up signals between two idea cells in your brain. It’s no coincidence that the most creative people throughout history were extremely fat. Picasso, Einstein and Shakespeare were all obese.
But I can help you to entice any morsel of creativity you might have hidden in that dull uncreative body of yours.
Here is Sebastian Topp's 3 Step guide to extra creativity.
1. T.Y.B.T.B.I or Train your Brain to be Insane. I know this sounds like a crazy idea, well LOL to you because it is. Literally. Being mad is the biggest step in being creative and becoming mentally unstable isn’t something that just happens to you, it can be trained. Start by doing the exact opposite of everything you would usually do. Say No when you would say yes, Punch people when you would kiss them and urinate in the corridor. Yes you might loose a few friends, but they will all come running back when you make loads of money being creative.
2. Think backwards. Thinking backwards is thought to rejuvenate your brain cells and make your more intelligent. This helps with the process of being creative. Although hard to master it is easy to get started. Just do this daily exercise and you will be fine. Take this sentence, Hello my name is Sebastian Topp (Use your own name if you wish) Name Write it down backwards ‘Topp Sebastian is name my hello’. Keep repeating it, once you feel comfortable use another sentence. Like ‘Isn’t the grass lovely in the summer’ (Summer the in lovely grass the isn’t)
3. Eat more bread, yes, it might make you really fat, but you will have up to 10% more ideas. There is a compound in bread that speed up signals between two idea cells in your brain. It’s no coincidence that the most creative people throughout history were extremely fat. Picasso, Einstein and Shakespeare were all obese.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Plums
Plums or subgenus Prunus are my most favourite of fruit, and it is at this time of year that they are at their most delicious. So I have written this little ditty in celebration.
Plums.
Juicy plums.
My juicy plums.
How I love thee my Juicy Plums.
Oh ya most perfect of fruit.
I hold my juicy plums in my hand.
I am also planning to release a my very own fruit juice, each carton will have a different poem written on it so people can drink and read life inspired poetry at the same time. I’m going to call it ‘Sebastian Topp’s Plum Juice’
Plums.
Juicy plums.
My juicy plums.
How I love thee my Juicy Plums.
Oh ya most perfect of fruit.
I hold my juicy plums in my hand.
I am also planning to release a my very own fruit juice, each carton will have a different poem written on it so people can drink and read life inspired poetry at the same time. I’m going to call it ‘Sebastian Topp’s Plum Juice’
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Time for some blues.
I was reading my local paper the ‘Oakmere Gazette’ this morning. There was a story about a shortage of milk in the area. It made me sad, so I decided to write a blues song about it. I have to admit that I’m no Eric Clapton LOL more of a Mark Knopfler. The chords for intermediate guitar players, basically E then A for the entire song. I’m thinking of entering my-self into this years European Song Contest.
No Milk Blues.
(E) Baby I got the blues, (A) oh yeah, I got the blues.
(E) Read the news, (A) oh yeah, no one had any milk.
Baby I got the blues, oh yeah, I got the blues.
Went to a farm, oh yeah, cows didn’t have any moos.
Baby I got the blues, oh yeah, I got the blues.
Why have the cows, oh yeah, got no moo Farmer?
Baby I got the blues, oh yeah, I got the blues.
Because they, oh yeah, tend not to moo a lot.
Baby I got the blues, oh yeah, I got the blues.
What about sheep milk, oh yeah, then.
Baby I got the blues, oh yeah, I got the blues.
I don’t have any, oh yeah, sheep.
At the end hang your head down a bit and try and cry if you can.
I would also like to note that this is my second milk related post in as many posts, please don't take me for one of those crazy milk drinkers. I just think milk has allot of artistic merit.
No Milk Blues.
(E) Baby I got the blues, (A) oh yeah, I got the blues.
(E) Read the news, (A) oh yeah, no one had any milk.
Baby I got the blues, oh yeah, I got the blues.
Went to a farm, oh yeah, cows didn’t have any moos.
Baby I got the blues, oh yeah, I got the blues.
