See that fine figure of a young man up there? Of course you do. Unless you CAN'T see, in which case perhaps you've got one of those computers that talks to you, in which case the photo's metadata will be screaming "ALEXANDER VELKY RESPLENDENT IN TIE DYED ROCKET SHIP T-SHIRT AND AMERICAN FLAG UNDERPANTS!" in pleasing Stephen Hawking tones.
For it is all true. That is my little brother, Alexander Velky, formerly Thesvenhunter, even more formerly Alexander Stefan Narkiewicz, and he WANTS TO PLAY GLASTONBURY.
And who are we to stand in his way?
Yes, Alexander Velky is a poet of sorts these days, and apparently there's a competition to win a slot at this year's Glastonbury festival in the poetry tent. Or something. Anyway, as I said, Velky wishes to perform at this legendary event, so he's written a poem by way of application, which is very clever of him, and filmed a video of him performing that poem, which is an even better idea, even if I do say so myself.
Behold the glory!
Wow, huh? Now, if that doesn't make you want to go on twitter screaming "@GlastoFest! #VELKY4GLASTO! @GlastoFest! #VELKY4GLASTO!" then I don't know what could, you stoney hearted swine-herder. Are you dead inside? Is there no poetry in your soul? For there is poetry in Velky's soul (and his face), and he wishes to unleash it upon the people of the Glastonbury Festival, and as I said so eloquently a few paragraphs back, who are we to stand in his way?
Exactly. So go get on them there Twitters and scream "@GlastoFest! #VELKY4GLASTO!" until you are horse! Embed the video on your blog. Post it on your Facebook. Show it to your Mum. Write a letter to your MP! Have a word with the Eavises if they're your palsies!
Now read along with that ace video and fill your heart with joy.
To whom it may concern,
Since your online advert asked me, Yes: I'd like to perform at Glastonbury.
What skills can I offer in a festival situation? Well, I guess I'd best not list my qualifications, But I was once stationed on the door at Truck Fest, So if the kids are causing unrest in the Poetry&Words tent: Getting drunk on buckfast, throwing up and having arguments Then you can be sure I'll show them the door, or... Show them someone who can show them a door, or... Whatever you call that space that stretches from canvas to floor.
And I'm the hottest new talent you've yet to get word of. I've performed at loads of open mics you've never heard of.
Also, I have an inkling King Arthur Was my great, great, great, great, great grandfather. In fact, it's a given: statisticians Say by now we're all related. If I get into details it will get complicated, But that's a pretty festivular vibe, right there? Am I right, yeah?
Okay - I'm kinda like poetry's answer to Beyonce. Not that she's a question, obviously - Or Jay-Z, yeah, definitely... well, maybe.
I'm kinda like dynamite on the microphone: I make a lot of noise, and I damage the ozone layer, Why delay an inevitable rise to notoriety? I am to poetry what the pope is to piety. And if I lapse into raps accidentally, don't resent me: I'm a Bentley: classic, emphatic: not out to win a race, And if my rhythm is a little bit less than ace: Just look at my lovely, lovely face.
If you're game for more of the same, In the summer rain: I'm your morris dancer. Can I get an answer?
Sock it to me, I am a rocket, see: Ready for blast off, I am no cast-off, Who's got my back, yo? #Velky4Glasto!