Copyright © Louis Rowe 2014
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COLLECTION OF FLOWING STORIES.
Black sun waiting on the edge
of the pillow on the edge of the Yellow Sun. Silent talking, there are three of
us. We know how to relate without speaking because there is a closer talk
inside a colder sun, an concealed conversation in the blackness of her hair, my
blonde hair zooms round her, like gold gleams that speak too loudly, directed
at the First Sun, without hearing, without wanting to question, I turn the sun
round in my hair and lean towards her, it’s ju that place for quiet women, stone in the
light, strong dark, left out inside, on the edge of the city, under the solar
blue glare of the flashing skyscraper, the black sun in the choking streets,
caged in by millions of miles of steel, in those streets, hair covering her face in
her black luck, morose down-turned mouth.
I want to be him.
I want to be that boy.
I live by the river, behind a forest, so, I
don’t want to keep walking...she has to walk miles in the same lane, built like
a noisy motorway, full of angry people, dangerous men seek out the edge of the
sun and break into the veil of her hair, which is straight down, holding her
moon face in-between, blocking the light, blocking the eyes, shut tight. One
was almost a boy, but his breath was salty, and he laid palms on her skin, and
left something, that she didn’t care about, and I couldn’t wash off her hands.
She didn’t care, out loud, so she slept like a stone, her hair covering her
whole little body, her mind so big, inside so small, and later, she cried,
while the yellow sun began to snore.
I was sure I was enough to reach the sky, be the sky,
envelope the city edge, blast fire lit my hair, the gold reams of steel shone
one way and quickly spoke another way, flashing at light speed towards, then,
turning away and reflecting her, lighting her off the hot metal, flashing,
opposing. Song.
Fire attacks the peaceful. Witch in a man in a black suit
and white. Offensive men, she passes, hands in pockets, wise pout, stone eyes,
waving ebony and deep blue hair, crashing through the wind of the river, no
screams. Kiss bedscreams silent. There’s got to be more of an introduction. A
tale, where something happens. The sun is a bit stupid, but he laughs a lot,
madly they say, no reason to laugh, he points his fingers, he thinks they are
too big, he shoves them, he puts knives in them, he is loud but he rushes away
from a sudden opponent, almost everyone is an opponent, what mad luck, even his
mother, his father, his cousins, he got so much burning suns around him, he
sees the sun cut into the stone, graffiti knives, so he just laughs to please
the quiet. He doesn’t run away from violence it makes him giddy. He could just
see them all turn into the sun, and perhaps they’d be burning. He doesn’t want to
r-----
She doesn’t know what a man is, she keeps the moon
focusing on the ground of the earth, the cement soils, counting little toes in
black, looks up sometimes and whimpers because the sky is being crushed out of
view from the sun, but looking into him, and reflecting his light through
things that burn, the eyes.
There was a film, he said it
to be good, there was a film, wasn’t it the high skies? But what was it? He
laughs at symbols or thorough thought, the thoroughfare of the sun, wins out
anyway, its so big it burns up everything else. Fire was cast down from the sun
and it frightened her. He said, yah, yah and flames fingers that were too keen,
flickered outward, and drank up an ashtray of old cold coffee and old cigarette
ends. He giggled as he spat it out and cast a shadow on the carpet.
She waited so long, she
decided to speak, “wont you please?” He was busy like fire, it always spins and
crackles and persists in frightening endless explosions or meltations of explosion,
crashing and hitting itself, whirling round itself like ten tongues, built with
a wall that can allow nothing else.
He doesn’t want to learn now. He has realised he wants to
know nothing but the moon. It all gathers in one big encyclopaedia of noises,
his head keeps fizzing out, blinded by the screen of brightness, astonished by
the noise coming outwards, looks up over the horizon of the computer screen
edge and sees her sleeping, laying on the light blue duvet, in a round black
circle, he calls her that.
Sam the man. Someone told him about Sam.
She didn’t know that, he was
refusing to go out. He was always calling and chatting strangers, she found
that out. HE left her on the edge, spinning faster with joy, all exclamations,
and loud stamping and drumming of black feet, did he never sleep until the
light went out, and he went bang?
He dragged an arm, wanting to
hold it round that, part. But he shrank back at the countless movement of silent
things formed round the air, sharing two airs, two sets of eyes waiting by
looking, he thought he would see. Two sets shut tight.
HE wanted her to meet the man
that knew about sam. Not that man beneath. The one shifting the air, he
wandered where the breath-woman was, where the wall women could be, the ones that
stood tall, statues cut into her wall, never moving, proud and tall and wise,
guarding them. The walls had a tongue.
