December 2011
1 post
I don't want to feel
sick anymore
everyday
in a place
I can’t put my finger on
every
single
day
it makes me angry
I shout at people Iove
September 2011
1 post
May 2011
2 posts
Watch
Watchspain 1990.
February 2011
2 posts
david Sedaris - the voice of reason
“If you’re looking for sympathy you’ll find it between shit and syphilis in the dictionary.”
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...
RAGE/Impotence/massive crash/massive confusion/massive unlol
January 2011
5 posts
this/is/helpful
terrified
bad
another room/another morning/another headache/not answering the phone/not replying to texts/bananas and bad bread/tea not coffee/honey not marmite/why am I doing this?/What am I doing? Why am I doing this to myself?/heartsmash/shutdown/cripple/whore/don’t want to go outside/outside/drenched/punch me hard and keep punching me/get off/get the fuck off/stop squabbling/versace...
I step out of you as from under a great warm coat of bearskin or fleece.
It’s cold without you
I’m trembling
New Year's resolution
get bigger sleeves to sew my heart onto
December 2010
1 post
Badly composed metaphor
The thing is, I thought about sending you an onion by post or carrier pigeon. I thought that you could find a place for it in your apartment and it would come in handy from time to time.
But it occurred to me that you might need a hand getting the skin off because sometimes it takes forever.
So I figured I’d keep hold of it until you think you need it. and when you do Maybe I could help you...
November 2010
2 posts
I love you a bit
and I’m not very good at it
and I don’t know what to do with it
and I’ve got nowhere to put it
and it laughs at all the things I’ve built
and blows them down
and it really really really really really hurts
more than any simile can summarise.
My words have fled and are not up to this.
not an mc
lets give this cryptic shit a miss and cut to the quick of it
no dictionary definition exists to articulate this, this business is intimate.
And if you resist this and try to dispossess me,
pay for the first half and get the rest for free
I’ll be the judge, I’ll be the referee …….
…and other words that rhyme for the sake of it
September 2010
0 posts
After the summer
Now Hawthorne, now Heather, now the black beaded heads of elderberries.
Sunflowers, solemn, heads hung low, bean rows limp like haggard athletes after the summer’s sprinting.
Now sky-conquering sweet chestnut, leaf and kernal lay claim to the clay and the North wind blows as though it were ever thus.
La recolte
The Harvest begins like the dismantling of fragile decorations after some wonderful summer-long ball.
At the bottom of the bottle
Is it because it’s warm down there, a nice shade of green?
Is it because it smells of good times and everything is slightly round at the edges?
Or is it because all the yeast and sedement,
all those tiny fragments of cork and stray morcels of food are actually really good company, once you get to know them?
Is it because you only get the most interesting snatches of conversation through that...
December 2008
0 posts
Goosegrass
We haven’t come far since those shool trip days where each sock had a name and each bag a week’s supply of bread.
Where we’d walk in lines on beaten tracks and trust in myths; we’d pick a leaf cure a stitch.
How I’d be half a pace behind, half run and reap the banks, find goosegrass to throw at your back.
How you’d always turn in time to see the guilty barbs still on my clothes and in my...
November 2008
1 post
fragments and one liners
..but you stood on ancient stones and swore to a god you don’t believe in. You’re a charlatan. You’re an impression. You’re a man. I pray for some disaster to make you come alive.
When will you be sated?
So. Take me to pieces.
Sometime I throw myself away. Sometimes I give myself up. Sometimes I lose my thread.
I was hoping we could bury each other
I was hoping we could cancel each other...
June 2008
0 posts
Nothing really
I am animal. I am cave man. I am human. I am man. I am naked underneath these clothes. stop believing we’re somewhere higher. Hunt in packs fuck like dogs fight like snakes theive like a rats. just get by. just get by.
The insatiable needs of the Godless
Take me down Lay me low Because everybody wants to be A little part fo something else
All we want is other All we want is else All we want are eternal alternatives All we want is to want just to want and to want
The insatiable needs of the Godless
cheeky bit of rain
Today the rain which been shamelessly flirting with the idea of falling on my window box and gratifying the parched roots of the lavender all week finally desended. It caught me as I was coming home. I looked up and laughed at it as though enjoying some tacit ‘in joke’ that the sky and I have going on.
People must think I’ve got a screw loose.
