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Boomer Console: Chris Goode

Boomer Console
Chris Goode

Containing two ecstatically original new works:Boomer, a poem-series partially generated through byte-sampling and babble, and The history of airports, a soliloquy from the recent impressive theatre ensemble signal to noise.

£4.00, 32pp, ISBN 978-1-903488-05-8, 2000

Out of Print

Author Biography

Chris Goode is a writer, performance maker and musician. In 1999 he set up the theatre company Signal to Noise. Since 2001 he has been Artistic Director of camden people’s theatre, and also Associate Director with Unlimited Theatre, which was awarded a Fringe First at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe in 2001, for the show Neutrino. In 2002 he won a second Fringe First for his one-person show Kiss of Life, which previewed at cpt before its run at Pleasance Dome. And in 2003 he took his production of Napoleon in Exile (initially developed at cpt for the 2002 Sprint Festival) to an acclaimed run at the Traverse, and subsequently to a London outing at The Drill Hall. He has been described by The Guardian as "one of the most exciting talents working in Britain today".  In addition, he has worked widely as a musician and sound artist (including the duo COAT with Jeremy Hardingham, and collaboration with the installation artist Emily Orley).


 

 

More about Chris Goode»

Excerpt

from 'The Tree-Line'

 

last nite by a skatepunk fucked chock-full of aldrin adrenaline,

mohawk-badgered, cock-a-hoop, surfing melismatic paroxetine,

to a comedown junkie tip felt lack of klezmer geist in the machine,

stuck in a loop of shallow breathing, gagging for khoomei, unsaline,

unleaving in a profligate swoon & gunning for the delayed subroutine,

born under heavy viral assault & smacking of mcluhan's vaseline,

under the green stars the seas sail the world below the tree-line.

 

audrey & landlocked, gripped by the sudden pain of history,

i'm sold on the strap-line 'get free e-mail and be world-weary'.

scraped, morselised scud-ring, like boomer will gamely move on t.v.,

the dimensions of net-worked memory packs confound complexity

so will i not be traced back to the wristband of my dialytic family.

while brightly in the trailer-park my gran'ma cusses out saint valentine,

under the green stars the seas sail the world below the tree-line.

 

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