He rose off the bed violently and grinned. His dagger cut
his palm as he grinned at the blank wall above her black crown; he cut into the
skin a little circle. She cried, he went to sleep, slowly lifting himself upside-down
back onto the mattress. She didn’t bother to cover herself, in the summer, she
would have burned him, in the winter she would have lived on and on, suddenly
she turned, and her teeth were black, she grew eyes like drops of flame, round
and shot with the edge of the candle flame, pointed at the far ends. Everything
stopped, because he got scared. Something else got them, then. Something bad.
“Oh no.” He said, and his
fire ever, ignored the tell-tale signs of death, and his feet scrambled on the
sheets and he dragged his body towards her. She hissed.
The moon flashed brighter than the sun and said he wasn’t
fire enough to understand how to overcome anything. He just basked in delight,
without knowing what fire was within. Stupid happiness writhing inside, giving
to the outside, burning up lightly what he didn’t want. She had had to fight.
Her light leapt into his face, and he didn’t want, like water in a bowl doesn’t
want like the fire under rolling waves, and thundering rivers, and crashing
waterfalls. He just glimmered, big far out grin, nothing moving within.
She grinned like burning up fire, and he followed her flow
round a tiny flat, and pushed a cigarette into a white bowl, “I don’t’ care if
you want me… “ she snarled. Misery got him.
Misery got me.
He began boiling up, he hadn’t said that! Why say that! Say
what I say, what you should say is what I say!
He had a big free place to roam where the trees hissed
outside, but were better than the voices of people outside and nice to look at.
She was the best to look at, of course, but now she was hissing things…a spent
force, she had said, a quiet dying weeping, weakness under the onslaught of men
and towers buzzing, thundering shit for money, buying for loose pockets,
everything taken up by everyone, give me the little stone, the special one, he
said, I don’t want those people, and…
That it is that, that
keeps trying to buy her must be the Sam, but Sam I supposed to be nice. She is
a bitch the sun said. She was singing now, flowing through the tiny rooms,
without a step, singing and smoking. His face drew back, and he blinked. He
stepped away...started to weep, stayed well away, and then, waited politely. Shouting
inside and hissing. She blinked; His eyes had caught the back of a hand held to
the mouth, that was a cigarette, he said. She blinked. He had frozen her, they
were both expectant, he went to singing very loudly, to step her out of time of
her song. Sorry.
His brain was rushing
with fire, as he lay back, watching the wall above her head. “What do I say
that you know?” she said. He looked down, and turned his face, he had turned
black. Go away. Sorry. She stepped into the bath, pointing her naked toe, and
he ran, ran through the trees, ran to the western edge, and turning back to
her, screamed across the sea and the land. He decided to close his eyes.
Her one, mother was in a state of distress. The sun can’t
fly, she said! Its stuck on a rope round his neck. She held her knee and
screamed at the bath ceiling to tell the moon to leave. The sun went into
shadow, he wanted to sleep. She said, she showed the sun a knee. He in dread.
“What would they say?’ she is busy. Back to the daylight, when we talk, okay?
The mother is in
distress, and now so am I. IM ANGRY THAT THEY LOOK AT ME.
I said something and
she replied, sinking eyes, there’s a black wonder, shielding my speech, closing
down my eyes, don’t want to sleep, got to run into the cupboard, hide….Ha, her
eyes flashed sideways and she said, you are black!
I pressed the pause button, and hovered down into the
mattress and put my eyes into the screen, I waited sometime, hoping she would
leave, and if I could sleep this early. The clouds are passing over the trees
now, so the sunlight seems neutral grey, and no-one sees the moon, unless they
look around for it.
It’s when they light up the bulbs, under the ceilings. They
could go on and on, but the night is for sleeping.
I clouded over immediately and forgot she was there.
----I see a quick vision when I flash my eyes, and it burdens
me, its like I’m not existing anymore. But she stands up without an expression,
lifting up a black towel wrapped to her chest, like a cloak is that okay? I
said then. My flame burst, it was inside, deep in my mind, and it looked form
my eyes, and destroyed itself, I blinked and said, how can something happen?
She mewled; I looked away from the computer and said that’s not okay.
=================
I waited for tomorrow.
When I could forget today. I said I need, no no no, NO! I
mean I need to hear you speak, not now, then, oh what a lot of bother, I can’t
sleep. Goodbye. The mother was burning through all the things that were
coloured black in her room, and disappearing, beside her, I thought, I have to
go. Realize I do what I’m told
‘.