Why have the cows, oh yeah, got no moo Farmer?
Baby I got the blues, oh yeah, I got the blues.
Because they, oh yeah, tend not to moo a lot.
Baby I got the blues, oh yeah, I got the blues.
What about sheep milk, oh yeah, then.
Baby I got the blues, oh yeah, I got the blues.
I don’t have any, oh yeah, sheep.
At the end hang your head down a bit and try and cry if you can.
I would also like to note that this is my second milk related post in as many posts, please don't take me for one of those crazy milk drinkers. I just think milk has allot of artistic merit.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
A Painting of my pain.
I don't do much painting, not because I'm no good at it (as is proved below) But because I have to use up lots of emotion to complete them.
This piece is from my early work. It has obvious influence from early 20th C German expressionism and gathers its power from my own raw and real experiences in life.
I call it 'Crying over spilt milk'.
This piece is from my early work. It has obvious influence from early 20th C German expressionism and gathers its power from my own raw and real experiences in life.
I call it 'Crying over spilt milk'.
For the Theatre.
This is a short play I have written. It is based on a real life experience of mine. I have changed some of the names for legal reasons.
The story of a real life Hero.
A corner shop. A man (Manfrid) is buying peanuts.
Shop Owner: That will be £1.32 please.
Manfrid hands over the money.
Manfrid: Here you go.
Shop Owner: Thank you.
Manfrid: No Problem.
Suddenly a man with a gun, wearing a mask runs into the shop.
Man with Gun: Give me all your money!
Shop Owner: Noooooo!
Man with Gun Shakes gun at them both.
Man with Gun: Now, or you both get it.
Manfrid: No, you don’t need to do this.
Man with Gun: I do, I’m poor and my wife and seven children need a place to eat and rest.
Manfrid: All you need to do is to go to your local Job Centre and apply for work, it might not be as exciting as robbing a corner shop, but by gum its honest work.
Man with Gun thinks.
Manfrid: Now, slowly put down the gun and I can tell you how to get there.
Man with Gun: I just want to provide for me and mine.
A moment passes. Just as Man with Gun ponders Manfrid opens the pack of peanuts and throws them into the Man with Guns’ face.
Man with Gun: Arrrhg
Manfrid wrestles the Man with Gun to the floor. He saves the day.
Shop Owner: Thank you Manfrid for being so brave. Here have some free peanuts.
Manfrid: No thank you, knowing I’ve been a hero is reward enough.
With that he heroically walks out of the corner shop.
Shop Owner: There goes a real life hero.
The end.
Feel free to perform this at your local theatre. Why not a make a short film and send it to me, I might even post it on my Blog!
The story of a real life Hero.
A corner shop. A man (Manfrid) is buying peanuts.
Shop Owner: That will be £1.32 please.
Manfrid hands over the money.
Manfrid: Here you go.
Shop Owner: Thank you.
Manfrid: No Problem.
Suddenly a man with a gun, wearing a mask runs into the shop.
Man with Gun: Give me all your money!
Shop Owner: Noooooo!
Man with Gun Shakes gun at them both.
Man with Gun: Now, or you both get it.
Manfrid: No, you don’t need to do this.
Man with Gun: I do, I’m poor and my wife and seven children need a place to eat and rest.
Manfrid: All you need to do is to go to your local Job Centre and apply for work, it might not be as exciting as robbing a corner shop, but by gum its honest work.
Man with Gun thinks.
Manfrid: Now, slowly put down the gun and I can tell you how to get there.
Man with Gun: I just want to provide for me and mine.
A moment passes. Just as Man with Gun ponders Manfrid opens the pack of peanuts and throws them into the Man with Guns’ face.
Man with Gun: Arrrhg
Manfrid wrestles the Man with Gun to the floor. He saves the day.
Shop Owner: Thank you Manfrid for being so brave. Here have some free peanuts.
Manfrid: No thank you, knowing I’ve been a hero is reward enough.
With that he heroically walks out of the corner shop.
Shop Owner: There goes a real life hero.
The end.
