An Evening with Kae Tempest (Part Two)

Summary

Intelligence Squared: "An Evening with Kae Tempest" (Part Two)

Date: May 3, 2026
Host: Connor Boyle
Guest: Kae Tempest (poet, musician, author, playwright)
Moderator: Daniel Wilde (poet, writer)

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Episode Overview

This second part of the live event at St. George’s Bristol welcomes acclaimed writer and performer Kae Tempest in conversation with Daniel Wilde. The discussion centers on storytelling, identity, the pursuit of belonging, and the transformative power of fiction and performance. The episode concludes with an exclusive live performance by Tempest of a powerful passage from their novel.

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Key Discussion Points & Insights

On Dogs and Timelessness

• Dogs as "Time Travelers" ([03:12]):
  • Tempest discusses the inclusion of a dog character (Donovan) in their new novel, springboarding off Wilde’s whimsical observation that "dogs are time travelers."
    • "To me, he's really real. That is what dogs... that’s my connection with this very intense spiritual presence in my life, who is my dog." (K. Tempest, [03:28])
  • Shares a personal anecdote about presenting the book in Germany, highlighting the deep spiritual bond between human and dog, and reflecting on the ancient, almost mythical presence dogs have in their lives.
  • Evokes the powerful sense of time embedded in landscape (the Mendip Hills, limestone under Somerset), linking her dog's spirit to geological epochs—"He was there when the limestone was a fish." (K. Tempest, [05:56])

Early Influences: Books and Music

• Childhood Reading and Listening ([06:55]):
  • Tempest addresses the impossibility of picking favorites, emphasizing how the act of reading and listening itself shaped their worldview.
    • "Just in itself, the form. In itself, the fact that people make and they create these things and through their making, I can live. It just fucking blew my mind." (K. Tempest, [07:30])
  • Recalls being obsessed with music—from Michael Jackson ("It’s really sad... I used to love him so much. So there’s that. But no, I don’t listen to him anymore.") to obscure favorites like puppets Zig and Zag and local R&B group Ultimate Chaos.
  • On books, cites Ursula Le Guin’s "Wizard of Earthsea" and the "foundational" text "Hangover Square" as pivotal works, though admits rarely revisiting them.
    • "I liked Ursula Le Guin, that’s true. I read the 'Wizard of Earthsea' as like a 10 year old or something and that blew my mind." (K. Tempest, [09:19])

On Characters and Connection

• Bringing Characters to Life ([10:15]):
  • When asked which character they’d bring to life, Tempest challenges the premise, explaining that characters become intensely real through the writing process.
    • "You get to know these characters in a way that I wish I could get to know my family members... The characters, maybe it’s better to say that they’re all with me—they’re all very real." (K. Tempest, [10:21])
  • Shares that inhabiting characters allows them to process complex emotions and situations—sometimes characters do what they wish they could do in real life.
  • Highlights the insight that writing fiction creates a unique lens for understanding oneself and relationships:
    • "Sometimes in my work, these characters do things that I wish I’d had the guts to do, or they respond in ways that if only that response had been available at the time..." (K. Tempest, [11:18])

Creative Legacy and the Value of Art

• Seeing Their Work Reimagined ([12:52]):
  • Responds with delight and humility to the news that students performed "Brand New Ancient" without their direct knowledge—"I think it’s wonderful that people find their way to my work. I think it’s fucking unbelievable." (K. Tempest, [13:04])
  • Reflects on the reciprocal nature of art: finding solace and meaning in novels left behind by others, notably discovering "Hangover Square" in a pub, and Knut Hamsun’s work in a discarded box.
  • Articulates a strong sense of creative solidarity and legacy:
    • "It’s not from me, it’s through me. I just keep telling myself that. And then the light can come out through my chest. And because this shit has saved my life, I know that my work will reach other people in their time of need..." (K. Tempest, [16:48])
  • Emphasizes the importance of being part of a continuum—connecting to creative ancestors, passing the light forward.

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Memorable Quotes & Moments

• On Spontaneity: "This is not what you’re here for, but I’m gonna tell you anyway. He’s such an interesting guy. He’s like. He’s a weird guy, man, and I love him so much." (K. Tempest, [03:39]), both endearing and illustrative of Tempest’s openness.
• On Creativity: "The fact that people make and they create these things and through their making, I can live. It just fucking blew my mind." (K. Tempest, [07:30])
• On Legacy: "Because I have received, I can give. It’s not from me, it’s through me. ... And that is a bright, bright, bright light. And I feel it charge up all through my back." (K. Tempest, [16:33])
• On Recovery and Hope (from performance): "But now I think maybe today could be day one. Now I think maybe today could be day one." (K. Tempest, live reading, [46:35])

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Timestamped Breakdown of Important Segments

[02:18] — Introduction by Connor Boyle

Sets the stage for the live return of Kae Tempest alongside Daniel Wilde.

