Thursday, 22 June 2017

Tripping On The Milestone

You can steal my hat and beat me too. You can make a joke about no one wanting to take me to the zoo. You can tell me any number of lies, abuse me, spit on me, tell me how much I am despised. But you can go cluck in a hole, go buck in a hole, you can watch me quit my job and live in Yoevil on the dole. I'm no longer Being Scared of the fact that no one ever cared. For you can all get fucked, it's true - because there's 1000 microstories in us - what the fuck's in you?

Reprise Surprise

How many times have I brushed these teeth, pulled shoes on these feet and walked down this same street? How many times have I said today's the day, everything's going to be different - everything will be OK? How many times have I repeated myself, lied to and cheated myself? How many times will I still be here, looking in the mirror greying, increasingly filled by fear? Never again, never, This year is my year. And if not, then, maybe next year.

Surprise Reprise

How many times have I brushed these teeth, pulled shoes on these feet and walked down this same street? How many times have I passed you by, too scared to look you in the eye, too scared to ask if I could tag along and walk with you a while. None of that's my style. My anxiety has been heaped and piled by bullies ever since I was a child. Now my nerves wouldn't dare allow me to even return your smile, no matter how bad I want to be sucked in by your wiles. Perhaps death is dreaming, consciousness severed and freely streaming, eternally lost, stretched and pressed in the black swarming mess of our collective psychic minds, the universal thoughts disconnected and connected throughout all of time. Perhaps I'll see you there then too, in that pool you'll feel my mind drawing itself to you.

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Thursday, 15 June 2017

London May Be Burning, But My Family Is Churning Over Membership In Facebook Groups

"Katy Perry's hair really got me there," said Ellen to Portia as they lay in bed discussing their recent rutting. Portia stared at the ceiling in silence, she found the remark to be cutting.

"What do you reckon about doing your hair that way, hon?" Ellen asked not noticing Portia had become dumb.

"Fuck you babe," Portia finally caved, "I'd rather wear my hair like Abu Ghraib than give you what you crave, you just don't get it for fuck's sake, thinking about someone else is basically rape!" She stood and stormed out from the room whilst Ellen looked longingly at a threadbare broom.

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Sunday, 4 June 2017

The Lifeternet Sux

The old train just keeps chugging on, though it's best days have been and gone. Occasionally it fires steam into the air, reminding everyone that it's still there, but otherwise it makes its way, deviation is not within its métier, it grinds right by the pull of l'appel du vide, and shields itself within a chassis of roman-à-clef. It powers on, I know not to where,
                                               nor does it matter,
                                                                          nor does it care.