Simon Dec Abstract

All 6's and 7's

Suffering - Part's 8, 9, 10

8
When confronted by the dilemma of human squalor,
and the inconstancy of natural happiness,
one is steadily made unbearable.
Little flakes of us,
like snowflakes,
settle down into an image of the human ghost.
What’s left?
A corpse, a memory, a devil.
The mother defiled,
the father murdered,
the children slain.
Having been reduced to the savage,
smarting from the eternal admission,
one crosses the threshold of reflection.
In this supple inflection,
in this harmonious recasting
which transfigures the whole grouping of human deformation,
externally and internally,
we can not fail to find precious confirmation
of what we had already guessed.
That a Cosmic sickness pervades every human head,
every foetus and flower,
and that the apocalyptic horse has become Pope.

9
The social id masturbates its ego
and ejaculates
a darkened history of the black arts and animal sex.
The mad ape looks into the wounds of the Christ crucified,
only to find that in His victory,
the Father was not who we thought He was.
The unfinished transgression
cancelled the subscription to the ape resurrection
killing the quantum cat in a cosmic car accident.
Human evaporation, through Christ’s Trinity
finds itself in His holy urine,
cycling in the eyes of St John,
narcissistically in the water of which,
fell in love with the tears in the eyes of Christ.
The horror seen in his eyes
is in the continuous fall down a black hole
giving a fairytale meaning of torture and starvation,
past Auschwitz and ground zero,
past famine and chain stoking
and in a grandmothers incontinence
as her arse is wiped
by a gum chewing 19 year old care assistant
wanting to get home
to her beer swilling boyfriend
(Both of whom will die).

10
Like a dance stopped in mid career,
love cut short,
or a flower with its head unluckily snapped off,
human squalor is no sherry party.
To keep the dead completely dead,
to keep the bedroom exactly as the departed left it,
ten bottles of sherry will not suffice.
Did Christ know how much He took away with Him when he left?
In our paper mind all reality is in ruins.
But then of course we know perfectly well
He can not be used as a road,
for all those approaching Him this way
will not be approaching Him at all.
World with out end,
is no more than a chuckle in the darkness.
Cancer, cancer, cancer cries the universe,
pour a cup of tea over your head,
shout cancer and die.
It is incredible how much happiness,
even how much gaiety we have after all hope is gone…….

Whats in the box?

Questions

http://www.baggelboy.com/

NATALIE JOEL

Natalie was beautiful and brilliant all round – and she was very insightful and knowledgeable.

Natalie had many excellent traits – being young, bright and intelligent, kind and also being a good listener.

We will miss her extremely gentle and caring approach.

Natalie also proved herself as an interesting and creative writer…

A few words from Cerys

Roast bodies

Once apon a time

Nice Dress

Does Gordon Brown care

Cow face

David Richardson

I am David Richardson and I David Richardson have set myself a goal; to appear 1st on the google image ranking for David Richardson. So here goes, this is a picture or photo of me David Richardson

Suffering - Parts 6 - 7

6
Monkey in wonderland,
sons of the falling ape,
ones the ate the apple
and spat it out in the face of Christ.
A hundred of them bouncing on a universal bed,
the one that fell off and banged its brain,
is the one we followed
and that’s the one that’s lost.
Tickle a badger and run off down the ward laughing,
wear ping pong balls for eyes in front of your deathly mother,
paint ducks on a asylum wall
and feed them with 5000 loafs of bread and fish,
futility makes us this way,
and we’ve made it this way.
We watch helplessly as a tiny Christ falls to the ground,
a ground unaccepting to Christ’s,
bringing a universal snow.
This makes things cold,
too cold for us,
all it needs is a wind to make it unbearable,
and on the third day
a wind springs up,
that shakes an earthly bell
that swings between life and death,
in the kingdom that has no end.