[02:53] — Opening Banter & Dogs Discussion

Daniel Wilde and Kae Tempest begin with light-hearted conversation about time and dogs, leading to a meditation on presence and ancientness.

[06:26] — Influences: Books and Music

Unpacks Tempest’s early inspirations and the place of nostalgia in their creative life.

[10:03] — On Creating Characters

Question from the audience about bringing fictional characters to life; Tempest’s introspective reply about artistic process and self-understanding.

[12:25] — The Living Legacy of Their Work

Describes the experience of others performing or adapting their work, segues into a broader reflection on art’s power to heal and connect across time.

[20:04–47:53] — Kae Tempest’s Live Performance (Novel Excerpt)

Tempest delivers a live, dramatic reading in poetic verse. The passage explores cycles of addiction, family pain, hope, and transformation—layered with vivid imagery, raw emotion, and defiant hope.

• Standout segment: "It was all coming for them, slow motion, this moment. Time had them in its teeth. It dragged them by the throat until it dropped them into day and said atonement." (K. Tempest, [47:26])

[47:53] — Conclusion and Applause

Daniel Wilde closes the event, expressing gratitude for Tempest’s performance and the audience’s presence.

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The Performance: Poetry & Resonance

Tempest’s live reading (spanning [20:04]–[47:53]) is the episode’s emotional centerpiece. The excerpt follows characters Rothko, Meg, Penelope, and Dion through cycles of loss, addiction, hope, and redemption—evoking themes central to Tempest’s oeuvre:

• The passage of time, memory’s weight, and the elusive hope of a new day.
• Cycles of pain and the radical possibility of change:
  "If it’s alive, it will not stay the same. ... Now I think maybe today could be day one." (K. Tempest, [46:38])
• The ordinary as miraculous:
  "They just wanted to live in the day that sustained them. ... the glory of the mundane." (K. Tempest, [47:16])

The delivery is intimate, immersive, and cathartic—blending narrative, rhythm, and raw human experience in Tempest’s signature voice.

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Takeaways

• Art’s Power: Tempest champions the transformative power of creativity—for both artist and audience—and sees art as a lifeline connecting generations.
• Identity and Belonging: The search for self, connection, and a place in time is a central through-line—expressed in both dialogue and the dramatic reading.
• Resilience and Hope: The performance closes with an affirmation of hope and renewal—change begins with the courage to face oneself, and every day can be a first step.

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For Future Discussion

This episode is rich, generous, and invites listeners to consider their own relationship to art, time, memory, and hope. The blend of candid conversation and live poetry offers an immersive window into Tempest’s world and the communal potential of storytelling.

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Transcript

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[Connor Boyle]

welcome to Intelligence Squared, where great minds meet. I'm Head of Programming Connor Boyle. In this episode we return for Part two of our live event with the poet, musician, author and playwright K. Tempest. Tempest joined us recently on stage at St George's Bristol to discuss storytelling, identity and the search for belonging, themes from his highly anticipated return to fiction. Having spent life seeking, he was in conversation with the poet and writer Daniel Wilde. If you haven't heard part one, just jump back an episode to catch up. But now let's return to the conversation live at St. George's Bristol.

[Daniel Wilde]

You're going to absolutely love this one, Kerry. What a legend. You spoke about time and how we travel through it. I always think dogs are time travelers. Is there a dog in the story,

[K. Tempest]

Carrie? Is there? There is. He's such a good dog. He's a really good dog.

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He's a good lad.

[K. Tempest]

I did one of these talks in Germany. It was published in Germany before here, whatever. And I had to decide how to do. I had to do this in Germany. And one of the interviewers in Germany was like. Just literally before we stepped out on stage, she was like, I've been speaking to my dog all day, and she's absolutely furious. And I've told her that Donovan doesn't. That's not a real dog, but, like, in a German accent. And I was like, oh, sorry. Because to me, he's really real. That is what dogs. That is how. That's how my dog. That's my connection with this very intense spiritual presence in my life who is my dog. Who is. He's just been with me through, like, thick and thin. 14. He is. Anyway, this is not what you're here for, but I'm gonna tell you anyway. He's such an interesting guy. He's like. He's a weird guy, man, and I love him so much. And Donovan is basically. When my friend read this book, the first thing he said was, oh, I can't wait for Murphy to read this. Murphy's my dog because of Donovan. Because of this guy, this book dog. And when this person in Germany was, like, saying that their dog was pissed off because that's not how dogs behave, I was just thinking, no, you've missed it. You've missed it there because. Yeah, it's so interesting. You say they're time travelers. Maybe that's. What the fuck's wrong with Murphy. He's just like, take me back. I was talking about time this morning. I was talking about time to Danielle in the dressing room. Can I just share something with you? Because it's off topic, but I think you're gonna. I think you'll realize what I'M I don't know the Mendip Hills around here. The hollow hills. I love this land, by the way. It is so deep and present to me. Limestone, right? The limestone caves under the hills. Hollow hills. You could beat it with the fist of a giant. It would resound like a drum. No. Have you heard people say that? Right? Three, four. Am I. No. Anyway. Anyway. The limestone is made of the bones of when we used to be sea creatures and all. Somerset was underwater and Glastonbury was a mount, was an island. I thought you all knew this. I'm a newcomer. Anyway, the limestone is made out of the bones of the sea creatures that we used to be 300,000 million years ago. And now it's these caves that form cathedrals underground. So when I think about time travel, I think that's where Murphy comes from, to be honest. He's got that vibe. Do you know what I mean? He was there when the limestone was a fish.