Feel free to perform this at your local theatre. Why not a make a short film and send it to me, I might even post it on my Blog!
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
When theft is wrong.
My Bicycle has been stolen. It has angered me greatly. But this is good because I can use this emotion and put it into my art. It has inspired me to write a poem I call..
‘Broken chains, rolling tears and an empty fence’ by Sebastian Topp
BASTARDS!!!
You BASTARDS!!!
I apologies for the use of foul language but I felt it lent the poem a certain amount of emotional weight.
Until next time.
‘Broken chains, rolling tears and an empty fence’ by Sebastian Topp
BASTARDS!!!
You BASTARDS!!!
I apologies for the use of foul language but I felt it lent the poem a certain amount of emotional weight.
Until next time.
Creativity, questionmark?
People sometimes ask me ‘Hey Seb, what is creativity anyway?’
Well, the dictionary says…
cre·a·tiv·i·ty n
But seriously, go back and re-read it. What is it saying? The ability to use the IMAGINATION to develop new and original IDEAS or THINGS.
These are three very important words in the vocabulary of the creator. It’s a good idea to write them on a small piece of paper and re-read them aloud to yourself over and over again.
Well, the dictionary says…
cre·a·tiv·i·ty n
1. the quality of being creativeLOL. Ha ha. I added that last one my-self, it’s not really in the dictionary so don’t go and look!
2. the ability to use the imagination to develop new and original ideas or things, especially in an artistic context
3. Sebastian Topp
But seriously, go back and re-read it. What is it saying? The ability to use the IMAGINATION to develop new and original IDEAS or THINGS.
These are three very important words in the vocabulary of the creator. It’s a good idea to write them on a small piece of paper and re-read them aloud to yourself over and over again.
1. Imagination.Don’t feel silly doing it. I do it everyday and look where it got me! I have my very own Blog! How many other people can say the same?
2. Ideas.
3. Things.
Monday, March 30, 2009
A short story.
Short stories don’t have to be fun. They can be deep and meaningful. Here is an example from my own work.
The bus.
Monday morning. The rain. The pain. Bus again. The 41. ‘Oh How I hate the number 41’ Frank thought to himself wiping his nose, his snot redden nose. His umbrella unfolded like a dying duck trying to escape a farmers trap. Frank tried to regain control but failed, loosing his grip as the umbrella flew across the street. “Damn you!” he shouted loud. Nobody looked, nobody ever looked.
The bus was approaching. Frank readied his oyster card. He knew he had £1.40 left on it, he had checked the day before. The crowd that had suddenly appeared jostled for the best position. Frank just waited. He knew he would get on, not a seat, but at least he would be moving. The doors opened and they herded them-selves in. Frank grunted and waited and grunted. Eventually it was his turn to swipe his oyster card of dreams. Errrk! The red light shone. Errk! Again. ‘What?’ No’ “But I have £1.40 left on my card, I checked yesterday!”
“Off the bus please sir” said the driver.
“But I have…” Frank tried.
“Off the bus please sir” said the driver. Again. Frank could do nothing he got off the bus. People looked, they looked now. Monday morning. The rain. The pain. Guess I’ll walk again.
The End.
This story is obviously about the current ressestion, Frank (the artist) wants to move on in life. But he’s being stopped by the crowd (the bankers) and the oyster card of ‘Dreams’.
See if you can write a story that’s moving, deep and as meaning as mine.
The bus.
Monday morning. The rain. The pain. Bus again. The 41. ‘Oh How I hate the number 41’ Frank thought to himself wiping his nose, his snot redden nose. His umbrella unfolded like a dying duck trying to escape a farmers trap. Frank tried to regain control but failed, loosing his grip as the umbrella flew across the street. “Damn you!” he shouted loud. Nobody looked, nobody ever looked.
The bus was approaching. Frank readied his oyster card. He knew he had £1.40 left on it, he had checked the day before. The crowd that had suddenly appeared jostled for the best position. Frank just waited. He knew he would get on, not a seat, but at least he would be moving. The doors opened and they herded them-selves in. Frank grunted and waited and grunted. Eventually it was his turn to swipe his oyster card of dreams. Errrk! The red light shone. Errk! Again. ‘What?’ No’ “But I have £1.40 left on my card, I checked yesterday!”
