Misheard
Bulgarian female choirs serenade me in my room, their unearthly wailing almost managing to drown out the Saturday morning shoppers and traffic outside. Sometimes I regret the stupidity that caused me...
View ArticleChrist on a bike
So the fact is that, for some days now, the Lord Jesus Christ has been riding a bicycle up and down the short corridor between my bedroom and my living-room. Being a rather retro Messiah, he appears to...
View ArticleNo ball games, please
Magnolia is an evil colour. Whichever interior designer it was who first came up with the idea that it speaks of calming and soothing and reassuring and home should be shot in the knees until they...
View ArticleGatecrashed
There are bodies of words all over the place. As I slept — or tried to sleep — last night, they obviously invited themselves round for a party at my considerable expense. They are now sleeping in...
View ArticleThe map-reader’s search for co-ordinates
I looked under the carpet, but all I found was fluff and floorboards. I looked in the bottom of my glass, but all I found was a watery reflection. I looked in the envelope, but all I found were letters...
View ArticleTurnupspeed
Blood pumping. Heart racing. Fingers dancing. Keys rattling. Tapping. Not sure. Simply not sure. This is tomorrow’s all day. All our tomorrows could happen in just one day. The ocean is so far away. I...
View ArticleAs surely as the sun rises
I don’t climb the walls when i wake. No, I wait for them to descend to my level, so that I can rap my knuckles three times on the ceiling, without even stretching, and check that the roof is still...
View ArticleCoded promises
That’s right, that’s right, that’s you. You come along here, bold and brazen as you like, and you smash glasses, crockery, fingers and thumbs, sticks and stones against the rocks, you break my bones...
View ArticleScraps of evidence
Oh, the plans. The plans I had. Each of them scrawled on crumpled paper, folded and folded again for good measure and secrecy until they bulged with so much promise and barely repressed youthful...
View ArticleThese invisible lines
I attempt to lasso the world, twice daily or more. I draw ‘cut here’ dashes around my skull and invite all to delve, safe in the knowledge that anything remotely breakable has been removed for...
View ArticleTamper-proof
My floor is medicinal. My carpet is chemical. My ceiling is poison. My windows myopic. And my walls, my walls are a punctured, pockmarked epidermis, stretched tight over the crooked frame beneath....
View ArticleHe’s got a screw loose
When my head imploded, it collapsed in on itself, slumping to half its normal size. It had been young and smooth once, but over the years it had become just one more sagging balloon, wrinkled and...
View ArticleSemi-automatic #1
I wake with spiders spinning their slithering webs across my eyes, and taste them hatching their eggs on my lazy, lolling tongue. There’s a rolling, salty, dirty ocean dragging my limbs down into its...
View ArticleSemi-automatic #2
This time of night, the paving stones sing to no one and to everyone. They chant their drunken choruses and nonsense rhymes. I wish I was with them, into and without their sweaty torsos, singing...
View ArticleSemi-automatic #3
We should grow beards, take up axes and dulled knives, then stab the tawdry natives in their skinny, bone-stacked backs. Don’t look the fuckers in their faces. Don’t meet their gaze. Skin them alive...
View ArticleThis is a needlessly lengthy title that says nothing about me, my life, my...
So words sit under my skin, making me itch and scratch, making me shake and puke like some kind of recovering addict. A junkie who now prefers one substance to another. Sweats and shits and sickness...
View ArticleTunnel visions
Sometimes I seem too ordinary. I consider (too much) how I appear to the cameras. Click and whirr, be free my imagination, such as. It is. What little remains. Go. I can laugh at nothing. For hours on...
View ArticleThe shock of the new is now old
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” I’ve become a manic collector of nothings. Mince words, bleed mouths. I don’t dream of violence. Though I daydream of violence. That’s why there is no violence....
View ArticleMovable equation
a little lost a lot lost more than equals something if that then this then what’s what maybe lost over still vaguely reminiscent of forgotten
View ArticleMisheard
Bulgarian female choirs serenade me in my room, their unearthly wailing almost managing to drown out the Saturday morning shoppers and traffic outside. Sometimes I regret the stupidity that caused me...
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