7
There is something going on,
long and slow like the sea,
ticking in this darkened room
where somebody says something and nobody hears.
The darkened room where a dying World is operated on,
performed by a screaming surgeon,
finding the incomplete,
slicing the cancer in the egg,
the more it screams,
the more he screams
and the more he goes on cutting.
Is there no end to the torture?
Is it credible that such extremities of torture are endless?
The tortures occur,
and either way we’re for it.
He was for it on the cross,
why should we get off.
Peter knew what was coming
and the blood of the lamb loved that monkey to death,
killing his pride and shaming us all.
A grief observed
pissing on our fuck-board palace in Hell forever.
“Come out the trees and look what’s happened.
A monkey with a fucking bad idea.
A beautiful child with a brain that’s stormed.
Love your son and your daughter, and don’t let them drown,
if they do, cut your throat and stab your eyes,
lay your life down and hope your pain was ten times more than theirs“.

Revolt

By Cerys

Portrait

By Jim

Evolution

By Bernard

Batty

By Pink

Trick or Treat

Messages

Its quite an early one ..version two..really needs redoing ...another thing to add to the list

ArburyCam

richardsonart- Broadcast your self LIVE

R.I.P Susie

Patrick Quinn

Simon 3

Ladyboy Research Institute Emblem

Blind Elvis

The Kringe speaks (Part 2)

The Kringe speaks (Part 1)

Am I mad

Immaculate conception?

Berts nose hairs

bert had nosehairs like you wouldnt believe unless you saw for yourself, they were that bad he had to tape them to his cheeks before he could eat.Now as you can imagine this was very annoying,not to mention downright inconvenient bert finally decided to do somthing about it one day when he was at the barbersand was asked if he would like his beard trimmed,bert knew from experience that this wouldnt work as he had tried this himself. It only made them grow faster, and besides he had to resort to pruning shears,as they were so strong like wire they wereand the barber didnthave any shears in the shop, well he wouldnt would he.The thing was what could he do about them, After seeing his doctor an ear nose and throat specialist,he was finally refered to a harley street specialist, a mr nasal sounds just the person for me bert thought. Whilst waiting for the appointment day to arrive when bert hoped all his problems would be solved, a funny thing started to happen the nosehairs seemed to take on a life of their own, at meal times instead of having to tape them up to his cheeks,they would move aside on their own and remain there untill after he had finished, also when he cleaned his teeth something very awkward before as the heat and steam in the bathroom would make the tape come off. Then one night at the theatrehis nosehairs started to conduct the orcestra,the great pannini invited them onto the rostrum so that the orchestra could follow the movements of the nose hairs more closley.The performance was superb the greatraol pannini wasin tears the applause went on and on, never in the history of the theatre had a performance been known like it, but bert wasnt very happy the nose hairs were just using him. As all the big theatres booked his nose hairs they became ever more popular, and famous they would get top billing the incredible conducters the nose hairs never a mention of bert.They even opened their own bank account, and drove around in limousines, had the best wines, something bert never really had a nose for,they even had a massage before each performance and poor old bert didnt even receive so much as a quick rubdown,as they became ever more popular poor old bert was left in the background. Well one day bert had had enough out late everynight ,and with his nosehairs practising from early morning he wasnt getting any peace at all. Right thats it he said he went to his garden shed and locked himself and his nosehairs in he went to his toolbox and removed a pair of pliers.One by one he pulled the nosehairs out, no matter how much he screamed or how much his eyes watered bert was determined, they had to go.Laying on the floor infront of him now the nosehairs,bert felt like a new man finally he could get his life back. That night the news was full of how the great nosehairs had dissapeared,and how foulplay was suspected, but bert had hidden the evidence they wouldnever point the finger at him ,as after all they didnt even know what he looked like and would surely never recondnise him now. That night bert slept contented, but at 5 am was awakened by a perfect baritone,singing coming from the end of his nose, hair we go again he thought

Suffering - Parts 3, 4 & 5

3
Murder is by no means
the comprehensive common sense,
but in a more clear light,
it is the leading uncommon sense that pervades us all.
Having had a headache does one hammer ones head against a concrete floor or laugh it off? Probably in our case the former is true.
The problem of the monkey condition
centres somewhere away from these ideas,
laying in the malady that we refuse to talk of.
In a vague way,
the obsession that somehow,
someday we will beat the game
is cotton-wooling the fact that we are Cosmic refugees.
The tragic truth is that,
if the broken are waiting to be fed,
then the happy day may not arrive.