I decide to wear a bit
more black, walk out a bit more, forget her respectfully for a bit.
But, then scanning the
streets, I wonder why I am in so many firemen. I mean, uhm, human men, that
look full of angry weird bunched up muscles perhaps, frightening place. Best to
go back to bed. Wait for that Black Sun to rest on the edge of the window, from
stress of the people under the skyscrapers.
I don’t look for
days, and wait indoors all of the days. I forget what I look like, you know how
that is?
I want the moon to weep
though. And I get angry, because she is not. I want to know exactly what is
happening.
She stands in the middle of the room, with her little bones
sagging, and says, “…this is weird.” She is repeating what I say! That was what
I said about the computer!
I want to be the
biggest sun in the land of suns. My chest rises and burns up, growls from
beneath my ribs.
What is going on,
please miss?
I didn’t eat, and something highly important is
happening, as I avert my eyes from her all the time, and beat a fork against my
wrist, quickly, watching the noodles boil over, become overwhelmed by orange
squid foam. Why look?
“Just look…” I hear whispered,
but I am tired.
So, I say, no. You
understand I said no?
The moon is giggling!?
That is not supposed to be.
I suppose you…”you don’t know what I said.”..."...I don’t know what you
said…”
“You are, er, repeating the
mother? And you have something outside, it is a big thing, and I am watching a
film. It is from your country, specifically a bit further away, but near your
country, Goodbye.”
Going into something we
don’t want. I wonder if the Sam man wants to speak? Some lines are funny but I
have to rewind it, to get the joke, subtitles.
It could burn up everything
around you. I can see shock. We were both in shock, because I didn’t remember
what had happened to make the black hair wilt so, and hide the face so. But I
always remembered, and her body is in spasms, and I am typing, and her body
looks like it has grown longer, and has more things, I mean, she has long legs
and arms, she looks like an old lady, she has nice long veins peeking out of
her skin and they are purple like old ladies, nice.
“I’m, sorry, but it got me
too…” No words, shaking I suppose, I suppose that hand is getting bigger and
bigger, taut with muscles and long purple veins, getting whiter. The bed turned
the other way against the window, and it looks like a bigger bed for a small
body, but her body looks bigger, blue black and white, in the cloud by the
window. Neutral times outside under the clouds.
The film has a life more
than our life, but I cannot turn it off, I can turn away from her, but I don’t
blink from the screen. What will happen? I say. As I say so, her face is
crashing into the blue curtain at the edge of her the window, she looks like a
stick insect, her face is jutting outwards from her neck, she is fanning her
long bony fingers, and gasping, but her head looks like it is biting at the
blue cloth, back and forth. Sorry, I say.
“Don’t… do something, “ she
says, but I went back to a place where I stare at the mattress, where it has
got rid of the white sheet, and I have a cigarette there. She has a long chin,
she has frozen in the midst of a spasm, I say move that hand, it is fanned and
frozen.
I turn a bit on the
mattress but keep the computer on my lap, I think roll to the bed, and help
her. I pause, and look, but she has somehow turned off what I am trying to
looks at.
Sorry, I mutter, and type
faster to someone below the world of life, buried in the code, on a blue and
white screen, I have to you know. I have to be. I hurt, but the girl, hears me
leap all the way in, and she has an open black bony mouth, and strong stretched
chin, a large head, she has turned white, the hair has turned, white, she is
across the bed now and trying to lay back on the pillow.
DO I kiss?
-
Sorry I say. There is too
much shock to speak. Lets just both sleep.
“All this shite, in,
morons…” I mutter.
An error has occurred I
say. There was nothing for the film, but there’s nothing for me, so. SLEEP.
“You don’t want a computer
do you? I am typing…My fire behind the eyes has come back! I know water though!
“I love you…” She rests…”But, the mother…” “She is dead.” She says, hand
slowly, like a flower of rock, closing. OK, I say. Go then.
I hear Sam, briefly, right
beside me in the wall, where the toilet is I say, and say “Oh.” That is why.
Oh, no, we can’t call each
other.
Come here, I say, and hold
my arms up, skin turned black, I heard Sam, come here. I am still not sure. I
say the plan, put it down.
OK. Call that motherthough, incase.
OK. Call that mother
Laid across my bed, burnt up arms, waiting for the
water to come down from the ceiling and cool the fire in me off. It is all
there, as it is, fire is pure, my body must be less so, I rock on my back, arms
stretched out burning until even the bones are black.
