she came to my house for some home cooked food
—she ate like a baby bird
–she even bought her own cutlery
–the tiniest fork I’d ever seen
the conversation flowed
she touched me under the table
I blushed – after the meal she sang to me. I was far too polite to tell her she was no Nina Simone
the next day she wrote to a prisoner and told him about the smell of the flowers in her garden
she tried explain the taste of the ramen noodles she had last night
she described the wind and
she drew them a picture of a dog reading a book
inside the clouds reading about
25 million domesticated chickens – when the missionaries arrived they said you had to kill all the dancing girls – up here
breathing in third hand air from the kamikazes oxygen mask
the song tells me Lenny Bruce never wore a pair of second hand shoes –
arguing siblings & idiot brothers
11 types of meat
the milk doesn’t taste like it should
the coastline is mountains and belongs to a country I don’t know the name of
—-mountains of cinematic proportions–a Hollywood adaptation of the Visigoth tearing through this landscape of people taking selfies & macho volleyball
— time and geography is confused —
missiles launched at nowhere in particular
I saw a unicorn as the clock struck midnight
fear of plastics
fear of plastics
neauve rich Russians with gold crucifixes & designer swimming trunks
their tiny wife’s have Aushwitz bodies
dead skin with eczema scratches and thoughts of enemies and enemas in a world where uber drivers deliver lukewarm food where the sky was white now it’s an ocean of clouds that resemble the arcade game characters you grew up with –
I am reading Romantic Dogs on a bus where a two women are talking about how much they hate their children –
the keys in my bag chime against coins – my mind drifts
to secret languages
and handshakes we used as kids
– those old streets with dog shit and overfilled bins
dirty municipal swimming pools and empty swings –
and now in my ear a song that mentions the Satanic Bible and Steve McQueen
the facade of normality is a brittle, dry bark
if you come closer you can see the cracks appears
I sit in front of this monitor; spread sheets, lines and graphs are as indecipherable as Chinese Arithmetic
and the man next to me types away in code and talks in equations I don’t understand him, nor do I want to. He smells off, like he’s rotting from the inside and I know he goes home and wanks over picture of woman on the internet. I know this to be true.
Yesterday I shop-lifted a camera from a busy electricity shop and went home and made 13 obscene phone calls to random people picked from the phone book.
I wish I lived somewhere else.
I wish I spoke another language. The spread sheets are just lines and lines of meaningless numbers and the graphs resemble the skyline of a smog polluted city.
The girl who gave me my first blow job swallowed my cum and washed it down with a can of Coke.
There was a power cut at work and all the computers fizzled and died, the screens fading to black. I just sat there staring at a black screen. Without their PCs the people felt vulnerable, unable to converse. I just sat there, staring and I could still see line graphs and the cells of spreadsheets. Shadows imprinted on my retinas.
Walking across a road a car, it was blue, nearly knocked me over. Its tyres screeched. I stood there, rooted. Piss streamed down my legs. The driver looked like someone who was once on TV. He got out the car and I ran off.
I have a friend who claims he was abducted by aliens once when he was walking home from a party, some time in August. This friend also says he used to be a kick-boxer. I dont really believe a word he says.
There are shadows that follow me everywhere I go.
I see spreadsheets in my sleep. I also see body parts and carrion.
My father was a good man.
I have fucked woman on 4 different continents and I cant remember their names or faces. I am listening to illegal music. I am listening to it loud.
When I was young, about 4 or 5, I was certain that if I closed my eyes hard enough and long enough everything would vanish.