4
The beginning and end
are close up views of forces and traditions
which have photographed themselves
in the odd face of some monkey
seen in a crowd
coming before our eyes
in vivid perfections
the moment we close them.
Unexpectedly, the more we look the more we change it,
reality is no longer there as a consolidation to any answer.
If nothing else
a Cosmic sadist is photographing parts of itself
preparing a table for the next meal,
where death only reveals the vacuum that was always there.

5
Looking into the thousand glassy eyes
of a monkey made mad by standing,
there is no ‘honest’ eye among them,
Special Theory suggests that.
Their tongues are full of complex treachery,
their thoughts are unanchored windows
with no frame of reference,
they are lost islands
of the lowest entropy in the universe,
telling themselves lies and believing it.
They are the fuck-wits that killed the lamb,
causing a universal bleat
that echoes forever in the monkey mind,
fore-ordained at the beginning and at the end,
to be treated as cosmic sheep,
that’s what is deserved.
Ordained to fight against the law that has no reason,
to make hay in the sun of persecution,
hunger and nakedness.

Simon 2

Hell Driver

I,d like to be a Hell Driver
Driving on the Motorway
Avoiding Blinking Cameras
Hindering my Way

mike

From Simon

Consequences

'Suffering' - Part 1 and 2

1
In the hopeless condition of the mind and body,
a sick suspect arises,
namely, the philosophy of the human ape
(silver foiled in a hundred alibis), is fallacious.
Universal dishonesty can infect and possess a fellow
to such an extent that,
thinking round the clock,
can not cure a career of melancholia,
thus creating dangerous antisocial thoughts
concerning ones mother and normal fellows.
We see expressions of this misunderstanding
in every corner of the monkey mind.
Two conditions would give example of this point;
murder and suicide, coupled with,
powerful combinations of love and birth,
therefore creating riddles in the thinking of man.

2
The ape of today and yesterday is, and was,
touched with handicapped mind causing a hundred forms of self delusion.
Sometimes the self centred simian
enters into a plausibility that disregards
attendant suffering
making light of the havoc of the sick mother.
This sounds like the main suspect
in the terrible cycle of untruth.
Clearly sufficient force could be given
to rid ourselves of this,
but rarely the memory of the suffering
and humiliation of a week or a month ago
can not be crowded out by thought alone.
Putting ones hand on a stove
for the fifth or sixth time
still will not teach us to revolt
against our levelling history
or indeed help us murder our cancered reason.

Going Cuckoo

Serial runaway

Crossing the line

Some lines are there just to mess us up.

www.baggelboy.com

Heart shape box

It's called heart shape box Cambridge dedicated to all those on the street who have died