[Daniel Wilde]

Do not get K started on petrol. We've had that as well. Next question. This is a good one. Before I read this one, Kay, I keep meaning to tell you this. Do you know what my favorite book is? Hangover Square. Yeah. So we have to discuss that later. But it feeds into this one. This is from Sarah. What books and records did you love and find comforting as a child? And do you revisit them?

[K. Tempest]

Yeah. Wait, what was the last bit? And do you.

[Daniel Wilde]

Do you revisit them?

[K. Tempest]

Do you revisit them? The thing is about that question is it's literally impossible to answer because I was reading and listening to so much and it was everything. It was more. I could read anything and I would get such a kick out of it. I loved it. So I just loved reading so much and I loved music so much and I'd listen to. You don't understand. I could listen to anything and I'd be so into it. So there are things that stand out in my imagination as being important, but to be honest with you, just in itself, the form. In itself, the fact that people make and they create these things and through their making, I can live. It just fucking blew my mind. When I was a kid, I used to be crazy about Michael Jackson. You know what my mum said, actually? She said we were all groomed. It's really not like my mum to have to drop things like that about Michael Jackson. I couldn't believe it because it's really sad. It's really fucking horrible that. Anyway. But I used to love him so much. So there's that. But no I don't listen to him anymore. And then I was listening to. I discovered lyricism, really. That's the thing that got me. And to be honest, because I'd like to imagine myself credible. I wouldn't like to tell you the first rappers that I was listening to. But I'm going to anyway, because I just told you that my dog is the Spirit of Limestone before it was Fish. So I don't know. To be totally real with you, I was listening to. There were these puppets on Big Breakfast TV called Zig and Zag. Fucking blew me away. They had a tune called Them Girls, which was like a kind of raga infused.

[Daniel Wilde]

Why was it raga?

[K. Tempest]

It was like dance. So it was so weird and it was like I could literally hear it in my head. I'm not gonna sing it. I thought that was brilliant. And there was this group called Ultimate Chaos and they were like a kind of like R B. They were from South London. I mean, really, it wasn't great stuff, but I just loved it. So I think that's a lot. It's a lot to be said in it. Like just the fucking power of music. Sometimes it don't even matter what it is. It's just the fact that it exists. I don't really know. I should have said something better than that. But I liked Ursula Le Guin. That's true. I read the wizard of Earthsea as like a 10 year old or something and that blew my mind. Hangover Squares is a foundational text in my life. And no, I don't really revisit. I haven't listened to Zig and Zag for about. Not since it came out and I bought it on tape.

[Daniel Wilde]

Okay, I'm gonna have to reread your bio in a minute to get you some credibility back.

[K. Tempest]

I can't wait for the Think piece that comes out of this.

[Daniel Wilde]

Right, next question. Claire says, if you could bring one of your characters to life in this world to sit beside you on this stage, who would it be and why?

[K. Tempest]

Wow, that's a really interesting question. Because to me they are alive and actually like the process of going into a character. You get to know these characters in a way that I wish I could get to know. My family members, for example. I wish I could spend this kind of time with my dear friends. I wish I could sit and let them know how much I think about them. I wish I could sit with my fucking friends and family and have the kind of time that I spend with these characters where I'm like, tell me every Single day of your life, tell me how it felt, Tell me what happened next. I wish I could do that. So, to be honest, the characters, maybe it's better to say that they're all with me, they're all very real. And what I'd like to learn from them is how to pay that kind of attention to my loved ones and the people in my life. Because actually, they teach me so much. I see in my characters everything that I'm dealing with, processing about relationships that I have with people in my life. I sometimes don't even know how I feel about things, but I observe it in what I've written and I can. It's almost like you give yourself a kind of emergency exit from something really heavy by seeing a character behave in a way you wish you'd behaved, or something like that. So sometimes in my work, these characters do things that I wish I'd had the guts to do, or they respond in ways that if only that response had been available at the time to the person I'm thinking of. You know, there's this kind of thing of processing the world through what we make, this lens that everything gets seen through. So I think all that to say is that I couldn't ask anything more of them. I wouldn't want any of them to be anything more than what they've already been for me. And they've been like, yeah, it's been revelatory. Every single time I sit down and go into that place of imagination, it's like life saving, really, for me. It's amazing.

