30-m-finsbury park
retrieved from 2004
jesus ben, i can feel it, but i can feel nothing. My body has gone it’s like I never had one, it’s like you made sure that I never walked or sang or felt the prickly comfort of our last bed. Why why did you have to do this, why end it, what do you get from the end you selfish fuck you just want to see it don’t ya. Scream into the wind that pounds us both as annihilation comes over the hill you can defy it all you like try and stop the unstoppable, but you ain’t an unmovable force, you’ll be like me just a thought just a tiny thought somewhere underground. You arrogant sonofab*tch, want to be the last man standing before the last of man.
Now I can sense you, you’re near me. But I’m not there anymore, it’s the time between cutting the power and the light going out. It’s a different time, the end is slow to the point of eternity. But I’m slipping I’m losing my grip I can see the blankness closing in on me it’s I’m this bubble is shrinking andI’m falling ben, you bastard I’m falling I’m dropping fast it’s coming this is it it’s not cold, there’s nothing on the other side yet I can feel it shatter beneath me pane after pane after pain. My layers stripped off, my memories are breaking up I’m so scared you fuck you did this you fuck you killed us both I’m not ready but it’s coming, long empty tendrils pushing into my into it’s I can’t there’s push but it does no I’mNotes on upcoming projects
Story
Ingrowing hair
Typing 100 fucks
Twice a year
your v neck is too deep, motherfucker
feel the space you’re in
sheeps head
an ocean of vomit
my anxiety
bookmark
I get these telemarketing calls every other day.
coffee and compost
Untitled
“Of nye greater weight, this sadness mine,
As when I ryde the northern lyyne”
C13th English poem, unknown source.
Nuts Monkey
In an accident. You died later that year I held your hand. you pointed and laughed When we saw the monkey’s nuts At the zoo Do you remember
Woomera
Blue Streak, Black Knight. Our father and uncle. As dutiful sons we work shoulder to shoulder, securing the fortunes of our idols. Under burning azure and screaming floodlight, we build a secret love. Those who look up to us for protection are held away by checkpoint and coded transmission. Always at arms length - thriving on our bunker whispers and bar room songs. Like ants, we build both tunnel and hill, our directives innate and inarguable.
Blue Streak and Black Knight. Your beautiful mind, my unquestioning strength. Your celestial Queen, my ancient and pagan Earth. You came as my brother, with your plans and your instruments, to scorch the ground and tear the sky. You called, I came. I moved my world to your dreams and I found you inside, helpless and naked, in tweed and soft leather. I am the rough to your smooth, and together we shall sharpen this arrow. We draw a bow with one hundred and fifty thousand pounds of thrust. We can punch through to heaven, and return with a promise of death. With our fingers we can trace the end of the line, drawn with sharpened pencils locked into bloodless fingers. Yet on these thin white sheets, my own fingers are blackened by the burns of your work.
As you lie with your wife, I carve your calculations out of alloy and fuel. I am the decimal that dances on the edge of your mind while you watch your young son hold a toy to the evening sky. Before you wake, I am stealing the glare from your bright morning sun. You are my Blue Streak. And I am your Black Knight.
Sugar Bay or Sugar Reef or something
On the wall was a large painted picture of monkeys having various kinds of sex in the jungle. It was called ‘the garden of earthly delights’ I think. I drank a beer, chatted with a lifelong friend about how we’re both getting older and neither of us has achieved what we’d hoped to. I noticed that the drinks menu seemed to be purely focused on selling Smirnoff(tm). I had another beer. A Morcheeba remix was playing. We chatted about internet dating. Then I went home.
Forecast
Light rain
Cloudy
Light rain
Heavy rain
Rain
Partly cloudy
Partly cloudy
Rain
Scattered showers
Rain
The Vanishing
a pair of breasts
on a newspaper page
She sees them second
round and young,
staring. She stares back
And he sees her staring
And sees them third
It is his time
But
He vanishes
And I stare too
Because I saw them first.
hair
thoughts drifted into her mind from nowhere. They did not feel like her thoughts. They were too cliched, too repetitive. The same phrases, looping without purpose. Over and over. They were the thoughts of a character in a badly written book. A book written by one of her friends. Ideas of feelings, and bad ones at that. ‘She felt sad’ ‘She felt like her life was lived through a mirror’. Words only. The escalator continued onwards and upwards. The other people looked as she expected them to look. There was a glimmer of hope. The way they were dressed, she could see their pride. The shined shoes. The styled hair. Rituals, probably. The ritual of preparing for the future. The thoughts continued on, filling what would otherwise be a void. The thoughts of the thoughts. She tried to imagine who was thinking the thoughts. Why all these questions? The same questions at the same location at the same time, every day. At 9.10 every day, just before reaching the peak of the escalator, she thought of the blue colour of the wood frame erected around a piece of maintanence. At 9.11 every day, she she thought of how she always thought that.
On the street, the people all walking in the same direction. For a brief few minutes, everybody is going to the same place. They are all moving down the same road. Second by second, they have the same destination - the space directly in front of them. Everybody flying by wire. Flying by wired, she thought, blankly noticing the coffee cup clutched in every hand. A new thought. Not one of hers. Probably something Claire would say. Claire was writing a book once. Then she dropped out, followed her dream, and stopped writing. Is a dream something that should be followed? A dream doesn’t seem like a plan. A woman was walking slower than everybody else. People walked around her. She was a hindrance. She was an obstacle. She waddled slightly. Her hair was not styled neatly. She was holding everybody up - did she know? Was she ashamed at her lack of understanding? Or was she oblivious? Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Fuck her. Everybody hated her. Stupid, and slow.
At work, the doors opened to reveal more doors. It was underwater. All of the sounds were soft and round like underwater sound. She imagined floating up and across the room. She imagined drowning, her body bobbing up against the ceiling. Calm and soft. Two words that sounded good. Calm and soft. Calm and soft. Sound drifted around this office and formed a kind of rhythm. A kind of soup. A thin soup. She remembered a man on the tube who looked alright to begin with, but up close, made her feel sick. His combed hair, the slight dusting of white on his tired suit jacket. Her own hair. She held some of her hair, and pulled it slightly. Other people’s hair sickened her, mostly. The constant shedding. The dropping of decomposing organic matter everywhere. The small white blob of scalp. Hair on clothes. Moulting. Her own hair sickened her sometimes. She should shave it off, like britney.
Two Coppers pt. II
Two coppers in a tank
One turns to the other and says:
“We’re drowning”
