Dai Coelacanth is a person with a cassette walkman and a voice. He has been to Greece. He has been to Wales. That’s all we know. Fishing for Crab in an Eerie Coffin is an improvised account of his visit to Wales. Think collage, think sound poetry, think why does he talk with a funny voice, or, don’t think, just listen and clean a fish.
In his words:
Need to get out. Put my feet to work. Whip them into action. Do as I say. I’m the Colonel. How strange. Take a good look at the mandibles. The swollen tongue. It’s grotesque. A horror. Made arrangements with the junk-man and the dentist. Took up the hammer. Perfect chicken on Lombard Street. Is there something wrong with you. I’m feeling lucky. We spent a few days on the coast. The wind was wild, full of muttering, secrets. shrugs and death. In the town centre the Mayor sat in a damp chair, soiling the postage on his glittery bucket and exchanging tender glances with the Gulls.
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