The Little Unicorn

Deep in the heart of an enchanted forest,many moons ago surrounded by beautiful areas of cascading waterfalls and green wooded glades,there sat a lonely patch of ground say - oh no bigger than your bed.
None of the forest creatures would ever dare to cross this patch because it was so dark that nothing ever grew there not even the grass.Unbeknow to anyone this little area in years before had been just as lushious and green as all the rest of the forest,but a greedy troll had left his cave one summers evening to go hunting for food when he happened upon a young Unicorn.
The Unicorn had never met a troll before and for this reason he was rather cautious about the strange creature standing before him. The troll talked to the young Unicorn for a while and it was'nt long before the troll convinced the Unicorn to go walking through the forest with him, plotting in his mind as they went.
"I think i should like to have him roast over a burning pit and hang his magical horn in my cave" thought the troll to himself,all the time smiling and befriending the unsuspecting Unicorn.
"I really should'nt go to far into the forest" said the Unicorn "at least not without letting my friends know where i am going." "Don't worry" said the troll,slyly, "not too far now."
They walked slightly further into the forest when the Unicorn saw the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Waterfalls and rainbows,flowers blowing with the evening breeze and creatures playing in sunset carresed by the most delightful sounds. Suddenly the troll pulled out his dagger,made from the darkest wood from the darkest place in the forest and plunged its twisted blade straight into the Unicorns heart. The poor Unicorn did'nt have time to turn and run or even to let out a cry as he looked at the wicked troll who was grinning at him. The young Unicorn just shed a single tear which dropped to the ground then the Unicorn fell,his magical blood soaking the area around him. So the troll picked up the Unicorns body and left to go back to his cave,never to be seen again.
Much time had passed by and the young Unicorns parents often searched for their child but as the forest was so vast they never came across the spot where the cruel troll had slaine their child until one day they saw a small fairie who was all alone and looking down at the area very sadly.
"What is wrong little one ?" they both asked, "Why is this ground so barren and cold yet all around is so beautiful."
The fairie told the Unicorns of the sad story and what had happened,which made them both cry as they realised it was their young one who had been taken. But as their tears fell something quite magical started to happen. Five very strange looking buds started to sprout from the dark ground below almost causing a now ever increasing group of forest creatures to stop and stumble over themselves and each other. Out of all the buds only one continued to grow as the others merged into it,becoming a strange and large looking mushroom.
Very soon the area around the mushroom had become as beautiful as its surroundings but there was something different about it. Even though the glade was bathed in a vast amount of sunlight the area shone,maybe even glowed. Within an hour or two the mushroom had grown to be the same height as the two Unicorns legs and even though the sun had gone the whole area was still bathed in an eerie light,eminating from the mushroom. The small fairie walked over to the strange looking mushroom and to everyones surprise a door appeared at the base,out of which came a small elf like creature.
"Do not cry for your loss" said the creature to the two Unicorns, "your child is safe and happy with us and wants you to know just how much he Loves you both and to celebrate his life,not to mourn his death."
"But we will never see his beauty again" they both exclaimed to the elf. "Now that your tears have bought Love back to this forsaken ground this mushroom will always be here,and i entrust our fairie gaurdian here to care for it" replied the elf. "Whenever anyone comes to this glade they will forever be filled with joy and happiness whilst your beloved child watches over them, living in our world, coming back here every few years." But that my friends is a whole other story.

The guard and I

The GUARD had come to know their faces indivually, Once so bright and eager.Now blanched with the pallor of prison,Their gestures the tired jerky movements the of old men,worn out with endless weeks,months years in prison.The stink of it; sweaty bodies, bad ventilation,old socks, despair.How could he bring himself to voluntarily , arrive each day. The overwelming smell of despair, invading his nostrils. Men in name only,all hope abandoned,no longer functioning as human beings. Simply passing the endless hours, going through the motions. with as little emotion as it takes to get through yet another endless day.Waiting for release of any sort,ready to explode.A feeling of total worthlessness, any small thing will do. No, No, this is no place for man or guard ,this! No sence to it,no rhyme or reason exists in this system. Ridiculously long sentences. Outside these cold, heartless bars that I now call home, what a wast. Society is turning the key, and its back on us. No,No, this is no place for a prisoner or guard this! Pent up emotions ,are ready to explode. How much longer can society carry this load.Yet for me, now it goes on, months and years. How many more,does it really matter. That poor guard going home ,is as much a prisoner as myself, who stays here behind these bars. Old men, no matter what our ages, the guard and I.

5 word poem

Clean

fresh

social

sex

fame

The Moon Frowns

The Moon frowns and hides behind the clouds;
An Empty Nest is a sad place.
Forlorn thoughts flit across her mind...
Dark shadows she casts on the earth below;
The new adult packs her bags and tries to look mature.
Inside, she’s still a little girl who needs her mom.

