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	<title>The Beat</title>
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	<link>http://the-beat.co.uk</link>
	<description>A poetry, short story and art showcase.</description>
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		<title>Moving Things</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/moving-things/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/moving-things/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 08 Feb 2010 10:06:20 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Stephen OToole</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Blog]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Featured]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Short Story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=950</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[3 Benalder Street
 
My bedroom’s tiny. It’s three bicycles in length and one and a half bicycles in width. I don&#8217;t own a bicycle. I don&#8217;t have the space for it.
 
The bedroom isn’t big enough for another person to stand in, unless I&#8217;m being intimate with that person. But I can’t be intimate with that person, [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Social-networking</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/social-networking/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/social-networking/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 04 Feb 2010 15:16:08 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Julian Baker</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=937</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[He&#8217;d been pretending to be a girl in internet chatrooms.
 
Mutual masturbation online with someone who has a really dirty turn of phrase. Getting to know them, learning just what pushed their button.
 
Staying at work late to be left undisturbed. He knew he was good at the pretense, convincing, his unseen male confidant having long expressed [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Rag &amp; Bone Man</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/the-rag-bone-man/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/the-rag-bone-man/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 02 Feb 2010 16:10:14 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>U.V.Ray</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=935</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The neighbour’s dog was whining in the night again. Its melancholy dog-song echoed around the houses. It woke Joe Fuegi up. He hadn’t made it into bed. Throughout the evening he’d consumed a whole bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label in front of the TV, and when he woke up the TV channel was on [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://the-beat.co.uk/the-rag-bone-man/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>4</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>BAD ROCK AND ROLL</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/bad-rock-and-roll/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/bad-rock-and-roll/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 18 Jan 2010 17:21:24 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Sam Silva</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/bad-rock-and-roll/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The magic grows cold
&#8230;the heart and heat
of voices day and night
skips a beat
here and there
&#8230;the threads of such a universe
of ghost
go thin
in syncopation with anomalies
of sin
which no longer keep upright
flames of flowering transcendental grace
like new years everywhere
 
&#8230;like new years everywhere
just a ball game on TV
and beer and pretzels and their farts
when music fails the arts
 
in [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://the-beat.co.uk/bad-rock-and-roll/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<item>
		<title>The Acid Burn No Face Man</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/the-acid-burn-no-face-man/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/the-acid-burn-no-face-man/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 18 Jan 2010 17:13:46 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Jenni Fagan</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/the-acid-burn-no-face-man/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I’ve stopped feeling strange about the artist watching me through the keyhole of his bedroom door.  The keyhole is huge, an old victorian thing.  He watches all the time now.  He doesn’t even paint anymore.  Last week I woke and he was stood at the crack of his door, writing something down. 
 
            ‘What the fuck [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>4</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>HACKNEY NIGHTS</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/hackney-nights/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/hackney-nights/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 18 Jan 2010 17:08:40 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Michael Keenaghan</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Short Story]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=926</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Ryder slammed the door behind him and took the lift down to the street, his mum&#8217;s voice still ringing in his head&#8230; Place was a fucking madhouse, serious. His mum, his sisters, crazy the lot of them.
 
He walked through the estate up towards the shops on Well Street. The sky was darkening, lights coming on [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://the-beat.co.uk/hackney-nights/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Poem to My Daughters When They Come of Age</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/poem-to-my-daughters-when-they-come-of-age/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/poem-to-my-daughters-when-they-come-of-age/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 04 Jan 2010 09:19:50 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Michael Farkas</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=917</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Dear Daughter of Mine,
Love of my life,
Sweet blossom of ribbon,
-Listen.
 
Men will pull at you.
Squeeze you.
Attempt to get you all undone.
-They will.
 
Rip at you,
Tear at your dress,
Dig their fingers into you.
-Normal.
 
Some will say they love you.
Swearing up and down.
Because you are pretty.
You &#8211; are &#8211; SO &#8211; pretty.
 
Some men will ask nicely.
Some men won&#8217;t.
Those who do [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://the-beat.co.uk/poem-to-my-daughters-when-they-come-of-age/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>DRUGGED CRIPPLED MIDGET IN THE SHOPPING CART</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/drugged-crippled-midget-in-the-shopping-cart/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/drugged-crippled-midget-in-the-shopping-cart/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 04 Jan 2010 09:11:35 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Bob Eager</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=915</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I must tell a story about helping someone else in need. To often we forget about the downtrodden ,I am a man of true humanitarianism.
 
 I was walking down the street and I heard this voice say &#8220;help me ,help me&#8221;. I looked around and didn&#8217;t see anyone. I heard the voice again looked across the [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://the-beat.co.uk/drugged-crippled-midget-in-the-shopping-cart/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>THE CURIOUS TALE OF WALTER COLLINS</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/the-curious-tale-of-walter-collins/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/the-curious-tale-of-walter-collins/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 04 Jan 2010 09:07:16 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Jo Cooper</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=913</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[That curious Collins child
replaced with the face
of a child with less grace
and honour.
Your honour I swear
I never touched a hair
on that young chaps head
and now you say he is dead.
I axe you,
what man could I be
to destroy the innocence
and peace
of an angelic child?
Children are wild.
They should be penned up
like chickens, and hens
and I pen this [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://the-beat.co.uk/the-curious-tale-of-walter-collins/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Customer Observation No.1</title>
		<link>http://the-beat.co.uk/customer-observation-no-1/</link>
		<comments>http://the-beat.co.uk/customer-observation-no-1/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 04 Jan 2010 09:02:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Brad Evans</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Writing]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://the-beat.co.uk/?p=911</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[( Male approx 70 y.o. )
 
I watched him
wave the book
above the photocopier.
 
The movement looked
calculated,
deliberate,
elaborate
 
as if he was a shaman
involved in some ritual.
 
He must&#8217;ve been good
 
the photocopier
wasn&#8217;t doing much
like it was in a trance
 
I wasn&#8217;t sure
whether I should get involved,
so I stood back
 
until I heard
the exasperated mumbling.
 
&#8216;Here, let me help you!&#8217;
I said
 
I took the book away [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://the-beat.co.uk/customer-observation-no-1/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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