The Mental Health Act

Some of the major UK newspapers recently became interested in the current literary work of Mr Guthrie and attempted to contact him for comment. When he was found to be missing for three days, and therefore unavailable for comment, they started contacting Government Departments implicated in his disappearance. Shortly after, these letters went out:



Letter from the DPS to The Guardian, The Mail, The Independent and The Financial Times etc. (dated 21/05/13) :

"Let it be declared here, that Mr Guthrie is currently being detained under The Mental Health Act 1982, Section III, Subsection 12.03, "that parties may be detained, whose communication with members of the public at large may be deemed to pose a reasonable risk to the fabric of modern society."
The Department of Public Security proposed the sectioning of Mr Guthrie through evidence obtained from websites operating under the modus operandi of "Literary Genius" as the words contained therein were deemed to be a threat to public media departments operating for the general good of the "populous proletariat."
Mr Guthrie's various forms of poetry and prose were seen to undermine the current economic state and contribute enough to the cause of economic revolution for action to be taken and would like to take this opportunity to state that the DPS along with the DPH have considerably reduced the threat of a catastrophic economic meltdown in the civilised West by their actions."


Letter from Mr Guthrie to The Guardian etc. (dated 01/06/13) :

"The DPS recently stated that I was being detained under some fictitious Mental Health Act and declared that my work posed a threat to the western economy in general, due to its revolutionary nature and qualities.
Let it be stated here, that I was not and have never been, detained under any Mental Health Act, that I am alive, well and free to make comment on their spurious claims and clear up the whole sordid matter.
On the 20th of last month, I was approached by two burly men, anonymously and soberly dressed, but with tattoos showing above the collar on their neck.
The first man reached into his inside left pocket and produced a large "delete button" mounted on shiny, glossed mdf. Before he could press it, I flew out at him, spun him quickly and uppercut him in the kidneys. I punched rapidly about forty or fifty times in a matter of seconds before he fell in agony and I turned to the second man who quickly sped off.
I believed at the time that these men were from a particular Scottish Yakuza crime dynasty I had dealings with in 1999. I was wrong.
The men in question were from the publisher "R*** H****" and were on direct orders from their CEO to remove a threat, namely me, from any literary platform  in the effort to maintain the current status quo in the publishing world and continue the current fashion of literary predictability. 
They were unsuccessful.
I wouldn't go.
I won't go.
I won't go away.
They know it now.
The best thing I ever did was to start that first letter... to that first publisher, "Dear Motherfuckers," and let the wind absorb me. This is not sentimental, this is not armchair philosophy, this is intended only to be the beginning of the end for an army of substandard scribes.
I would like to thank The Guardian etc for publishing this letter."


The letter from Mr Guthrie was never published by The Guardian, The Financial Times, or any other such publication.

Mon Trou

(rejected by The Paris Bohemian - Paris)

Je vais ramper dans un trou,

Et ne jamais sortir,

Je serai heureux,

Dans mon trou,

Si je me retrouve seul,

Je vais travailler là,

Sans cesse,

Et être heureux,

Dans mon trou.

Angora, plagiarism and another big joke

Well, that is it. Finally, it has all become one big joke.

After Erbacce ("established to give a voice to new and radical poets") informed me that it could not click on an unsolicited site to view my chapbook proposal, I drew up another one, within their submission guidelines.
On their site they say "try something different" and so I redrafted the opening five pages of "Diary of an Obnoxious Sociophobe" http://obnoxioussociophobe.blogspot.co.uk/ and combined it with extracts of my poetry http://hithimagainjackhescrazy2.blogspot.co.uk/ They require five pages and nothing else, which I duly sent them.
Since then, I have been informed that they are not satisfied that the work is my own, as I put the name Emily Ellis Parker on it, and Emily Parker is a name currently being bandied around some current affairs story.
I promptly pointed out that I was not aware of the name, having picked it out of thin air for having a slightly "posh" quality, and changed the name on the site to my own - in big black letters - I then changed the name Emily to Rebecca and even offered to delete the site.
 I also tagged these words on to the top:

 {NB - all the work on this site was written by and is the property of Craig Guthrie. I originally chose the name of Emily Ellis Parker, but was advised that, due to current affairs, I should change it and put my own name on the site. To me, this has taken some of the magic from it, as I originally presented it as the work of the protagonist and was happy to work under this illusion. I have nonetheless complied in the hope that no more questions should be raised as to the author of this work.}

Erbacce still refused to consider the proposal: 

"You are not accused of plagiarism; you send us work and it is work published under another name on a website which you say is yours. Fine... but I’m afraid we are not prepared to accept it as such; our decision."