[Daniel Wilde]

We've got time for one more question and then Kay is going to perform for us. This question is from Josie. We saw an incredible production of Brand New Ancient by the Bristol School of Acting. Have you seen this or other reproductions of your work? And how does it feel to see your work living on in new ways?

[K. Tempest]

Yeah, I haven't. I didn't see that. It's interesting. Like, I didn't know it was happening. And then someone was like, oh, I see. Brand new entrance. I was like, what? I'm in? That hasn't been on for years. And then I realized, no, there's this company of young people doing it. Obviously, I must have given permission, but not that I don't take it seriously. I just. Fucking emails, you know. I think it's wonderful that people find their way to my work. I think it's fucking unbelievable. This is actually the best thing I can say in response to that, actually. I don't mean to be flippant. Basically, I Just. I'm just happy to be hanging out with Danielle and I've had a nice day and I feel great that I don't feel, like, nervous. So that's why I'm being such a fucking doof. Because sometimes, to be honest, like yesterday I was on floor in pieces. Like, I can't do this. So actually it's like the relief I feel to just be sitting there talking shit. So nice. But what I can say is, because of this thing I'm talking about, about how much I've received from fiction and from music all my life long, the things that have happened to me when I've been at my lowest, when I've been so far from myself, so far from the world, so far from connecting with other human beings. And then I've found the novel. Sometimes I've literally found Hangover Square. I was given it to read in a pub by the landlord because it had been left on the bar and I was waiting. I was early. I was supporting John Cooper Clark in this pub and it was about 2 in the afternoon and I was just sitting there for about six hours. I was so excited to do the gig. And then the landlord just gave me that book because it was sitting on the table. So I read. That's how I know Hangover Square.

[Daniel Wilde]

That's the perfect book to read in a pub.

[K. Tempest]

Yeah. Dangerous at 2pm yeah. Makes you want to drink your life away. But that happened and some other things have happened. I found the Canut Hampsome. I'm sure I haven't said his name. Right on the floor in New Cross, in a box, in an empty cardboard box, big box with just a book in it. And I was like. And then that novel really came to me and kind of saved my life. All this to say I have these moments where fiction or maybe a performance. If I've been out to see someone singing, seeing Lisa o' Neill singing, this amazing, incredible artist who you must check out, watching Lisa o' Neill sing, it's the soul of the world coming through her. And what happens to me is that I'm re. Energized, refocused. My ability to observe myself as a human being engaging in a world of other human beings is made so much more acute and bearable by the work of other people making this work. So whenever I feel intimidated by this thing or scared of making work or belittled by who do I think I am and all this kind of stuff, what I try to do is I put myself on this line that goes all the way back to the very beginning of time. And on that line I put every single person whose work I've ever discovered has ever reached me, whose voice has ever found my ears. And I and I let them charge up from the floor upwards and into my back. I feel the light of what they gave. And I know that it would have been hard in their life to have made something like they made. And I know they suffered and I know they went through it and they left this thing behind. And that is a bright, bright, bright light. And I feel it charge up all through my back. And because I have received, I can give. It's not from me, it's through me. It's not from me, it's through me. I just keep telling myself that. And then the light can come out through my chest. And because this shit has saved my life, I know that my work will reach other people in their time of need and will just switch them onto their own creativity. I know it. It doesn't intimidate me, that fact, because it's not from me. It's through me, you know? So when I hear about people doing my plays or people finding my work or things like that, what I think of is like, how fucking beautiful, how incredible that this life force that has picked me up and put me on my feet so many times can continue to resonate and can continue to work through the fact that my inspiration has been so raw and so radical and so bright and profound. And how amazing that somebody can put themselves on that line now too. It. Focus features in Blumhouse present Obsession When

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[K. Tempest]

Be careful. I wish Nikki love me more than

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[K. Tempest]

Who you wish for? Obsession is 96% fresh on rotten Tomatoes. I love you so, so, so, so much. It's blood soaked nightmare fuel. What kind of split you put on her? You have been warned. Obsession. Rated R. Under 17 on a minute without parent only theaters May 15 with special engagements in Dolby.

[Connor Boyle]

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[K. Tempest]

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[Connor Boyle]

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[K. Tempest]

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[Connor Boyle]

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[K. Tempest]

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[K. Tempest]

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[K. Tempest]

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[K. Tempest]

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[K. Tempest]

Thank you, K. Thanks, Daniel.

[Daniel Wilde]

And thank you, all of you for your wonderful questions. I'm sorry we couldn't get through more of them, but it is time now for K's performance. K, over to you.

