St Day Road

by Aaron Kent & Dr. Lakata

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  • Digital download of St Day Road film. Includes digital download of St Day Road soundtrack. The short film will be sent within 24 hours via WeTransfer.

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about

As part of an experiment to examine childhood trauma, Aaron Kent wrote ten poems based on his memories of ten rooms in the house he grew up in. Following the Blood Fjord '89 manifesto, Kent kept every draft of every poem.

These drafts were then recorded with various individuals reading the drafts of the poem, before Kent read the last 'final' draft of each poem. Dr. Lakata received these vocals and was tasked with creating a soundtrack, which he did wonderfully well.

Lina Helvik then set about creating a 20 minute short film to match the poetry. Using a variety of techniques, including hand-processed film, and modern slow motion technology, Lina created a true experimental wonderland.

These elements combined to produce the film 'St Day Road' - a look at memories, trauma, and childhood homes.

credits

released November 25, 2016

Words & Poetry: Aaron Kent,
Music: Dr. Lakata (David Creasman),
Director, sound recordist, editor: Lina Helvik.
Photography: Ida F Olsen & Lina Helik,
2nd sound recordist: Ryan Lang,
Producer: Aaron Kent, Lina Helvik,
Assistant Producer: Felcia Weston,
Vocals: Aaron Kent (titles, final drafts), Ida Olsen, Lina Helvik, Ryan Lang, Felicia Weston, Darren Mortimer, Carl Rowlinson.

With special thanks to: Emma Kennedy.
Thank you to: Frances Leake, Elizabeth Kennedy, Lee Pountney, Steve Bowyer, Philip Lyons, Sarah Perry, Marcus Williamson, Corella Hughes, John O'Regan, Rachael Jones, Hannah Boylan, Carl Rowlinson, Ahmed Alomari, Sho Redhead, Ella Kite, Rupert Loydell and Kingsley Marshall.

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about

Aaron Kent UK

Sirens. Always hearing sirens.

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Track Name: Entrance
Our neighbour filled his lungs
with regret in a damp garage
under an early morning’s halogen moon.
His kids still went to school,
cars still hugged at high speed,
birds still sung of flight and funerals.
I kept each tragedy like a loving parent
making notches to catalogue their children’s height.

Born screaming from the headlight glass embedded in my back
I tried breaking my arms to grow wings.
I kept each splinter from that terraced house
in Hungary.
My ghost missed my birth
was too busy nailing a 10 to the door
so I knew which age to kill my heroes.
Even in winter the sky is full of suns.
Track Name: Hallway
I lived in full view of your mirror
as I sat spinning gold coins, silver too
on the mosaic path to the oak farm.
Crutches lay by the door, a reminder

of the kintsugi in your knee.
Drown me in the river or burn me in the cave,
no matter how you split my pieces I’ll never
form nests in the shadow of your youth.
Track Name: Living Room
You saw a ghost
spin coins in our
mirror, taught it
that heroes are
demons are dead.
A shattered knee
isn’t an excuse to
kill the number 15.

You joked about
how to clean a
car post-suicide.
How to keep value
and wash the piss
stains out. Use
bleach.
Ventilate.

As a family you applauded a man on TV who tread a fine line between farting for a living, and shitting himself. I watched Hey Arnold and cried at the state of my genes.

Sometimes a standing ovation is just an excuse to leave.
Track Name: Kitchen
I scouted exits
dancing under our broken ceiling
as cuckoos sung.
My wings never grew
but I forced a feather
to scrawl ‘kill your demons’
in our dead skin cells.
It grew for six years.
You built a blue eyed boy
from the ash
of my shit toned irides
and lived to watch
me become
your greatest mistake.
Even in the darkest days
your sky was full of suns.
Track Name: Stairs
The bombs.
The flash.
Oak burnt.
Pikatrapp.
Track Name: Bedroom
I found Medusa in the dungeon
and was carried to l’inferno
where ancestral voices
Cried ‘huí aware!’
I was Perseus!
Somnambulist!
Mount Amara bound!
Alone to watch my blood as heires.
Track Name: Back Bathroom
Bleach pooled on frozen tiles
where blood mixed ash
with smoke, after the torture
ghosts placed me on my bike.
They were the wrong ones
to haunt me, or clean my mistakes.
I paid my demons in gold coins, silver too,
to teach me to write my blood.
Track Name: Loft
Was it our revenant who smashed our roof,
crushing my cot, exposing our core
and ending the sickness
or me, in dreams, stealing history?

I retell the hurricane
as if I lived it rather than you
reading XLIII, me unborn,
bats and owlets, builders in the roof.

Those ancient winds will never be mine
though I’ll cherish them as you don’t,
like I keep my demons fed, inside,
beside a voice that weeps.

I still bleed your storm
onto dead paper. Mute.
Fifteen, ten, fourty three, lost.
With no roof, an empty sky has no suns.
Track Name: Upstairs
I saw you in the bathroom
floating
unaided
held together by string.

I never saw those weaknesses
locked myself away
with the giants
pressed tight to our windows.
Track Name: Exit
There were doctors at the gates
exposing my lungs
to bloodied, bruised, latex faces.
I forced my skull against petrified blood
so violence could be a lesson to learn.
We filled the reservoir
with sharks and hate
and remnants of our tin mine past.
The bombs kept falling to a chorus
of standing ovations and exits and exits and ex
itsandexitandexitandexitandexitandexitandexitandexitandexitandexitandexitandexitandexit