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Ben Stainton

Ben Stainton
always on my mind Manhattan edit


Ben Stainton has been a musician, poet, film-maker, collage artist and fiction writer. His poems have appeared in The Rialto, Magma and 3am. His art has been commissioned by Wetherspoons (UK) and Casper (US). He was shortlisted for the Bridport Prize for Fiction in 2015. 




  • The Jealousies (2008), BeWrite Books, Cumbria. Out of print
  • The Backlists (2011), Knives Forks and Spoons Press, Newton-le-Willows
  • Edibles (2014), Eyewear Publishing, London



Sample Text


GChat Translations, December 9th
- so apparently Mozart stopped living, god 
- he was buried in the grave of a poor dog
- yea i've heard that, the poor old Austrian person
- i saw him once in a wagon by the river
- oh wow. did you hear the Magic Flutes ?
- mate, incredible scenes, really
- i know Schikanader, so great as Papageno
- the man tubes, heavy

- hey jacket potato in my bag, you want some ?
- it's cold outside, you need potatoes to warm your legs
- i have three pairs of pants, to be honest, but my upper half could use a potato
- beef at the Masonic Lodge ? apparently the ghost of Mozart, it could be
- i do not know my hostess wants us to dinner together tonight
- her, the wooden teeth?
- she said, ‘come sit on my lap you, and we will eat the guts’
- that sounds disgusting
- i know so maybe the ghost of Mozart and the Lodge is more interesting

- i’m sad my wig keeps falling down 
- continue drinking
- let’s make a toast to Amadeus bagel and fingers
- eating bagels rises like the sun
- eating bagels is a kind of food opera 
- wait my mother is here
- i’m lonely please ignore your mother
- she just kissed a man in green lederhosen
- what the hell is wrong with this year

- i'm sitting in a public house, the waitress is very appealing to me
- Constanza has the dead goat for a wig ?
- no, Constanza is sleeping with my brother and i hate her
- there's a fog over the Danube, the smell of burnt hair
- we should find Schikanader and shake his hand again and again
- we need to fill our hearts with boiled potatoes
- we need to party like a requiem mass
- Ok, i’ll talk to you later if you change your pants
- Ok the moon begins to talk to me hi







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