[K. Tempest]

Thank you, Daniel. Please, please make a fucking shit ton of noise for Daniel Wild. So this. This point in the novel that I was talking about earlier, where the time signature changes and we got. We go into this other place where the language becomes verse. I feel like a gathering of people in a room is wonderful. I feel so much gratitude and respect for the fact that you've come out to share this moment. I don't really know how I function in Q&As. It's a bit hit or miss, so it makes me feel more grounded if also I have something to offer, which is a performance which, I don't know, I'm just gonna. I've done this once with music. This I think will be the first time all the way through. If I get all the way through it without. So it's a Bristol exclusive. It's a Hollow Hills Mendips exclusive. State of it. So I'll get through as much of it as I can. I don't. I mean, I don't think there's any spoilers in it, but. Except you find out loads of stuff, but I don't think. I think you can just go with the feeling. And yeah, thank you so much for being here. I'll just do my best to do this. Let me just. Let me just get my head. Hold on. Rothko came too and the whole world was carnage Monsters in the dark Sniffing canisters of varnish none of it was real not the packs of laughing Men who stared at them when they passed or the women sat on walls who talked slow and smoked fast. Not the groups of baggy kids who beefed each other for a taste. Not the manic little fantasists who flashed their eyes and gnashed their teeth like living, breathing magazines hitched up by the cash machines trying to get another squeeze out of an empty packet. Incremental change solidified into monumental shifts. Old blood for new myths, old grudges, new gifts. Close your eyes, hold your stance and swing your fists. Every hour was a tower to escape from. Risk it out the window, headfirst through the hailstorm, bliss before everything else, living like a fish in a bag at a fairground, head butting the plastic. Finally they see it. It's one thing wanting freedom, it's another thing to be it. Pissed up on the clifftop, breathing out mist, Time tunneled inward to spirals and drifts. Rothko never had time till they lost time and they were still waiting for the clouds to lift, sucking on the pipe for release, running rings round slow police. The wind was everywhere, coughing at them like a boxer whipping rain. Bullied by their solitude, the town was mean. They wandered through its dirty veins and alleyways, leading, following their mother's hollow face was the dirge. The traffic sang and Rothko sang along with their hand on their heart the grand anthem of I'll do it differently. But it all fell away to one light, one dark. Sometimes you've just got to fail miserably. Time had collapsed. There was no way back to the start until Rothko felt disgusting in their heart, made of something not worth trusting, maybe something they'd grow out of. But they didn't and they couldn't and it changed the world around them. Ah, when Rothko looked back and tried to pinpoint the moment the world lost order and time ran away. They pinned it on that gray day when they knocked on up Meg's and decided to. They were doing their best against cause and effect when life jumped from the ropes, landed hard on their chest and started screaming over every word and into every breath. Still the stupid human heart hopes for miracles that won't come. Miracles like take me if you want, but please save Mum. They let themselves surrender to the Doss house in December. It was good to laugh at things and not remember complex pleasure getting some attention from the girls with heavy weather in their eyes. They never said their goodbyes to their old life. They just saw through its disguise. They had gone too far to retrace their steps. Sometimes it was good to forget this is how Rothko went. Riches to rags, itching for a bag. Things were getting switchy and the picture kept lagging behind the soundtrack with Was Meg setting the pace or was she picking up the slack? Yeah. Sometimes in the dead of night they could hear their old life ringing in the phone line, singing in the wind. But nothing had a shape beyond the foil and the lighter. Nothing was brighter than the vacuum within. When did Ezra stop searching the benches and tents with a photo of Rothko grinning in braces? When he found her again, sitting out with her friends, off her head by the skips round the back of big Saina. She had the same face but she wasn't the same, Though her name was the pain in his stomach. All day he prayed she would change and stay out of harm's way. Please God, keep my child out of danger. But the third time she raided his house for his Ray Bans, his tv, his blender, his electronic shavery, cleaned up the mess and didn't even complain. He tried to give her shelter when the thunderstorm came, but enough was the whole thing was insane and he realized no one could save her. Even Sarai had stopped turning up. She'd been banging on the doors for months. I want to see my sister traipsing round dirty squats where furtive teens sold rocks to people who were 40 odd until a thing in her broke. Sarai had lost Rothko to the fire and smoke. Ah. It happened slowly. She let Rothko go. It was lonely, but so's life. They ran out of road. Ah. Ah. They tried to keep close, but time goes by and soon a whole lifetime has passed. In the space between meetings it starts over one thing, but soon it's just like that. The fight is the reason they're fighting and Sarai can't rely on Rothko for nothing but nightmares. Now Dion in the real world is feeling left behind. She felt like Rothko had betrayed her when they sank beneath the grind the way they did. Now it's hard when she sees them round town because she used to be there but now they're not around. Annoyed to the point she gets reckless out, raving, ends up regretful and blaming Rothko for not behaving like they didn't have a thing worth saving. And now it's a stress when they pass in the street. Dee crosses the road