There’s
an interval for her, a long time of waiting, caught somewhere in the mattress
watching me fighting a fire we cant see, don’t understand, don’t want, cant get
rid of.
I say. Go, go. And scream without letting her hear me,
by choking it up inside my throat.
Ching
chub=girl lovers tease
There is no way to express my horror; she mustn’t get
scared too, what is happening to us? IS anything happening to you?
There is nothing so go away, that is safe for you if
you go away. There cant be any fire near the moon. She just thought it was a
kiss, not someone who is dying, there is no fire, you want it? Help! Help! I
give up she said, and rolled off the bed.
PART 2
I keep taking shots of her skin, as I want it in
close-up. Like polaroids, that I can glance at quickly, say no, and then set a
flame up, and disappear them, disappear as take them out of my eye, and never
chance to put them in my mind. the skin, making metallic glints as the arm
moves.
I just wonder what it looks like. The rolling ball
light that turns along the arm, looked in it is like a white, I say, it is a so
weird colour I want to like.
Let
me not tell you. Let me look. Do that, do that, I say lifting the arm up and
down like it is a paper arm.
You can go outside now. Into the street.
There were signs on the table that is my bed; it is a
station, becoming full of neglect, where I conduct business and relationships.
So, there when I stood up at breakfast, where the hint of my life, blue Walkman
and teeth earphones in pink, and a lighter that must have been under my body
all night, and the sheet hanging off the edge.
I had to know what each object, what, they were
saying. I leant against the door, and then did my bending, reaching toes,
lifting legs and holding them on the door. I thought I needed to go back to the
door, but I had to meet her, not network, for work. Meet and talk about the table
I live in a bizarre piece of mind, that has created a sub-culture for two, so
despite never seeing, anything at all, I walked to her land, and took up what I
know, to make it mine, the place across the water, my edge of the room, where
there are suns in one. Place for one sun together, the Main one we watch him
the Sun, and surrounded by walls, the day-glow sun, and the moon everywhere,
all over the walls, all a part of card and paint and steel brackets underneath,
and wallpaper. I moved the earphones, that was a mistake, to disappear into
music, you cannot do that. A link between us comes first, so, go away!
We are making a world I said, covered and ruled by the
sun. Grateful, basking bodies, in the sun. Mine…
I had a visitor, but my door was closed. It is a box;
I can close off the light from everywhere else.
I wonder what a difference makes? What an individual makes for the rest
of them, you can be you, I know, in a closed off room. I tell the moon to lie low, and get back to
work. Then, there is a fire in the
night, tugging at her, clasping the covers like a body, one way the next.
Unable to find her though.
A lot of lack, brings a lot of shine. It forces you to
want to shine higher, further, than, the little men of the little world
outside. I didn’t care for leaving my room. How could you get this life
anywhere else? Ghosts don’t cooperate, with low-rate life such as shopping, or
working. Computer working. I’m the one to leave, though, give space.
Food is horrible. Food is like something so dead, that
I can't look at it, and do not want to eat. A rose gets stuck into where it is,
non-moving, never able to lift up and move on, but it looks full of hope and
glory. Some are pink, some are yellow. We would have sprayed all the flowers
black.
My block room is the best room, because her’s doesn’t
have emptiness, It has big steel beams running across the ceiling and walls,
she has smog outside a window, hit straight against another metal block, it has
messiness, poor mess, breaking furniture and rotten sinks. It has a pale light
walking between small barriers, don’t some too much; it will clog more of the
light and might catch up the curtains and set you alight.
I start weeping, unexpectedly. I look at her, she is a
dead drone walking slowly, and pining for something, that is called: the
Something Else.
We are blocked in by a yawn. But it isn’t us. We wait
for it to leave, perking up our ears, wondering where it will go next. WE don’t
react. WE don’t want it to know, anything. I wont let the fire into her room.
So, I get back to work. I am so ugly, suddenly. I look up, lift my brows before
the screen, and say I am so ugly. And, I wonder without closing the book. Why
tell you, I am ugly.
HER:
Cut back to me, I want to be told. I want to be God. I
want you to weep.
You are weird-looking because you are me, I do have
another, we are three. That other?
I wonder….(?)
.
I I think I spilled my drink, but I
couldn’t understand where the spillage was, so I wasn’t supposed to get angry,
so I downed the last of the drink, and said I want more, I want more, go away,
leave the door.