Submited by Tanja Cilia

ah christmas

ah christmas what a time full of cheer and joy abundant, family calling round and constantly in touch, at times it was allmost too much.my nephews and nieces suddenly loved me to pieces,my children constantly at my door ,Dad its you we adore. well chrismas is no more,(Iam left with a silent door,)a mute phone ,in short i am left alone.The season is no more joy abundant I am left redundant.never mind my dear i am sure they will be back next year

Grow your own monkey

Richardsonart

http://www.youtube.com/user/richardsonart

pearl flowergirl

Pearl was a flowergirl pretty as a pettal, sweet as a rose,oh how i would love her tulips under my nose. She hadhair like bramble,my hands they would ramble.small as a daisy she made my head hazy. Each day i would see her like a busy daffodill, standing behind her till.busy busy busy with her friend lizzy.I wish all this wasnt just in my head, i would love to take her home to my specially prepared flowergirl bed, enough said.

pipe smoker ode to my brier

The pipe smokers delight, is when you light it right.So i have put it in poetry form, to make lighting it the norm. Firstly tap it out ,blow down the spout. turn it back over. You are now ready to begin,placing your tobbaco in.The first layer shouldnt be to tight ,just keep it light .The second and any other, should be slightly tighter.Now for the lighting up, its not as simple as it sounds,mistakes abound.Scorch the top layer ,dont attack like a slayer.Pat it down,grins all around.Now suck it down,You are now ready to relaxe, spoilt only by the thought that 90% is Tax.

Twenty Pounds

The high is amazing for twenty pounds a shot, just another twenty and that’s me lot.
Little do I know it’s going to take everything I have got, “it’s rising out my pennies” but I still want more, “just another pipe and just another score.” Am getting really high but that’s not enough, another pipe and another rush.
Sound as a pound, but I need to come down, so I take a little (golden brown). The feelings all good just for a minute then you get that old ugly spirit.
It’s calling you again and again and you know this is getting a really big pain.
The pennies have gone and your out grafting, the rain, hale and snow, that’s all you know.
So next time you go to spend the £20 to get an amazing high ask yourself the question is this £20 that’s going to make me die!

Cambridge Crow-child neglect response unit

Submited by Richardsonart

www.youtube.com/user/richardsonart

Crappy the Clown

He often talked of suicide as if it was a matter of fact.
So it was no surprise for me to hear that he lay on the railway track.
And he waited for the train to come and end his needless pain.
It was going to be his very last trip, he would never ride again.
And when at last, as the train had past, he let go of all his fears.
And he left me lost and lonely, nursing months of endless tears.
But what he clearly failed to see was he lost his pain and he gave it to me.
And now I walk this path of pain, knowing I’ll never see him again.
I tried to explain with the greatest of tact, that I just couldn’t commit to his suicide pact.
And I guess that he wanted the reasons why, when he wanted my help I weren’tt ready to die.
It was cus I had much more I wanted to give, and to accomplish this I needed to live.
And I’ll tell you what always gets to me, the thing that makes me sad.
Is so many chose to end their lives, just because they’re mad?
And now he is dead and has gone to Heaven, and I know he is feeling happy.
He was always the clown, in my home town, the clown that I called crappy.

I wish

I once was what I am no more, here hiding behind my door. i wish it was as it was before, I cry behind this door, I die behind this door. Why isn't it as before, it's not as it was before. I would love to remove 'that bloody door'.

Farmer

I see myself as a farmer, and all my friends as good seed, I plant them in fertile soil, and give them all they need. I weed around them, nurture them and water them to the last drop, and when their fruit has blossomed, I’m gonna harvest my first crop.

TV

If you watch too much TV, you’ll end up with square eyes. It happened to me, I needed to see, I decided to compromise. I ordered square contact lenses, which I fitted in an awkward manner. And when I had to remove them, I took them out with a spanner.

Crack

Crack cocaine is the drug of idiot’s, you pay for it through the nose. And where does all your money goes, only your dealer knows. He’s saving up for a flash new car and a luxury villa in Spain. And all he’ll leave you with is your emptiness and pain.

Wife

My wife to be, must be mad as a hatter, for wanting to marry me, I’m fat, bald, diabetic, bipolar and can hardly see. I could tell you more but it would take up a day. But she constantly reassures me, saying ‘don’t worry babe, I love you this way’.