and she kisses her teeth when she sees them. Now it's just grief left between them because how can you help when the person you love isn't helping themself and you're burdened enough these Mama got laid off. Dee had to face up. Real life kicked in. Dee had to wake up. They weren't from the same cloth, boiled in the same pot, or carved in the same clay at all. Cause pain is pain. But some people's pain is the story they make up. And some people's pain is a skin they can't take off. The way Dion saw it, Rothko was cushioned by money, the buffer of having somebody to be there whenever they stumbled. However, they crumbled. Rothko didn't really know trouble. How could they run to the gutters and not make the most of how lucky they were and how loved? It was ugly, the stubbornness of it. So many were willing to help if they'd let them. But it wasn't enough. Rothko wouldn't be botched. It was like they preferred being bang out of luck, stuck haunting the same old patch. All Dion could do in the end was detach. Summer found Roth Gold feeling Cavalier, Crusty's cart and sound systems around. Parties in the woods and downs hitching rides. They'd never felt freer sleeping on a tarp under the pier. But summer never lasts and neither does the gear. In the backlit hours under heavy hands, stranded and sour, Meg went to work tonguing the socket for a second of power until the punters were finally numbed. She dismantled herself for a bag of dread powder. Each stranded encounter, each rancid, devouring creature who rutted and drummed on her body, each sorry, each please. Filling them softly. She spat on her palms and got down on her knees. You don't get to choose your disease. Dion was a memory wofgo didn't deep it. Never thought about the past now didn't need it. It's me and you. Their habit grew. Every day they woke to feed it. Every night they worked to please it, to keep it calm, to feel its breathing getting heavy in their arms as they rocked it into sleeping. They wanted things they couldn't name. They wanted rest. They wanted change. They wanted less than all of this, to get out from underneath the shame. They came close to wipe out time after time. But something always pulled them back before the soul began to climb. Bright eyes in low light. The room was a corridor. People got close in the shadow of the abattoir. Some folks don't understand what love is for. Live your whole life too scared to discover more. But from the minute they met, they felt safe. Her name was Penelope. Pen was like a local celebrity. Her stepdad was a big money man in the town. He'd bought half of it up just to tear it all down and sell it on for development. Well, Pen and Roth go. They were in it together, trying to find their way back to forever. And she told them everything. The whole story. Tale how she could have had it all. But she ended up a failure. She pinned it on the day she told her mum it wasn't right. Her stepdad was touching her in ways she didn't like. He kept coming in in her room at night. But telling didn't stop it, because Mum couldn't believe. So Pen left home. She felt safer on the streets. Barely 15 and she's gone beyond help. Trying to rein in a black hole by herself. Years of it. And now Mum is at the end of her tether, scraping her up whenever she dropped, getting her admitted to center after center. Treatment programs. 12 grand a pop dried her out for a bit, but they didn't make her stop. And now here she is at 22 seconds from time's up. Veins fucked. Bowels compacted. Brains fucked. She didn't want to die, but she didn't want to live on his paycheck. Just another property. Something he threw money at till it responded properly. She'd heard about this rehab in Thailand, this monastery. This is it for me, Rothko. It's got to be. It was free to. To do a stint there. She just had to get the travel up. The program was hardcore and no frills. You had to really want it. No methadone, no pills. Just graft and prayer. She was ending it here. She was starting it there. She had saved about half the fare. She was doing it. Penn left town soon after. Rothko never knew if she made it or not. But sometimes, when the nights got hard, they could still hear our laughter. And the dream that she had was one they never forgot. And why not? If she could do it, maybe they could do the same. If they could just get Meg on the plane. They could see it so clear. Little house by the sea. Couple chickens in the yard, laying eggs. They could fix Meg's teeth. She could get some rest. New life, no stress. Nice weather. They could do it if they stuck to it together. And every time they thought that, thought it was chased by the thought of Penn. Stepdad with his fortune in a safe. With his millions to waste with his relentless power. Ah, they can make a few grand in, like, half an hour. The picture got sharper with every blink. Platinum Rolex lying by the sink, one watch in their pocket. And the skies were pink. They could call time on the filth and the stink. They told Meg they were hatching plans. It weren't a dead cert but it was worth trying. She was either not listening or didn't believe. My sweet baby. She squeezed them, sighing eyes never not crying, hands never not holding but never quite finding. Now Rothko was hardly a professional thief. Once or twice they'd tagged along for a night but they didn't have the wits or the stairs. Self belief. You had to have a lot of fun to really do a drum, right? So here they were, the house on the hill, the big driveway, the fountain with the cherubs and the lions on the post. They were sure it was this one. 2am Friday. Not a sound now, off go, quiet as a ghost, jimmying the lock with a comb, foraging for better luck in someone else's well stocked home. It was a mansion, crystal chandeliers and velvet drapes to draw against the little people full of bitterness and fears. Rothko heard a noise out on the stairs and froze. What ensued were heavy blows thrown with blunt aggression. Rothko exploded, Rothko melted and corroded. They were doing it for Meg, for