3rd:
I know how to blast away the head. The one innocently sailing
the waves of the streets, walking, in conversation with friends, admitting no
other, no one like me, until I stare in and take in, take one innocent in, and
say what is dead, and the head cracks, a lava rip down the line of the
individuals face. A fire-mountain crack down the middle of the head, where they
begin to hear my weeping insanities, and flow towards my place of everything
knowing there is nothing, and a secret so, I can’t tell you now, because I
didn’t mean to kill.
She cracks, her fingers splay like wooden petals of
hand-fans, hard and bony, it means she is remembering. I sigh, then, I glare
over at her space, without looking, I throw a deep, thick emptiness of thought,
coming close to hate, that apathetic idea, torn between, the idea of doing
something when wanting to say nothing, do nothing, over the edge into a pure fine
steel piercing hate. Because I can. I don’t want to most times, but I do when I
can.
Then, you anger me cos you say something you were not
meant to say to me, it was stupid, and I had no reply, well, I huffed and
stared long into the near distance, the place where all the things happen,
boxed up and mixed and listed and arranged in a white box, I am without seeing
it at all.
There is no effect on the Sun, but when it screams the
moon has to stay there to listen.
Latent heat.
I’m sinking beneath the earth, now slowly in my head
which is still up above, hanging there alone, but fast like the vital organs
are screaming, the bile is spinning round and leaking so I’m folding, down,
down…
Lets be good I say, so I go to silence. That ignores
the pain, somewhere I’m rising and lighting, but I have to do so quietly until
the whole place is white.
She
didn’t know what happened, she just died.
She just died.
I decided to go outside
I have a plastic bag between my fingers, come back, I
have a bag so light I wonder why I am weak, I couldn’t have anything heavier, a
girl gets heavier, she is on the side of a bus, hefting a huge round terracotta
lump with sharp ropes wrapped round it.
She is screaming.
I am not.
I have bad ears. They have lots. They must have eyes
too, because to see her is the reason for eyes. The look of her, complete, body
of blue shadow, and white covered by brushstrokes of black hair, painted
lightly against the wall.
That screaming, sear my ears, so I sit there staring
at a video, wondering why I am sitting here, bleeding in both ears and hoping
the video will be so loud it will sound and look like I am not even there.
I’m swinging a rope, towards her, that I hold, and she
doesn’t. I’ve almost just gone, but she is always on my mind.
Why I’ve used that rope to tie me to all-important things
that I ignore, letting, whetting, getting on with work.
I’m tied in by the rope.
Did it just get you by?
I’ve got lots to do I am supposed to be so busy. You
are supposed to be sleeping and waiting for me, just me.
What is there?
There are good rooms, mine is becoming like a bad
room. We should join rooms. I am still not speaking to her, or listening, I
just say. Without feeling I say, I ma waiting, keeping her here, repelling her
back there. When she turns she wants to look unattached to the depth of the
water beneath the moon, like a person with a body, not a moon fallen to the
ground, sleeping for the things she made.
The backdrop to a wilting pale light, misplaced, pulled down to the
magnetic structures under the floor. Its been very getting me.
It would be good to let her
do something. Lay back there on the bed, and go to sleep. Don’t watch me
working. Don’t speak.
That is thing is killing my Time, there will be an end of
the thing, and no more names for the thing, just a no,
Not because a gate-crasher is never a friend, he gets
me to get my party which is my throne of ideas and my own selection of music
and my old friends, so a new person, you are the slimey coffee stains hanging
on my wallpaper, not to be seen, except I can see them and don’t want them but
I have too much time to change them.
Day 4;
Blackened. By their intellect, by a small room called
poverty, and class deceased, discredited by someone just poking their toes in
and expecting some high regard through low lament, An insincere, or worse it
was sincere! But it was stupid and rather cool, so cool, not to me; something
bites at my tongue and my teeth flare, pieces of two small tools at the icon
with no no.
A no no nu no, a video. I stepped on the box and
slammed my foot, to crush it, but my foot bounced back as it grinned at me, the
screen of the kid on the screen, shrieked at me, and I found my own foot
screaming sore, and for weeks later it was like the tendons were ripped or
twisted round. SO don’t move, as long as you don’t move, you have the work
game. Where you get killed at level 1.
Don’t let me go outside again, but don’t bring a
chaperone, if you think I can go out again but not alone.
There were breaks between periods of hate, little
mouse hiding in the walls.
Then they got me with dyed red, as the band played
round the maypole the girl go, the boy, likes it with joy. They put the cement
over the festival, disregard, not me in the community. Good show, good
show. They sell cosmic cola in the
bright sell; they have no more additives of neon juice, just lots of vitamins.
