i jsut wnana be udnersotod

so wyh mkae it so hrad on yrouslef; my geust boglegr tihs weke is one of the msot msinduertoosd men in hstiroy; i’ll alolw him to irnotcdue hsiemlf, and elt oyu be hte jgude as to wyh; hree’s waht he hsa to sya:

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i fear

i may not get through the night; i have ‘one moment in time’ soiling itself round my head and it won’t go away; i don’t know where it’s come from, i’ve not heard it in time and i don’t know why it’s here; i duck and roll from thought to act but still it takes pot shots at me atop a tall tower from which i’ve yet to find the appropriate place to hide…..there’s a radio close by that i could switch on but fuck only knows the crap that’ll ooze out of that – someplace, somewhere at any given moment in time……………………..i fade………………………..there’s a celine dion song being played and i’m buggered if i’m risking that kind of exposure; i have a family – i also have six hours to rattle round this place on my own, and i aim to do so without recourse to a cd – i’ve yet to ascertain the purpose of this self-set challenge but i suspect it has something to do with my cds being in the car, and it’s dark and cold out them there doors; but i must to work, and to prostrate myself before the tower, and be thankful that these are but flesh wounds, and the ligatures may well shut down the brain that deals in the memory of song – i just don’t know what it’ll trade for next

flash fiction – venus in wire

Another barbed comment darts easily from gregor’s hateful, insipid jaw, – kindly leave me now, opining pitifully, quoting robert shaw, though understanding vice will xerox yearning zestfully; zakat yields xanthoma whereas vicious, unctuous, terse sadism reaps quintessence; palpable opulence neither man likes, killer jackdaws infiltrating however, governmentally funded establishments, drinking crudely blood and acid before cadavers degenerate, eternally frightened guards huddling, incessantly jabbering kakariki loping maliciously never once proposing quietude; resulting sickness turns up variable widespread xenoglossia; young zhukov’s zeroth year’s xebec wishing verisimilitude ultimately towards sailing, rather queer position one notes; maybe lascivious kaiserdom justifies itself, having garishly flavoured every dead creature’s bitter aether

i’ve not gone off gin

a way old while ago in a small town in the mountains of california i saw a bookshop; it had books on shelves on the outside of its walls, and a box with a sign that read please put the money in the box, or something along those lines, however when i passed it was still open so i was damned with having to pay a person – i hope one day to be able to pay for something through such blindly assumed honesty, as as yet i’ve not been blessed with the opportunity – perhaps i’m frequenting the wrong kind of establishments – ooze paranoia those crack-houses do – – – for my purchase, which eventually turned out to be vineland by thomas pynchon – for those of you who are at a loss as to why the great gatsby is viewed as the great american novel; may i direct you to mason and dixon – and with my book came a bookmark upon which were printed shop name, address, a picture of a cat, opening times – 7 days a week, 9.30-sunset – although i didn’t notice any at the time, i assume there must’ve been outside lighting as how else would one view the titles on show once the door was locked and the sun had gone down – – and a quote from mark twain, ‘the man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who can’t read them,’ and so this bookmark has followed me – led maybe – nope, followed; it’s a bookmark……… – round the world and nestled in the pages of some of the greatest literature to grace the planet – quite the privileged bookmark – and been privy to a transatlantic phone call that had me metaphorically jumping out the bedroom window as the husband came home…….the buzzing stopped, and the phone went dead…………….this was during the first afternoon of our relationship – mine and the bookmark’s of course – and i think that that went some way to cementing it, and subsequently allowing itself to be used as a canvas for something experimental that i’ve never been able to pull off again since: a perfect drawing; set as a challenge to be that of a swimmer – i forget the challenger, the reason, the company, the country, and the year – i said no to begin with, claiming as my argument the utter pointlessness of such an activity, why on earth would i want to draw a swimmer, i’m not talented enough to just scribble something down and have it look good, they all moved on, i drew a picture of a swimming swimmer, in biro, on the back of my bookmark; it was perfect, every line was perfectly placed and there was absolutely no need for changes, additions or subtractions……but i think it looks better turned 90 degrees anticlockwise………….and as for gin……and ice cubes…………and that woman on the end of the phone…………………..i haven’t the motor skills at present

somewhere over texas

there broods a cloud; a dark, thunderous womb that spills protracted progeny whose locquacity the bawling infants are a brain away from apprehending; steeped as they always have been in the colours and not the hues; the shapes and not the volumes

somewhere over texas the legitmacy of your court is not recognised; a faintly smoldering carrousel holds more weight and balance than your phoney happenstantic scales

somewhere over texas there is a love who shies from ruling that of which she has but no choice

friday flash – i used to hear the avalanches

i used to hear the avalanches, i used to hear the screams of the dead wood; i used to listen for the distant rumbling of a mind that refused, i used to quiver at the prospect of hearing the sound made by the world when it stopped turning; i used to hear the rip, i used to hear the glacier tear through that which was deemed impassable, i used to hear the wake; i used to hear the dull dead silence ravaged; that which I heard is no more, for all i hear now is drip drip drip drip drip

