Flyer for the lads....

If you're after some good vibes this Sunday head down to the Ocean Bar, great venue, great music, great friends, great fun!

Oh! Fringe

This year we've turned into a band of mini Santas. We are giving you the gift of a playful hand-made magazine from the makers of Oh Francis. One edition per day with an orgy of fun, facts and frolics inside. When you collect them all you'll have your very own jigsaw to piece togeter an original artwork. Iy will make you go ooh, ah, yeah nice. Pick up your daily edition from 12pm at the Oh! Fringe printing press.

A New Poster for my Friends in DYT

My goodness My Francis!

Issue 2 published in July 2009 saw the magazine change its form, it shrunk from A3 to A4, but this in now way compromised the integrity of the magazine. The fresh look together with new and established writers, artists and creators made the second issue as special as the first.

This time we had a chat with the people behind Inisfox, Mantua and Sibin festivals. Conor O’Brien of the Villagers talked to John Balfe. Sam Keogh looked at the spaces that have fucked off and done it themselves. Miss Kempinksi gets a double-paged spead. We have a pull-out short story The Tin Man written by David Foster and illustrated by Kate Dwyer. The poems, recipes and again two amazing fashion shoots top it all off nicely.

You can purchase your copy on line at www.ohfrancis.com or from any of these stockists

Road Records, Fade St.

Circus, Powerscourt Townhouse

Winding Stair, Ormond Quay

Illustrations for Tin Man By David Damien Foster

TIN MAN

I passed a very peculiar night last night, half drenched in cabin fever. Everything I heard, read, struck me and chimed in the tin shell of my torso. The nuts and bolts that held me together began to worm their way out, wriggling free, and bit by bit I fell apart.
Finally, all I was aware of was the rollercoaster plunge and the bathroom blurring as my head toppled, rattling, rolling, resting on the floor. And all the while that song loops within, those lines:

“and you can have it all, my empire of dirt, I will let you down, I will make you hurt…”

Not being one to wallow, I lolled out my tongue, flexed it and started myself rolling. Tiles gave way to carpet gave way to gravel and soon I was well on my way, freewheeling downhill.
As I gathered momentum the world lurched orbits around me, alternating between darkness and a streaked cosmos of street lamps. (These pseudo-suns, they’ve washed my world in seedy jaundice for too long, they hum with the coital throb of suburbia!)
My nose threatened to derail me, its’ bump veering me towards the street, towards scandalous up-skirt glimpses. I rolled until the incline evened out, until I tottered to a standstill.
Settled in sawdust outside McCullough’s Butchers, I waited with eyes on the vertical horizon. Patient, waiting for the sun to peep sheepishly around, a drunken lover in a door frame. Stage-whispering.
I must have dozed off, or indulged in an extended blink, as next thing I knew it was morning and I was surrounded by dogs. Hungry dogs, snarling ribcages. Above us a pair of aproned arms were shaking out a sack. The flump of meat sparked a frenzy, and I felt the damp of offal as I turned over organs with lips and tongue, searching ‘till I found what I’d come for. A heart.
Functionally useless, of course, but enough to fill a gap in me.

To read more of David's work head over to his blog

http://daviddamienfoster.wordpress.com/

More Posters!