She gone madly, she has sailed across the sea for all I know.
Do you know what cherry is? It’s the sharpest
intellect, it fizzes crossly like an old woman, but it sharpens senses. Ask me some questions now, on cherry paper,
sign the rice, with a flick gun of black ink. Gate…flew off the margin, and she
get ready, just you, kill the giant, the grey flu, of the guy just getting
hurry link me to rare big hit, just get the you in kill, mine, they kill, pop!
Pop.
Give heat, just ready; get the huge the mighty just,
fit huge.
Why call him? Sam…
She stretched out her face like a shark about to hit
you and eat you, and giggled and kissed pecked the pillow. The more they rose,
the more I scarred.
Joyless rate.
Black hum boon again, the big
boom flew over the me. Guess just as I could guess.
Gave it. Kill…kill the Sam, can’t
you do that, I think he must be bad. The man pretended to hurry to the commute
line, but he was just stepping loosely, hands hanging clipped round his trouser
pockets, had so much to say about sam. He told me. Then, I lost the line. Something
how, the end is near. The company they agreed about, it was a monster. No one
knew Sam was a monster. We, the ghost and the moon and I knew a little.
I went to sleep over the
computer, I stared at nothing on the information screen, and found myself
slowly falling to the right of myself and I closed my eyes.
=====
I slept with you. And you
didn’t see me.
You were meant to see me, but
you were a stick person, with too many stick limbs, head dropping and
dribbling, sleeping I think it is, you were sleeping and hanging off the
computer.
I can be her now.
Which is me not you.
You are like the moon, your
hair is like the moon, your body carries the moon. What a strange skin, it has
sparkles inside. There’s white rice in the skin, you shine in the dark.
It wasn’t that Sam was going
to kill you. It was us. You are fire and I am water. I like that we get dead. I
like you to think. But you just look, and then fall off your chair. I am going
to tell you I have to go to work now, I may be at work for some years. So, I
have to go now.
THE END.
One stepped out.
The next one followed and stepped out.
They stepped out into a War, they didn’t know about, and
suddenly they were stupid corporal, and not-good enough corporal. Two best
friends. They stepped into a lesson on how to step in time. One sank down to
the bloody ground, drinking sand chunks for thirst. Picking finger-by-finger,
as fast as he can, to suck on frozen water-blood lumps of sand. One flicked a
knife, silver blade, which looked at the friend, with a mind of it’s own, it
judged and stared. The band blew the
frame. The barracks patting their heads and ducking as a sand-storm blew down.
There was grit in the teeth for days. The sand sunk and split beneath the
boots, and slipped. One fell down, and looked dead, but he went to sleep where
he could, which was right now, right there, sleep down.
I wanted to
be frank but talking cost because talking wasn’t the problem, the fighting was,
the fighting did it, you could speak in ten tongues and notice more than one
tongue would notice. They went hiking for a long time, with heavy backs. The
sun came down, the black was black.
Don’t step
into War. Watch your luck. Don’t step in. Why did you step in? You could have
walked out.
THE END>
POISON ASYLUM:
I felt it.
I thought I could die,
but when the dawn came down and the crows flew down, I couldn’t die. Then, a
she did, a girl did, a girl close to me because she lived in my bedroom. I got
angry about feeling it. I wonder if I am dead, she said. I spat at her, now, I
know I don’t want to spit because I shouldn’t. And then we all fell down. I
HATE, that I am dead.
I thought she was good
but she kept being horrible. I was even scared. I couldn’t leave because they
knew I wanted to, they made up so many things to prevent me from leaving. Even
using the idea of the law, What is that? I am not trouble. I didn’t meet anyone
scary. I just know.
I get if I’m the
mugshot, I get that I’m the dog. I get that there’s offices to work in, and
office to experience not working in, hospitals are big offices, that’s where
they send me all the time. I may as well work in the fucking place, because I
didn’t choose to go here like their slaves did. Had to...How could have got
locked in for trying to get out.
Someone is really
worried and they called it mental illness, she is crying please because she is
a cute girl. She doesn’t want company with the really ill. Its like they are
evil. She doesn’t understand other people, so many other strangers to try to
understand, and no choice, or picking of who to spend time with.
A GOOD TENT FOR A
GOOD COW.