Dion, for Penelope, for all the things they'd never been and all the things they'd never get to be. Rage bone deep and panoramic. When it came on like this, there was nothing else to see. It swept them out, it pulled them in, it dragged their bones, it tore their skin. It was better to surrender than to try and swim free. And when it cleared they saw themselves stood above him, blood leaking from his ears, face messed up, disgusting, white hair turning red, body spread across the rug. The they were still waiting for the body to get up. Any minute now, Shorey was about to come alive when the judge said manslaughter and she gave them 25. Time inside was different time. It passed. It barely passed. It drifted in through tiny cracks and pressurized the air. It moved across them, crossed them, locked their thoughts and stopped their function. It arrived in flashing ruptures and it left behind a glare, staring through the mesh of their hands, head in their lap. Time was the stock drop hanging from the tap. Their mind was the blocked pipe, screaming for release while their hands through the bed sheets covered them in grease, stifling and scarred, reaching from the past, swimming fingers pulling at them from the shadows, getting clean, blood hardening, parting their lips but too parched to take sips. Watching their head roll away, guillotine, every follicle and socket aggravated, brain pulsating through their head, agitated and depressed at the same time. You're all right but they've been too long in the dark to even know they missed the light Body like a crashed car, Lungs full of smashed glass Swilling round the bottom of the bottle with the dregs Cramps in their stomach, spasms in their legs Vomiting forever Barely held together by a couple rusty pegs. New start, Nice try, no dice. Now you're chewing up the mice now you're chewing up the corners with the mice. No, focus on your hands Focus on your hands Broken as the plans Sweating through your clothes Eyes as swollen as your glands Choking on your tongue in this pokey little cell Tie the rope around the pangs and keep pulling till the hourglass cracks and the sand gets scattered Goes back to the land. Time passing, not passing Stop asking how long it's been. Time wasn't real, the world was a smudge. There was no point to thoughts anymore Just walk in a straight line. Talk when you're asked to be normal. Laugh when it's time to bury yourself so that no one can find you. Soon enough they'll all stop looking. It was sure awake in the fetal position, Too bored to read, too scared to play pool. Nuggets on Wednesdays, blanking the lunch line. Hunger was something But Dion in a sundress sitting in the sunshine, Fuck, it just felt too cruel. It's funny how long you can stare at the wall Queuing for the phone when there's no one to call. Violence erupted like weather events. They tried being more like the rest because after a while no one wants to be friends with the kid when they're always depressed. It was the loneliness Weary from knowing nobody and knowing nobody could know them. The sweet ones were bitter, was better to steer clear. The heavy hitters on the wing with their victories to win Loved to make a big deal from the littlest thing Brining in their vinegar, pickles in a tin. Nothing worked like it did on the outside. There was so much to learn and no time for mistakes. And you see them swapping packets on association Tongue tied clean enough for now but how long till it wakes? Heart palpitations, shakes. Don't want to go back there. God keep me safe. Have to kill the past, kill it all, finish it. Lay myself bare so someone might love me enough to take care. They wanted a friend like the others all had so they tried giving more than their share. Longing for belonging. Strong it till you get it or forget it Reforged in the heat of it beaten into shape, Banishing the God in them, Summoning the apes. It was the only chance of Escape. Because when the world plays dead play deader gets small and at the end of every tether is the last thread gripped against the fall. And if Rothko couldn't feel then they hadn't lost it all. Numb as anyone who lives to satisfy the others, their old self was smothered and killed but what was hidden still spilled. You could hear them punching up the walls after letting girls they didn't like destroy them in their cell at night. And why not? Time was a mass without an outline Pound signs flashing on the slots at chucking out time Blood from their cut legs splashed made the ground shine Sing along sessions in the next pad Bound for the reload drowning beneath it Crowd surfing a room full of demons the hole in their spirit was getting hard to plug they wanted God to kill the parts of them with where all the darkness was. They were dying to live but time after time something always pulled them back before the soul began to climb. Bite down into the pillow, let it out in desperate shouts. Then pull yourself together, raise your head and close your mouth because people fall apart in front of people. You can fall apart alone but what good does it do you? Were they gonna get through it or let it beat them? You're all right. Rothko had a word with himself and kept reaching Rothko had a word with himself and kept Rothko had a word with himself and kept Was that a year gone past or just a breath? Meat wagon on the A roads shipped out bassed around in the back going places Every new landing was a sleeping volcano Same old stories told by new faces they understood the rules now that had a little taste they saw the test they were assigned by restless screws with dirty minds who's hurting who who's worth avoiding who's for loving, who's for spoiling as cruel as time became they set themselves against the fade and tried their best to get their head down and make everything okay they had a reason to keep going they had something to become for the rough goal that there used to be when every everything was young they learned the power of routine they learned the strength of clear instruction they learned the