Thursday, 27 December 2012

Spin, spin, spin

The golden thread bursts forth in mucilaginous fury. Until the mouth is sewn shut, and the jaw can no longer clutch wildly at another scream. Dangle, wait, and bide your time until your innards gush forth from the holes in your head. The shell that you once called home becomes a maculate mash messing up the floor.

You live, for now, motionless in an above ground grave; just past dying, but not yet death.

Tuesday, 18 December 2012


I don't know what I'm doing any more  I'm floating in a sea of sputum, face down, struggling apathetically at someone else's behest. What's the point of treading water, when you're just delaying the inevitable? What's the point of anything? Just go with the flow, submerge, and let the stream of waste carry you in its stinking wake of sick.

Saturday, 3 November 2012

The Lion who Roared


She pulled the two hems of her jacket together and tightened the cincture around her waist. The night was cool; her breath fumed rivulets of vaporous mist as she began her journey through the streets. Each puff curled along the prominent rise of her cheekbones and dissipated amongst the slight swish of her short bob of dark hair. She silently pushed into the crowd and slipped back into anonymity. Tokyo was her city and it came alive at night just like her.

Throughout the day the city simply slumbered. Its heart methodically pumped the grey business suits, like blood cells around its many arteries and veins, merely going through the motions to feed its towering cement metropolis. But at night, like a black cat awakening, it arched its back and shuddered into life. Suddenly, the bright lights, the colour, the vibrant atmosphere of modernity palimpsest upon an ancient culture, shook itself free of the asperities of the day. It became starkly beautiful, a sparkling, neon-rainbow gem amidst the darkness.
It was this clash of old meeting new, the duality co-existing in every building and on every street which resonated with her the most. It suited her, stitching together her ancient knowledge, her ancient code, into a fabric of modern thoughts and modern technology.

The building she had left began to creak, a hopeless sigh as its foundations slowly gave out. A few of the roof tiles loosened and skittered their way to earth, smashing into a thousand ceramic splinters. The crowd stalled its fluctuations amidst a collective intake of breath. She wove her way through the stillness and disappeared, as the side of the building began to slump. Inside, through the window, a person’s silhouette could be seen limping haphazardly as if disoriented. The building creaked again, turning the rendered brick to billows of sand. The shadowed figure in the window stood still, as if accepting their fate. They were breathing so deeply that even from a distance you could see their frame expand and contract. The crowd began to panic and flee as the wall below the roofline started to come away. And just as suddenly as it began, the whole thing folded in upon itself, vanishing in a heaving gust of dust and smoke. 

獅子 咆哮

Friday, 2 November 2012

Someone To Share Your Life With

I dreamt he was an angel. The wrinkly old cunt had downy wings and everything. The soft patter of rain was gently bouncing off the inside of my head as he floated down to his grave, where I stood waiting for him with a spade.

He handed me a biscuit. For years we'd been looking for it. In our cupboards, under our beds, on the back seats of our cars.

I looked at him. He nodded. "You know what you have to do, son."

I ate the biscuit and once I'd helped the crumbs off my jumper onto the damp earth below, I lifted up the spade and brought it down onto his head. He crumbled easily, I stuck the spade into the ground and snapped off his wings. After devouring the wings, the stray remnants hovering in the air hesitantly like sad confetti with nothing to celebrate, I plucked the spade out of the soil and proceeded to dig.

Eventually I reached the children, there were dozens of them and they can't all have been born before colour TV was invented but there they all were - grey as slate mulch.

They lifted their arms up, eager to be fed, and moaned in some kind of weird, clichéd unison with the wind. I kicked the old pervert's body on top of them and watched them rip him apart for a bit before I got bored and left the graveyard to go look for another biscuit.

Monday, 29 October 2012

Happiness Is A Cold One

I love my husband. And my husband loves me. It wasn't always so simple. Back before I opened up his face with a claw hammer.

Him and his friends used to make me undress for them. I'm not sure why, they never seemed to like what they saw, judging by all the names they called me. I guess they liked what they saw well enough to have their way with me though. Now when my husband and I make love, he doesn't say a thing unless spoken to.

"Would you laugh if I told you I love you?" I ask him.

"Only with happiness," I think I hear him reply.

Hold me Clostridia, tiny dancer

So there I was, laying in her bedroom. A beetle or an oversized moth was beating itself repeatedly against the fly screen, rhythmically demanding its way in. If only he knew how much worse it was in here, next to her. My love had been fleeting, momentary, a lapse of better judgement. Yet here I was, wondering whether to sleep or not, as the moon peered through the window and my mind reached out to a bug.

Was it her smell that drove the creature onward in its demented quest for entrance? Or perhaps the flick of light as I dragged on my cigarette? I snuck out of her door and down the hallway, but the vibration of the bug against the screen didn't stop. It reverberated inside my skull as I closed the mortuary door and slunk into the night.

Wednesday, 22 February 2012

The Ballad Of Kikuyo Shiraishi

"Thank you for coming over, Mrs. Shiraishi. I realise this must have all come as a bit of a shock to you when we spoke on the phone. A good kind of shock though, I hope!"

"I'm still confused. I don't understand how any of this is even possible?"

"Please, if you'd like to take a seat. I’ll explain everything to you."

"Okay?" she says, taking a seat.

"First, let me just start by saying that thirty-six is no age to be widowed. No age at all. And nor is it any age for a man to leave this earth. Which is why your husband hasn't left this earth, Mrs. Shiraishi."


"Please. Allow me to continue. I have a gift, Kikuyo. May I call you Kikuyo? Such a lovely name."

She nods.

"Well Kikuyo, that gift is that when I look at a person, I don't just see their face and body, I also see their soul. And in that soul, I see all the faces and bodies of everyone they've ever been since the beginning of time. So when this stray cat..."

She turns her head to look at said stray cat. "When this stray cat turned up on my doorstep, I immediately recognized it as the husband of the beautiful woman who lived across the road from me."

And just like that, Kikuyo Shiraishi throws herself off her chair and at the cat. "Oh my darling! How I've missed you!" she sobs into the comforting abyss of black fur.

After a few minutes, she composes herself and asks, "What now?"

"Well I have another gift, Kikuyo. Handily, I understand the language of cats."

"You do? Oh what is my husband saying to me? Please tell me!"

"He’s saying he's thirsty."


"Yes, and he'd like you to feed him."

I gesture towards her breasts. She looks down at them, then back up at me and then the cat as her hands hover in front of her blouse.

Thursday, 2 February 2012

Water Crawling Out Of Me

I have this boat. No one knows I have this boat. Not even my wife or the vicar. Each morning, come rain or shine, I wake at 5 and sneak out of the house. Barefooted I pad down to the harbour, pebbles and dirt nestling against my feet, to steal a few precious moments alone with Her before the village starts to stir and I have to trudge back to the house to get ready for work.

"Think of me when you're next inside of her!" she used to shout as I reluctantly turned my back on Her to make the short but painful journey back. "Think how you could be inside of me instead. The Isle of Wight, France, Guernsey. Wherever you want to go, name it, I can take you there."

These days her offers are made in barely audible whispers above the sound of water crawling out of me.