I got off the boat,
and got in his tent. He looked like he wanted to kiss, and he also looked like
a dirty man from the dead, so why the fuck would it go any further? You may as
well hit me round like your cow. Ten, inject me with a drink just so I can go
to sleep. Under your bloody command. Not…put me to sleep so I can disappear in
your presence without making you suspicious, and get the hell out of you. Ten
days of a tent. Company bad. How could
are think you are a woman type of man?
God…I go out luckily,
a new cowboy picked me up, and threw me over the horse. Good.
75 hours of trains,
not those sort of trains the ones we pay to get onto. Not sorry scary unless
you hate people. Smells and thankfully, they never fart, they use the etiquette
and save it up for home, I think, well, I feel safer and cleaner near girls.
YOU WERE IN PAIN FIRST, TEHN YOU GOT STUCK IN WIH THE MASSES who Had said, it’s
a blind society, I mean a transparent, or rather, an opaque reason that gets
soaked in, having been put between us. We have reserves we share silently, to
keep society together in understanding, for example, not being a coward and not
caring about bodily closeness, unwanted pain of being crushed in with the
masses. Putting up with the train.
Like the girl who
says, do this, and in it flows, and then others realise the same thing, and say
stay with this.
It is worse though; we
have to stay with pain.
What I know is, is
that I am a man that goes to work. I use the train, work is miles away. I say I
like work. I don’t think of anything else. That’s what I say. What I do think and should say, I don’t think
of. I think, I think, that, IM okay. Another good day. I got off the train.
Do you like shopping?
I don’t know the fun about. About it, and about you. IT IS
ME. You and they, are about, Me.
I will tell you. I am
a mad person, that looks at social situations, it has taken me some time to
work out, why I watch society, yet don’t walk in to it.
==
There are hazy political ideas forming in me, I don’t know
what they are yet, what categories they are in, as people came to me relatively
late in life, and told me I had to choose a centre, or a left or right, …
When I was just thinking about what could be better.
And I started to cry one day, when someone accused me of being on one side not her side, and I actually cried in front of her, and shook, and said I don’t know why you said that. I don’t think I think of that topic the same, all the time. I think I have to have thoughts that change, but I keep the ones that are nice, because, now I know, they are my foundation. They are spiritual faiths, but you shook me and I cried, and then you go off to another, with a different view to you, and your stance shakes, lightly, and you say I agree. But you say, I don’t agree, let’s discuss.
That left
me all the way behind. I knew it meant you wanted to snog that one and not me.
My views are changing all the time. Now, I don’t care about you. You made me
cry.
There are millions of systems now, and I am overwhelmed. If
I’m not good enough for the systems, or think I have my own system, another
kicks me all the way down, there are not a few over the many, there are more
and more systems of heights than ever in history, everyone is a genius. All the
geniuses combined, negate me, I give up on little me, drowned by the amount of
people being better than me, so now I am a No-Me, because I didn’t hone me, I
got lost in the sea.
===== A LITTLE MAN FUCKING AROUND, BLIND. GOOD, THEN YOU
WONT CARE ABOUT Dangers TO MANKIND, they come from your own kind. Other kinds.
Unknown kinds now. I want to be a person in a house with a small family. But I
also want to hear you speak.
I want to be your friend; I picked you out of thousands of
photos, perhaps millions of flashing visuals now, after some years. You are the
best. I am writing to you to say, we don’t have to die, we have to get alive.
Have a good day. Be good. You are good. I hope you are okay.
These
tales are chronologically written, and the writer will not edit anything. SO I
put them out according to what was written first, not what I thought was best.
I don’t like it much.
I could bleed like a bird shot down could bleed. Alone an'
quietly. Without waiting for the time of death, religiously, which means I have
to pray for myself, and tell him I am ready, in the first sacred time most
bastards have ever noticed they have to pray because they are, going to die,
and they like being alive so they don’t damn, no way, they will not die, they
want to go on and on. So they pray once.
And those types, the bastards are running after me, those that
are married to the chicken type of bird, clucky and stupid, noisy, all the
time, click cluck click, come back, roaring and thundering across the fields,
interrupted death, and I am burdened by noises. Shoot the cat. Last minute
before death, and it snarls, inserting it's head below the sky, above my face,
and nips at my shoulder, and spikes in and drags me away from the blue sky,
that makes me blink, and I blink at the cats ginger fur, and its stiff running,
and I blur into the dewy grass and the nice soft wet mud, knocking on little
hillocks, ignoring pain, knock knock.
Making her wait in bed forever.
Sometimes she is allowed to peer over my shoulder.
We meet at the same place, always. So many times, I hate the
place, and want to leave her, as I am always in this place.
