The stories never leave. At first I put them to rest on paper, but they came back louder. Now I butcher them on this machine, which gives them an iridescent glow.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
I want to feel okay again. I want to slip back into the sub tropical summer of our bed. If only the last ten years was a mistake we couldn't remember then we would be destined to repeat it. And the next time round I could have the patience to sit through the lies. The next time round I would know my lines. The next time round I would know where my happiness lies. But all the street performance in the world is not going tot take me back there, to where I want to be.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
Give me a kiss.
Show me how much you love me and run down o the chip shop and grab me a large with sauce.
Which sauce?
The good sort. A hot sort. Something that will burn me a new arsehole.
Yeh?
Yeh sure. Then after you can put your finger up my new tight little arsehole.
Sounds delicious.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
I wandered out the back door around midnight and suddenly her desperation became clear to me. The earlier the children eat the earlier they can go to bed. She is clawing back moments to call her own. I made a mother out of her. She had never asked. I could see her fertility in her hips and breasts. A fat baby is a healthy baby.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
After lift off the shortest distance is from supernova to supernova, but one must have long legs.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
Either fear of death will lift us from this rock or we will die trying.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
There are very few surprises that fuck up my day. The idea can be realized immediately without messy in-between steps. I go from imagination to implementation in one flying leap from this rock.
¶ 6:36 pm 0 Comments
I can put distance between me and certain responsibilities, but i cannot flee them entirely. Responsibility cannot be torn away from this harsh kicking screaming brutal survival. I was pushed out unwillingly into the world and I have spent my life trying to get back into the dark wherever i came from, but I have a growing suspicion that I was always here, just unaware of it.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
This whole town needs a good tsunami of gentrification.
You are the first wave.
How's that?
Well you brought the here.
To an art gallery?
So where is the art?
The photos!
You cannot simply label something unfinished and call it art. The floor is the only finished thing in here.
That is a little harsh.
I will give you that the unintentional joke of an opening is not outshone by the floor, but i would hardly call that art.
But art does not need to be intentional. The artist could turn every disaster into a self conscious act.
Well go on then. Piss up against the wall.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
The modern man has a weekend of sex and drugs without consequences thanks to aspirin and contraception. Every monday morning he can go back to work without a baby around the neck nor the semen of desire on the brain. I prefer the consequences over work. My procreation drive is stronger than all the distractions.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
I am here, always here. I know there are different cobbled streets with different names, but i am here all the same. I am never fleeing from but always toward. on a rock hurtling through space my emotions are awash in the cosmos. I catch my breath and draw on the canteen.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
I take flight from these cobbled streets taking no more than what i can carry. I become the shooting rhizome blossoming on a street corner and taking off to the next. I can only pick up what i put down. Life is a bargain. Everything is negotiable.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
I am the migratory flying into the procreation trade. The street market appears to have no end. The lines are blurred and everyone has their piece of the pavement. I am offering something of the dreamtime, something of the breathing spirits, something of the blood of inescapable context. What i offer you can find nowhere else.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
Words are always naming: an action, an event, a location. The mouths haven't a clue. Mouths to and fro between subject and inter subject, between singularity and plurality, between existant and existence. Speaking without intention nor responsibility. Careless.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
Je suis revenu.
If you were standing there, as you now are, last Sunday, you would have been struck by a falling tree.
Oh.
Yeh. That is the power of the subjunctive.
Coulda would shoulda.
Didn't.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
I was raised in the belief that family and property are the foundation of civilization. It is unintentional white middle class racism. Darwin may have called it a naturally selected trait. I don|t know for sure. My better half brought doubt to the foundation of my belief. And it began to corrode.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
Only those you love can break your heart. I took the one I loved into my arms. I took her to bed. I told her that she was my wine and bread. I was her hard working class dick. Nothing more. I ought to have known from the start.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
Go ahead I say, keep populating the world until we are eating ourselves and then push further. Forget any line that may have been drawn between suicide and suggestion. Fuck the world. Fuck thy neighbor. I would be done with it all now, if I just had the chutzpah.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
I want to feel as though I never left. I want to convince myself that wherever I am is home. I want to forget the faces filled with played over eyes and a fellow toothed grin. I want my colleagues to be my friends and the bedbugs to be my family.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
Here, in east Germany, I learn how to run. How to run from a place How to run from a face. How to run from words. One by one they catch up. I have to keep running. For now, I don't mind a little discussion at the door on the disappearance of the subjunctive mood.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
I want to see what we could do with your loft.
It's a cave. No one will come here.
Je vais rarriver.
Well, see you next time.
Oui, ça me dit.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments
From time to time the little blonde check out chick pays me a visit. It is only brief and I never let her through the door. I don't need any more. The sex distraction already chills my brain. The next day baby juice pollocks the floor of le salle de jours. If only she stopped coming.
¶ 1:00 pm 0 Comments