well today was strange i came i saw and i was, who would have ever guessed that that would have been the case, by the case i don’t mean a suitcase, well i could, do i mean a suitcase...yes i do, a suitcase it is then, im thinking of black leather one, not well worn with gold snap lock and the number dial lock, but there is a problem, im also thinking of one of those silver numbers, they remind me of the nineties, but the nineties trying to be the future...just like future ninjas those haphazard bastards covered in deep fried crumbs, do you know why that is? well i’ll tell you once upon a time there was a man, he liked to deep fry things but he didn’t have a deep frier because they weren’t invented yet so he tried to come up with one but nothing he did worked and he had been trying for quite a stab of his lifetime so he decided that to have more time to make a deep frier he would build a time machine, but that didn’t quite work the way he wanted, it would not go to the past it would only go to the future but this did not matter to...what was his name? was it computer love...no...future face...no...it was deep future, future fried, deep face future or future deep face anyone one you prefer (if you don’t like any of them then you could make up your own and insert it here...................................................................................................................................)
now let me just read and fine where we’re up to...here we are, number dial lock...no thats not it...there was a man...no...ah here it is, here it is but this did not matter for everything in the future was deep fried! so he sent anything he could eat (and things that he couldn’t but did try, oh how he did try) to the future where in about eight minutes time it would return to the past deep fried.
now some people think this man, oily face of the future, as some referred to him died of a heart attack because of all the stakes he sent to the future but i like to believe that he died from loneliness.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
the forgetful idleness of my heart
sleep
throwing knives, the metal handle type, at a girl, i throw one; hard enough to circumcise a tree. the dark tip rebounds off her head and into a table. she laughs at my insecurities.
they came to take her. she told me to lock the door, forgetfulness the idleness of the heart. he came bursting in like an eyeball through a sleeve: the hairy wolf.
i was and am him.
waiting at the waters epicentre; on a type rope of wood, laying about with friends. although sharks come intermittently with their tight nit group of innumerable friends: teeth. i gaze about in wonder to the black stump of my arm. don’t worry, don’t have a psychotic episode the world is only made of 70% water and there are so many things that we don’t know of that reside in the depths of its lashing heart.
i will just restart and try again, after fifteen of these similar, regrowth phantom limbs i run to the shore.
why?
after the hairy wolf.
his face: gaunt, porcelain and sharp, like a reincarnated junky, although the person has only ever been born and will only ever be born a junky. sunken eyes, like golf balls that have hit home, cheekbones being the most prominent feature.
he begins to distend and regurgitate.
i do the same, but i have doubt, can i defeat him?
i believe i must have for now i am in the bar.
the wolf is inside, although he has transmogrified to his human form.
i sit he goes.
Where?
the man next to me, dying of the slack jawed alcoholism, that affects us all at one time, but he has been doing it for 40 of his 32 years of life, his teeth have become cigarettes and he talks to me of the philosophies of life, while i listen to the lawnmower in my heart.
he tells me the pain of the wolf.
i sit creasing the paper of my mind into involuntary sculptures of Brassai.
i am thrusted outside.
facing the wolf again.
doubt rises through me like the howling of Dresden.
i can summon this but can i sedate it.
we must fight again and we do.
i end up at home, frothing from the tortures of my now reticent mind.
she is with me and we, i mean, i have locked up.
the forgetful idleness of my heart.
The knife rebounds, table wood.
She is beautiful, shaved scalp, sharp innocent features.
I am done, for the wolf has come back.
I find a gun of acid. I pour the majority of it on the wolf.
Not enough on the innocent beauty.
I have failed and I will be left behind.
throwing knives, the metal handle type, at a girl, i throw one; hard enough to circumcise a tree. the dark tip rebounds off her head and into a table. she laughs at my insecurities.
they came to take her. she told me to lock the door, forgetfulness the idleness of the heart. he came bursting in like an eyeball through a sleeve: the hairy wolf.
i was and am him.
waiting at the waters epicentre; on a type rope of wood, laying about with friends. although sharks come intermittently with their tight nit group of innumerable friends: teeth. i gaze about in wonder to the black stump of my arm. don’t worry, don’t have a psychotic episode the world is only made of 70% water and there are so many things that we don’t know of that reside in the depths of its lashing heart.
i will just restart and try again, after fifteen of these similar, regrowth phantom limbs i run to the shore.
why?
after the hairy wolf.
his face: gaunt, porcelain and sharp, like a reincarnated junky, although the person has only ever been born and will only ever be born a junky. sunken eyes, like golf balls that have hit home, cheekbones being the most prominent feature.
he begins to distend and regurgitate.
i do the same, but i have doubt, can i defeat him?
i believe i must have for now i am in the bar.
the wolf is inside, although he has transmogrified to his human form.
i sit he goes.
Where?
the man next to me, dying of the slack jawed alcoholism, that affects us all at one time, but he has been doing it for 40 of his 32 years of life, his teeth have become cigarettes and he talks to me of the philosophies of life, while i listen to the lawnmower in my heart.
he tells me the pain of the wolf.
i sit creasing the paper of my mind into involuntary sculptures of Brassai.
i am thrusted outside.
facing the wolf again.
doubt rises through me like the howling of Dresden.
i can summon this but can i sedate it.
we must fight again and we do.
i end up at home, frothing from the tortures of my now reticent mind.
she is with me and we, i mean, i have locked up.
the forgetful idleness of my heart.
The knife rebounds, table wood.
She is beautiful, shaved scalp, sharp innocent features.
I am done, for the wolf has come back.
I find a gun of acid. I pour the majority of it on the wolf.
Not enough on the innocent beauty.
I have failed and I will be left behind.
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