I must wait for what she waits for. I can’t wait so long, I
make her wait while I wait, because I can’t speak, I don’t like to speak, if I
say something, I don’t like what I say. And, I wont say it, so now we are
waiting forever.
I should just died, I said, she said.
But!
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>to……………..But!
Small.
Her lips were lit like the night-time sleep of roses, “I
whiten the sky with silk…HA! >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>the
soul…….is crying.>>>>>>>>>> there’s a gasp in the
night-time, closed off room spun with smoke of cigarette. My face gets bolder;
I frown at her as I hear the animals outside. The dog said much to me, so did
its other. I frown, set my jaw. And she gasps, three times…
And then I get sad, and close the machine down lightly.
-
I killed the dogs, and frowned at my feet, then I turned my
head like a rock, turned, slowly, searingly heavy, and I frowned at the window,
where the dog bled gases, and died beneath.
The dogs were gathered round my
bed, I lay flat like a royal statue lies above its tomb, arms crossed and
silent. They pulled my duvet, ripped my mattress apart, and then a mass of
furry muscles rushed in, jumping on me. She didn’t know this. It had been
happening each day of my disappearance. Meanwhile, she was walking in squares
up and down her room.
A man that looks like a gnome underneath a hood, walks up
the white painted line after Jay, he is invisible, he is quite a long way
behind. He gets rattled by the rush of a huge lorry speeding by, and steps
left, up the dry grass, on the steep slope.
He can remember someone else’s life. Sam and the moon, and
the others. He has been able to hear his friends for quite a long time. He is
only 5.3 tall. He wanted to be a Disc Jockey, he was small enough to look like
a horse jockey, maybe someone hinted that one day, and he got the wrong idea,
and made high hopes for music rather than pain. He likes the Police.
Jay is like
a fire. Crashing angrily across a dangerous terrain, shrieking at himself. Sam
passes by in the thought of a man on a train. The moon just relaxed.
Jay has spiked long hair and a sharply turned up stubby
nose. Its how he looks down. He feels
blood curdling beneath is skin, and doesn’t feel right. If he looked plainly he
would see they’ve taken him, with all the drugs, and his blood is actually
disappearing, invisibly it goes. It heats the skin and then gets cold as it
goes.
About StonerRock for non-smokers. A vehemently, maybe wise
hate for the memory of Grass. In some worlds a grass is a criminal.
You will get lonely and addicted quickly, if the ones that
orbit run off course and go from your life. You take Weed like food. Ideas stay
inside you, but when you are right, you are scared to be right. Because there
are so many things to think of.
At least
after cutting Stone away, you have something solid and inspiring. So, the
characters smoke, but I don’t smoke anymore. I
didn’t live on a beach under the moonlight, I was in a house. Empty houses are
bad. They leave marks of people that have had to go. But, -music saves us-
(quote)…the path to being sectioned and running away with records of joy. Not
any single memory of being alone. But, good music. Music that hits you off
course, burning down the sun.
So, I’ve
got no cannabis, but miles of that type of music…
Its nice to know it gets fashionable in ready straight
organised ways, from 1967-to 1995-2003-2007-2013…
Kyuss, Orange Goblin, to Samsara Blues Experiment, from Can
and Morgen, and Black Sabbath, and Ultimate Spinach, and mad names, and now, The
Myrrors…Electric Wizard…Egypt…so many more, all on the tube.
And you have a Golden Age now, in 2014, of anything
possible…you can spin out while walking through a hippy-ear film, watching the
extras walking up the road around you…better than being indoors…you’ve got the
history of art and culture from every part of the world to feed you quickly.
Funny, how you have that habit, of living like you still
have nothing. Cutting out food except for cigarettes, coffee and cheese on
toast, out to get some milk, -old habits die hard-
When there was a small box to live in. I have Vertigo, it
was scary to be at the 10th floor of the tower-block, scary to get
into the lift, if there were other people. He didn’t like the gypsies, but he
liked the Kiss (Klimt)…Despite having a turn-table and bugging the neighbours,
the ones who ran the council tower block or something, like security guards,
didn’t do an f-ing thing, when the man upstairs, who was a electrician
actually, I saw him go up the lift past me, the door opened, huge thick black
glasses, under white-white hair, an evil at all costs…when he in fact, left the
television full blast, all hours. Waking up with a rushing loud shouting debate
inside my head. That was about politics.
This is all my little collection of stories lets end it here, and post it up,
until the next experiment…https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B766NjFagblAWjdleWhPZ2dzYmM/edit?usp=sharing