Cats

I have two cats, they make great pets, one fatter than the other. I’ve had them since they were very young, they think I’m their mother. It doesn’t matter really, when feeding I’m the chap, and at least they do me one great favour, they go outside when they crap.

Guinness

That ice cold pint of blackish tan, half inch of creamy top. Flows down so smooth and easily, you never want to stop. They say it’s really good for you, made with iron fit for bridges. At least that could explains why I’m attracted to the magnets on peoples’ fridges.

Sweaty sock

The trouble with a Scotsman, is when he’s had too much to drink. That’s when he bullies weedlings cus he don’t care what they think. But if he feels you’re harder than him, he’ll cower at your feet. And lick your cheesy plates of meat, it’s really quite a treat.

Blind man

It’s never really easy when you start to lose your sight, you get blinded in the sunlight, you bump into things at night. You’re impailed on bloody bollards, bending lamp posts with your head, and when the council come to straighten them out, they send the bill to you instead.

Dope

There’s one thing that’s always puzzled me, each time I go to score. Is after ten minutes or so, I hear a knocking at my door. Outside the door my mates are there, begging me for some dope. I let them know without delay, they have not got a fuckin hope!

All about me

All about me; i'm small and hairy and I live in a tree. Bushy tailed, fast of foot, you thought the next line would say 'the colour of soot!', well you're easily led, i'm actually red, I live in a hollow, eat nuts and spend the winter in bed.

Rabbit

Fast, you should see me run, thirty miles an hour-that's just for fun. Spend my day just lying in the sun. Storng back legs, small fluffy tail, long pointy ears, each has a function. Many enemies that's true, no rent, or rates, no bars or gates. Now who would you rather be, me or you.

Coffee cup

When my coffee cup is dirty and stained and fit for the bin, then I know it's just right for making my coffee in. That's the same time as the wife says 'ug!, throw it out'. 'I like my cup this way!', I plead, let it stay.

Fishing

On me bike, with me bait, sunday morning musn't be late. Out with me rod, head down for a nod, on me own today; lonely without me mate. Said he couldn't come without his special bait. Oh well, time for that nod, do us a favour, watch me rod!

Just missing an old friend

Remembering-I wasn't there when my mate Jeff took his final breath, i shall miss him that's for sure. No more, to hear his little knock and lyrical voice at my door. No more evenings in, putting empty cans of stella, one after the other into the bin and later on the floor. But Jeff was much more than that to me, his was a face I was always glad to see.

Mouse

i come out at night, oh, i have such fun: i climb the pipes; across the rafter; Our night is full of laughter. A bit of biscuit here, an apple-core there; There's always enough to eat, i like it here-it's really neat. Oh, cheese-i'll take it home, give the kids a treat....SNAP!

A Tissue!

you get two hundred tissues in a box, i counted them one day. yes, no doubt, i tipped them out. but how to get them back in! i pushed them and i poked them, then i committed a mortal sin: i turned them into four hundred, and put the buggers in the bin!

Good-bye Mr Chips

For Michael Jackson
Submited by Richardsonart
www.youtube.com/user/richardsonart

He will always be a part of me

His life was often troubled and controversial. He overcame a lot of obstacles. I loved him.

Submited by Baggelboy
www.baggelboy.com

Thoughts about me at the moment

Submited by Richardsonart

www.youtube.com/user/richardsonart

How to submit to The Kringe

If you would like to submit some of your original work to appear on thekringe.com we would very much love to have you on the website.

The Kringe endeavours to support both disadvantaged groups of people and individuals, who reside within the county of Cambridgeshire, UK.

Groups such as: Mental illness, Drug addiction, alcoholism, homeless, ex-offenders, immigrants, unemployed, sensory impaired, physically disabled and learning disabled.

Send everything to submit@thekringe.com

Written work. The best way is to attach a word document or equivalent like Open Office to the Email.

Audio. Send us a link to where the audio track is online.

Images. Attach the images to an Email. Or send us a link if you use an image service like http://www.flickr.com/ or picasaweb.google.com

Video. Send us a link to your video. http://www.youtube.com/ is good as we can embed the video clip into the web page.