looks, the books the crooked methods by which people functioned how to get by without ever getting anywhere when getting through a minute was infinite and every ending they achieved was still only the beginning and soon they soon soon they learned to count the time and blame they had been left behind by life and really someone had to pay because where was Meg in all of this? Still out there in the filth conducting manic sermons for anyone who'd hear about her youngest daughter taken off her by the courts until she got enough to score and make it all disappear. Rothko sent her letters back, but she was still there in the mirror. The smaller she made them, the bigger she loomed, ringing out forever through the ruins and the fumes like the last note in the tune. Ah. Inside, time was like water through a sieve. They were sure they had more to give, but they had no evidence to prove to themselves they could grow out of their smallness and live. How long were you out there looking for me? Were you waiting back then when there was nothing to see? Was it you? Did you touch my face when my face was a shadow and tell me you hoped I would learn how to be? Was it you I could hear when I strayed too near to the edge? Was it you that I felt the soft word when I caught the rough end of the belt and I had given everything to giving up on myself? Was it you? 15 years unleashed on a Monday morning the sky was like a ride at the fun fair Falling terrifying Time was a nutcase running up behind them they couldn't block it out it had found them final Time was a bird in a flight path Time's up Time was the first dance the last leg Staunch as a dead branch Sleeping till spring for the relaunch Let the pipes burst let it all come unstuck Bypassed by life Trying hard to remember this was the beginning not the end of it Time Time was all right Just having the one glass Time was a high class brass with a dry laugh who'd read it in the tea leaves cast in, dried up, Put it on red and bought our own nightclub Time was a dead end Time was a fine chance Time was a butcher a lion dance get it, bro. Time was a predator soaring digging its claws in Time was a hoarder Time was a shadow in the water Time was a warning Time was a tourist of course a tourist he bought the bull fight to the ballroom A ball ache abroad A maudlin performance Pause for applause not that important Time was an unexploded mortar an empty chair in a porch in the autumn the boarded up windows, the whole thing reeking of boredom Times on the phone said it's time to go home now Edgecliff calling But were they getting free or were they falling? The truth was in doing it was either resolve or ruin Deep breath no way out but through it what else could they do? They took the only path that they knew Was it you? I could heal When I strayed too near to the Edge. Was it you that I felt? The soft word when I'd caught the rough end of the belt and I was giving everything to giving up on myself. Was it you? That's when time delivered. Rothko pushed them out into today. 20 years in free fall, in a vacuum of delay. The beginning had begun for the Rothko that they used to be. When everything was young, they'd run as hard as they could run, but they could never get clear. They were coming back to life. They were free and getting freer. But in the corner of their smile, there was a weight there, the child they had been. The denial and the grief. It's not as simple as captivity, release or transition. Then relief. But Rothko was alive at last. Orofko was alive. At least now, that first morning, underneath the heavy rain that came falling on the roof, like it was trying to explain that the source and the solution are the same. They saw it so perfectly, dirty and plain, the glory of the mundane. Rothko didn't want luxury or anything as vain as entertainment. They just wanted to live in the day that sustained them. Their wriggling shame was a bitter refrain. But maybe there was life beyond the limits of the frame, because pain is pain. But some people's pain was the place that they came from. And some people's pain was a state they attained in the dark that spurred them to waking and taking the whole thing apart. Like I used to think one day I'd start. But now I think maybe today could be day one. Now I think maybe today could be day one. Now I think maybe today. What if the main thing in changing isn't the change, it's the facing of things that could never be faced without breaking before. If it's alive, it will not stay the same. And the base of it still is the will to maintain, the will to be thankful for whatever comes and make peace with whatever came. They saw it in small things, a thank you from God when the bird on the low branch didn't fly off but lingered to sing, or out on the beach, lifting their palms through the wind, through their fingers, or watching the light from the trains hit the cliff wall and flare into pictures that merged in the distance. Elation. But what they didn't see when they were looking at the trains in the station, plugged into the mains of creation, is they were held in the arms of every first and every last, every future, every past that every present must contain. It was all coming for them, slow motion, this moment. Time had them in its teeth. It dragged them by the throat until it dropped them into day and said atonement. It.

[Daniel Wilde]

Thank you K. Absolutely incredible. What a special moment for all of us. And thank you Bristol for being such a wonderful audience. Thank you Intelligence Squared for organizing this amazing event. Thank you St. George's Bristol, a wonderful audience. And once again, thank you so much to K. Tempest.

[Connor Boyle]

Thanks for listening to Intelligence Squared. This episode was produced by Mia Sorenti and edited by Mark Roberts for ad free episodes and full length recordings. Become a [e-mail] membership and to join us at future events. Head to intelligencesquared.com attend to see our full program. You've been listening to Intelligence Squared. Thanks for joining us.