Tagged: automaticwriting

pictures made up of words x 3

  1. Slit dress

The slit in her dress went up to her thigh. She wore scuffed black boots and a backpack that was covered in band patches. She had a tattoo on her ankle that said ACID RAP. She walked past a red phone box. The last one in town.

1989: 10p phone calls to girlfriends

Fingers tasted metallic.

2. 200 year feast

After they landed they butchered the first animal they saw and feasted on it’s meat. 200 years later that day is celebrated by eating a armadillo.

Have you ever seen a blonde haired nun? A bald Rastafarian?

A documentary about a man with three knees.

3. Iron Maiden to the knees

The found photo was of a boy with missing teeth and bleeding gums. In his right hand he held a bunch of keys. He was wearing an Iron Maiden shirt that came down to his knees. In the background a car was on fire.

His mother, long gone, mane him after her favourite singer.



Russian meteorites blamed for equine flu – spreads like a virus

and all the computers shut down at 11:32 as detectors pick up signs of tsunamis in international waters

plans for the retreat


have more people touched the surface of the Moon than the bottom of the ocean?


eating food from a tin you cut your lip bloody mixes with tuna

tastes metallic

the sharks are circling

And I know I’m rambling and I know this isn’t going anywhere and the song playing now keeps asking me WHAT DOES REKINDLE MEAN?


the spies have unearthed your secrets – deflowered

you will be handed over to the authorities at dawn

⁃ a jury assembled from local businessman

the butcher

a seamstress

a retired pilot

the librarian with a bag of books

⁃ you never wrote the confession

you swear but

you wished there was better ending to this joke

to this sentence

and the next line that fades

and falls

like the sound that vanished as the ambulance rushed by


the faint laughter carried across the bay

to the prison recreation yard

the current will drown you

or bring you home

(He had a)

head like a planet

pot marked like a meteor impact

a mug shot on a 1,000 police walls

fingerprints like the map

contours of mountains

the peaks

the peaks

he pissed in the wound

and it smelt like burning hair

and I dreamed of pressing lips against her and decided I would rescue her in a time machine of my own design

I would rescue her to soundtrack of violins and cellos notes played over a cold landscape of snow and crippled trees

and her insides are alive

and safe in their place for


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scratch on the horizon

some children lean like saplings

bent, blank and thin like a sheet of A4 paper

holes in their teeth

empty black spaces


and then some children just look like scratches on a painted horizon

I returned home at night my wife said I’d changed

I was beginning to fade

to a grey facsimile of the person she fell in love with

— drained and washed of colour

a slow death in verdant Albion

full of lottery winners and knife victims

LON: 53.801277

LAT: – 1.548567

helicopter over a smokestack spitting out a bilious tar

your face is beamed on to the moon

⁃ clothes : models own

the clouds are gathering from afar

last phone boxing

the last pay phone in town

was declared an


a line of tourist snaked around the block with their phones

taking pictures of phones

inside the body of the pay phone

nested dead coins and beer caps

all circuits and conduits ripped out

like dying veins

the children from the future thumbed the coins and couldn’t conceive the notion of physical money

day five

into the fifth day

the latrine overflows

they have dammed the rivers and all the lights now flicker

insufficient power to maintain the grid

irregular surges between explosions


rat dinners

currency is gradually becoming worthless bartering for sharp implements

secret messages sent to disrupt scrabbled pages from the Bible

new meanings for old words

the new sensation of constant thirst

insurgents will be hung at dawn