We also need information and press releases about any up and coming events, plays and art shows in Cambridgeshire.

Please include your name or the name you want to use, any info about your self if you like and a link to your own web page, blog etc if you have one.

All the copyright of anything submitted will always and forever remain with the submitter but we may use your work (not for profit) for advertising The Kringe website with full credit to you.

Send everything to submit@thekringe.com

scriptwriting

The Kringe has ambition to provide continuing support in the art of scriptwriting for the medium of stage, radio, T.V and film. This can be achieved by raising funds and setting up writing workshops locally in Cambridge. These workshops would offer classes from grass roots to advanced level, for individuals or groups who wanted to write either complete works or short sketches. With these valuable life experinences captured onpaper it would then be the intention of the Kringe to see that their work has the opportunity to be realised at the production stage. So come on folks, help me raise the funds so we can start writing. Dog Breath xxx

kringe history

I came up with the name ’The Kringe Theatre Company.’ in 2003, along with many other ideas, as a way of interacting with the local mentally ill, or my mates as they’re better known. My arch rival them stole the name off me and started up a production of ’Waiting For Godot’. The director attacked the lead role and broke their arm. He ended up in a medium secure mental hospital and the group disbanded. A few weeks later, Vladimir and Estragon were visiting me and they said they were prepared to carry on with the play regardless. I seized the moment and offered my services to direct them even though I had zero experience of the theatre. After three months of hard work we performed the play, first on the road in the local hospital and day centres, and finally to sell out crowds at a local theatre, with the place packed with psychiatrists and social workers abound.

The play was heralded as a great success and we were treated like demi-gods by the health services. They marvelled at how I managed to motivate a motley crew of manic depressives and schizophrenics, who were permanently high on drink and drugs to work on a project so hard and for so long. Easy, I spent all the box office receipts on crack, and it was administered on a daily basis by our chief medical officer, who is affectionately known as crack head Karl.

Tragically, after the play Vladimir hung themselves for real and it was left to Estragon to discover the body. Within the world of mental illness we loose many kindred spirits to the other side; it’s like playing Russian roulette with a gun that only has four chambers, quite scary when it’s your turn to play.

Life though, is for the living and the show must go on, so we decided our next play would be fun one to do. We opted for Joe Orton’s classic farce ‘What The Butler Saw’ and we couldn’t have chose better. Associates said “It’s too difficult, you’ll never pull it off”, but we did. It may of taken five months of hard labour and a near fatal heroin overdose on the final night, but we finished the show to rapturous applause. I’ve taken some time out from the Kringe but I’m back with a vengeance, so watch this space. Like all bi-polar sufferers I’ve got big plans for the Kringe. Plans that is smarter than the average bear.

What is the Kringe

HISTORY – PAST, PRESENT & FUTURE

WHAT IS THE KRINGE.COM?
The Kringe is a non-profit making organisation based in Cambridge. Its main aim is to encourage disadvantaged groups to participate meaningfully in the creative and performing arts.

WHO IS IT AIMED AT?
The Kringe endeavours to support both disadvantaged groups of people and individuals, who reside within the county of Cambridgeshire, groups such as:
• Mental illness
• Drug addiction
• Alcoholism
• Homeless
• Ex-offenders
• Immigrants
• Unemployed
• Sensory impaired
• Physically disabled
• Learning disabled

FIELDS OF THE ARTS

CREATIVE WRITING
• Poetry
• Prose
• Novels
• Publishing
• Short stories
• Script writing
o Stage
o Radio
o T.V.
o Film

DRAMA
• Full plays
• Short sketches
• Monologues
• Puppetry
• Dance

MEDIA
• Radio
• Film making
• Pod casting
• You-tube
• Face book
• Twitter
• Web-site design
COMEDY
• Stand up
• Sketch writing
• Jokes
• Impersonations
• Clowns
• Satirical
• Non-PC

ART
• Drawing
• Painting
• Sculpture
• Cartooning
• Animation
• Desk top publishing
• Graphic design


MUSIC
• Theory
• Practise
• Song writing
• Live performance
• Instrument exchange