January 2008
0 posts
Feste
This love is a pantomime
and I,
the Dame
This love is a court
and I,
The fool
Notes on a visit to Ma's autistic unit at Glebe...
Class 4b
Through the rattlesnake chains of high-bolted gates down sneaker-squeaking spinach-stinking bleach-thick halls that shudder with the forty watt dance,
Past floorwards falling photographs Potato prints and personal bests, Past-masters and medals, coat hooks, gymn shoes, name tags lunch bags and cupboards full of the confiscated,
Past every second-on-the-left in yellow-smelling rooms...
December 2007
3 posts
Coverdale
Once I walked the Cover from the Cover bridge up stream.
We were a small party spread along a path, each keeping our own route,
each trusting a different foothold.
There were leaves enough to be buried in .
To be taken back in for a time – shut down, switch off. We are not such strangers to hibernation.
Note to self
GET THE FUCK OVER IT, BABY
eggshells
I win the tiptoe- trialthalon four years running. In through squeaky doors and windows, reading locks and handles like braille, pressing down the half inch of carpet which rubs like amplified sand-paper in the black silence under the thick bathroom door, whilst others threaten to wake. It’s like an awful game. A newer version of a childhood past-time – don’t wake Dad – he’d pretend to sleep and...
November 2007
2 posts
Heading South from Ripon
On the train ont he way back form Ripon. It’s been one strange weekend. Where do we go from here? Is there beauty in the breakdown? Really? So much gradual self-destruction. This is not what I call ‘keeping the wolf from the door’. Trains. Trains back again. Big long tubes of possibility and reflection. Hindsight. retrospect.
Slut Machine
Leeds station. I sit across from the arcade watching departure boards scrawl orange destinations pass the time.
Cherries, Anchors, Dollars Cherries, Anchors, Dollars Cherries, Anchors, Dollars
Keeping his eyes busy whilst his fingers slip it titbits. loose change Slut machine tarted up taking in gobbling down what a generous lover.
but then I never did hear the sound of floorwards falling...
October 2007
2 posts
grimly predictable
Coffee shop customers are so grimly predictable; they always want coffee
coffee shop rant
Work Shite.
People come here to feed on the unecessary, the luxurious, The emperor’s new clothes. Food with latinate names; Florentines, Campaillou, bruschetta, cheeses from Paris and Calais, walnuts, chocolates, cake made from polenta, latte, mocha, macchiatto.
Bollocks.
It’s the repeatition. Set up, run,run,run, clear down. Same process everyday, getting nowhere, making no significant...
In a mess
How is this all at once insufficient and overwhelming? I had thought that I, at least,was immune. Thought I was invincible.
September 2007
3 posts
Back from the North country, end of the summer
…looking backwards through the fall, I smile, cruelly at my pre-Spetember self and her forgetfulness. How she failed to recognise the nausea, to diagnose the anxiety – the inevitability of a thousand, thousand tiny deaths, predestinate, perenial as grass.Of things put to rest and things new-beginning. Just out of reach. Of iron in the air and a current of blood.
London
Sabres at the ready. …displaying at all times, a fashionable and determined disaffection. A faux world-weariness as transparent in its intention as a sulking child.
December 2004
0 posts
Room with a dead body in it
Because it was drugs-related, because he was still there with his vomit and bottle and socks on, and he hadn’t cleared up the water he had slipped on,
Because it was late and becasue of the tape and the crime scene crew, she and I were not allowed inside
were not allowed to touch or breathe the smell of life just gone
November 2004
1 post
Morning After
I shuffle my feet in the pharmacy queue and clock you slouching over vitamin B. I want to tell you to stand up straight and wish you’d shaved before we came.
While other mothers queue for Calpol and Caniston and poorly tummy tablets I speak in low tones to the great straight-laced. I listen as she reads me my rights, accept pills with nods, facts, shakes and dates.
She scans the shop floor...
September 2004
0 posts
September Song
Gone are the summer’s sudden sandals and the sky holds the promise of rain. Latin looking limbs of trees undress, a slow breeze strip tease to the foriegn-tongued songs of birds.
Let’s you and I go walking see if we can’t find the edge of this place, peer throught the tall grass and see ourselves a year ago.
Here amongst the season’s spread through red-ribbed fallow fields we’ll tread and hold...