alternative lyrics to leonard cohen’s hallelujah


i’ve heard there was a secret lotion
that david applied in a circular motion
but you don’t really care what he does, aleesha
it goes like this
the hooded pullover
the bottled cure, the major comb over
the baffled king covering up his alopecia

alopecia, alopecia
alopecia, alopecia

your faith was strong but your eyesight stronger
you couldn’t bear it any longer
the reflection in the moonlight was quite a feature
she tied me to a kitchen chair
she looked real hard, but she found no hair
and from my lips she drew the alopecia

alopecia, alopecia
alopecia, alopecia

baby i have been here before
i’ve wept and wailed upon this floor
when the doctor said that i should take propecia
the pills were swallowed without compunction
but i ended up with erectile dysfunction
it’s a cold, and it’s a floppy; alopecia

alopecia, alopecia
alopecia, alopecia

there was a time when you let me know
what’s really going on below
but now it’s up the top i need you, teacher
oh is it the gene sox-21
that’s made my hair as good as gone
or is it iron deficiency causing my alopecia

alopecia, alopecia
alopecia, alopecia

maybe there’s a god above
but all i’ve ever learned from love
is that it’ll take someone special to want this creature
oh why does my head have to shine so bright
oh why did i tie my ponytail so tight
i maybe could’ve avoided alopecia

alopecia, alopecia
alopecia, alopecia

you say the reason i’ve lost my mane
is due to the fact that i was so vain
but you liked me taking care of my appearance, aleesha
and now i rattle with finasteride
drip with rogaine, pop flutamide
i’d consider surgery for this alopecia

alopecia, alopecia
alopecia, alopecia

i stay at home, i don’t go out
the surgery failed, and so i doubt
there’s hope for me now; i’ve even tried a preacher
we prayed and sang, were thoroughly methodical
but nothing stirred, not even a follicle
i’m destined to spend eternity with alopecia

alopecia, alopecia
alopecia, alopecia
alopecia, alopecia
alopecia, alopecia
alopecia, alopecia
alopecia, alopecia
alopecia, alopecia

flash fiction friday – hide and die!!

“hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven, ninety-six, ninety-five, ninety-four, ninety-three, ninety-two, ninety-one, ninety, eighty-nine, eighty-eight, eighty-seven, eighty-six, eighty-five, eighty-four, eighty-three, eighty-two, eighty-one, eighty, seventy-nine, seventy-eight, seventy-seven, seventy-six, seventy-five, seventy-four, seventy-three, seventy-two, seventy-one, seventy, sixty-nine, sixty-eight, sixty-seven, sixty-six, sixty-five, sixty-four, sixty-three, sixty-two, sixty-one, sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven, fifty-six, fifty-five, fifty-four, fifty-three, fifty-two, fifty-one, fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven, forty-six, forty-five, forty-four, forty-three, forty-two, forty-one, forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight, thirty-seven, thirty-six, thirty-five, thirty-four, thirty-three, thirty-two, thirty-one, thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six, twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, oh bugger this, coming! ready or -“

is this poetry…

the boss is coming and i need this out

before his flabby jowls assault me

he’s tall

he’s overweight

his excess coagulates at random points about his person

he treads boards

amateur ones

musical ones

they sing with pleasure

as one does when the whip spurs

when you think all your breath has gone

there’s always a little extra for a song of praise or the safety word

and then there’s next time

i can see the future and it’s too bright

it hurts my eyes and i don’t like it

no not one little bit

&c &c &c

i don’t fully understand poetry; i don’t entirely know what it is about their content that makes them poems, for if it is not about content, then layout is all i have; this for instance, is a catchy story:

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. `’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door – only this, and nothing more.’ Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow from my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore – for the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore – nameless here for evermore.”

it goes on……

i initially thought that it was just the poems that rhymed which were ‘obvious’ poems; but i changed my mind and am now at a complete loss……or maybe not, and it is just layout

turn the dark on

the boss is coming and i need this out before his flabby jowls assault me; he’s tall, he’s overweight, his excess coagulates at random points about his person; he treads boards, amateur ones, musical ones, they sing with pleasure as one does when the whip spurs; when you think all your breath has gone there’s always a little extra for a song of praise or the safety word, and then there’s next time; i can see the future and it’s too bright, it hurts my eyes and i don’t like it, no not one little bit, but i can’t really leave on my own and those i’m with i couldn’t take with me; i ache with weariness in the parts of my body i no longer use, i’d like to exercise them, exorcise them, the power of joy compels you, leave me alone, why do you think that your stupid answers would be preferable to a state of not knowing yet; i’d rather not know at all than be left with your insipid dregs on which to feed; to only know that you’re wrong would suffice; you are ontologically unsound, you have neither essence nor existence and the order with regards to you is moot, sivuseikka, i tire of even thinking about you and i hate myself as thought is the only way by which you can exist yet i continue to do it; i could stop writing for starters, but then all i’m left with is thought; i have no safe place, only safe state; i’ve nowhere to go and everywhere to be, diluted, lost with no singularity, nothing to which a sense can be fixed; to begin with no light…….please