“Off the bus please sir” said the driver.
“But I have…” Frank tried.
“Off the bus please sir” said the driver. Again. Frank could do nothing he got off the bus. People looked, they looked now. Monday morning. The rain. The pain. Guess I’ll walk again.
The End.
This story is obviously about the current ressestion, Frank (the artist) wants to move on in life. But he’s being stopped by the crowd (the bankers) and the oyster card of ‘Dreams’.
See if you can write a story that’s moving, deep and as meaning as mine.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
POEM
This is a poem I call 'Sharp edges'. I wrote it after I was making a sandwich for lunch and almost accidentally cut my finger with the butter knife. The experience was REAL for me, and brought me close to death. I suddenly had an idea for a poem and it took over me. That’s how I work.
Sharp edges. This knife has.
Sharp edges. This table has.
Sharp edges. This spoon has.
Sharp edges. In my Brain.
Don’t stab me. Don’t stab me.
Sharp edges. This house has.
Sharp edges. This kitchen has.
Sharp edges. This sandwich has.
Sharp edges. In my body.
Don’t stab me. Don’t stab me.
Thank you.
Sharp edges. This knife has.
Sharp edges. This table has.
Sharp edges. This spoon has.
Sharp edges. In my Brain.
Don’t stab me. Don’t stab me.
Sharp edges. This house has.
Sharp edges. This kitchen has.
Sharp edges. This sandwich has.
Sharp edges. In my body.
Don’t stab me. Don’t stab me.
Thank you.
The Idea Fountain.
It has been written many, many, many and lots of times before that ‘ideas are like water’. They flow like water in a stream or a little lake. They mould into any shape. Mostly cup shapes, but any shape you can think of, water fits into it.
Ideas are the same, think of a shape. Done that? Good, now fit your idea into that shape. See how easy it is!
The idea fountain takes this concept and turns it into a reality.
You need to build your self an idea fountain. Don’t build an actual fountain, I’m trying to create a metaphor. An actual fountain would be a waste of time. Unless the idea was to build a fountain, but then you’ve already had the idea to build it and you wouldn’t need an idea fountain. I just want to be clear.
To build your self an idea fountain all you need to do is close your eyes and imagine a fountain. The water is spurting up all over the place. Now, imagine the water becoming your idea’s they are spraying everywhere. Reach out with a cup and catch some of the water/ideas. Look at the cup, look at your ideas. You see how easy it is?! And you thought I was a crazy!
It was Anthony Berkley who once said
Thank you for reading. I will of course be posting my own work on this page soon. So come back for some imagery of words and pictures from the soon to be world wide web famous Sebastian Topp!!
Ideas are the same, think of a shape. Done that? Good, now fit your idea into that shape. See how easy it is!
The idea fountain takes this concept and turns it into a reality.
You need to build your self an idea fountain. Don’t build an actual fountain, I’m trying to create a metaphor. An actual fountain would be a waste of time. Unless the idea was to build a fountain, but then you’ve already had the idea to build it and you wouldn’t need an idea fountain. I just want to be clear.
To build your self an idea fountain all you need to do is close your eyes and imagine a fountain. The water is spurting up all over the place. Now, imagine the water becoming your idea’s they are spraying everywhere. Reach out with a cup and catch some of the water/ideas. Look at the cup, look at your ideas. You see how easy it is?! And you thought I was a crazy!
It was Anthony Berkley who once said
Ideas are nothing more than dreams realised through the hand of the artist. Taking a view or an opinion and creating from it something so new and wonderful it defies love. It’s a wonder that the possibility of being is only down to a moment of electricity in the brain.I disagree with this 100%.
Thank you for reading. I will of course be posting my own work on this page soon. So come back for some imagery of words and pictures from the soon to be world wide web famous Sebastian Topp!!
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