I have continued to stare, for hours now, at the first words which welcome me to their site - 
Weeds grow where they want to; not where they're told to grow... 
- while wearing an Angora sweater and pencil skirt, scratching my head, and sobbing and laughing intermittently.

Artifice

The sordid in your soul so rare,

That only you can see,

The sordid in my soul so rare,

But naebody writes like me.

But naebody can write like me,

Naw,

Naebody can write like me,

Come ane,

Come aw,

Come an see,

Cos naebody can write like me.

Ye high-class plume,

You must assume,

Eh'm whaur Eh waant tae be,

But Eh've only just stepped in the room,

An there's naebody here but me.

Come wi yer femily,

Stop an stare,

View the freak that spells out free,

Catch what it's like,

Tae hae nae fears,

When naebody writes like me.

The sordid in your soul so rare...

Nae manners an nae artifice -

But naebody writes like me,

Naw,

Naebody writes like me.

It Startit

This was how it startit,

This moment burst wie bliss,

And this was how it endit,

Framin’  shit and piss.

Framin’ ah the faecal matter makin’ up the man,

Framin’ ah the shit an’ piss an’ life flushed doon the pan.

Submission to Erbacce

Dear Erbacce,

          I would like to respectfully submit to you my chapbook proposal.
          Firstly, I would like to say that I am fully aware that you are in no way associated with the "vanity press" and would not be submitting to you otherwise, as my disdain for "them" manifests itself in sudden and unpredictable violent behaviour which is deemed unacceptable by polite society.
           Secondly, that if I happen to be flouting the "submission guidelines", that it is due to my "learning difficulties" and the several "psychiatric conditions" which I suffer from. Regarding these, I strongly believe that if you refuse to consider my work on "submission guidelines" alone, that you are, in fact, discriminating against my specific medical conditions, and I should promptly seek legal advice on this matter.
          My submission is this:
                      A chapbook of at least double the length of what you usually publish - or at least, a chapbook as long as you are willing to publish. You have to understand that I am a desperate Artist with three children and no money. Therefore, the chapbook should be titled, "A Desperate Artist with Three Children and No Money." Though, I am flexible on this.
          As I do not expect you to sift through my work, brilliant though it is, I provide this link to one of my short pieces, confident that you will be able to see enough quality in it to commence at least, some form of correspondence: http://hithimagainjackhescrazy2.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/tartan-scarf.html .
          Yesterday, I received £400 in cash sterling from my dying mother, accompanied by the words, "this is between you and me, don't spend it on drugs."
          By my reckoning, with this money, I would be able to hire a reasonable hall for around £120. I could easily create a compelling theatrical reading of my work over 90 minutes with tea and coffee included, and if I give free entry to 200 people, of which, at least 100 are willing to buy my chapbook at £5 a pop - then we shall more than break even.
          I have dreamt that my accountant has informed me, in spreadsheet form, that which I cannot understand:
      Hall - £120
      Donation to Erbacce - £200
      Outgoings - £320
      Takings - £500
      Net Profit - £180

          If I can make this net profit from this "chapbook evening", then I suggest that there should be 3 obvious benefits:
           1 - I will donate every penny of the profit to a registered charity of my choice.
           2 - It shall have the effect on me, that my work is, indeed, worthwhile, and therefore, I should not feel so suicidal all the time.
           3 - Erbacce Press can re-iterate what I believe to be its mission: 
      - that it perceives beauty and fluidity where others may perceive ugliness and the incongruity of "Literary Spacicity"
      - that it promotes individuality rather than stale imitation
      - that it gives subversive literary Art which has no way of finding an audience, the chance to find an audience.
          Lastly, on a site of mine, primarily concerned with the frustration of the unpublished writer, I mention "Erbacce Press" and some submissions I may have made:  http://thelifeofwrite.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/frustration.html  
                     - if you would like Erbacce's name removed from the site, I shall gladly comply with your wishes with good grace but little admiration. If, however, you should view these mentions as some sort of badge of honour, then I shall gladly continue to write about our one-way "relationship", its up-side and its pitfalls.
                     Yours sincerely,
                                                  Craig Guthrie.