Saturday, 5 June 2010

It could never be denied that she had a swell pussy, I mean, that was just a fact and it couldnae be denied. It couldnae be denied by nae cunt. Fucking senseless trying to deny it. Don't be denied. I mean don't let it be denied. And don't let it be denied. Mmm, let's see what's this pish yer scribbling. You actually write this pish? he queried incredulously.

It was incredibly easy for men to become disheartened and demotivated in various circumstances, that was a sad given. And was he one of these men I mean was he going to succumb to apathy or else a kind of foul, caustic pessimism?

A luscious lassie. A fine female specimen. This is what was required now. One preferably no too daft, likes. The taut flesh of the thighs, hips. This is what he sought, the warmth from, for him to lay his heid against. He imagined the exquisite sigh he might emit in such a scenario.

He was convinced his vodka had been confiscated until he found it amidst the spare blankets and linen stowed beneath his bed and it occurred to him that he had placed it there whilst inebriated. Hidden it. Hidden was the word. So mystery solved! After about a month of mystification, paranoid speculation etcetera.
Ach it was a nice thing to be inebriated it just felt so ach it was shite it was just senseless and a waste, such a waste to stupefy the senses thus.

She is skinny and she wears skinny jeans, I have no idea how old she is. 30? Give or take. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...
He imagined smelling her hair, he imagined taking her from the rear, he imagined various things. He sipped his beer. He was alone in a room. He felt the pressure of his pinkie on the atlas he was leaning on as he wrote this inane pish yer reading now folks.
His question: how was it possible to enter into a mediation without a gaining idea? His answer: Easy as fuck likely, Ah don't know, who gies a fuck? He cackled euphorically, throatily.

The elderly Scottish man's voice issued from the dictation machine somewhat distorted. The young lady listened intently, her lips pursed in concentration. I could feel the humidity on my skin, I could smell the stagnancy of the humidity and the vegetation. An upper storey flat. Grey skies. The elderly man's electronic voice drifting over an empty city. A cool wind, complete desolation. Empty plastic bags drifting into puddles. An intensely melancholy piece of music played on an old piano. We taste the intensity of the jungle. The goose bumps on the young lady's flesh, an exquisite shiver.
The elderly man's cackling voice allows us to imagine him: bunnet; sunglasses; reddened, gnarled face; wild grin
His voice drifts over the city like an electronic wind. The young lady is all set to decode.
She is something of a young, wizened, beatific whore.

The dog is relaxed now. His ear was inside out so I flipped it over for him. His eyelid descends slowly over an upturned eyeball the wet red area showing.

Surreptitiously, that was how he had done it, he was a surreptitious bastard it had to be said. With great care and stealth the bottle was retrieved. He his it near his seat and then went ben the kitchen to pour himself a glass of orange pineapple juice. Returned ben the lounge, added some of the vodka carefully, quietly.

When she told him his face quickly became ashen and it was all he could think to tell her that this would take some getting used to, he repeated it a few times and he knew it wasn't the right thing to say but he couldn't help himself, he just kept repeating it, knowing it was wrong, it was fucking it was like an out of body experience man it was fucking wild.
And now he was on the bus. He felt remote, acutely anguished. He tried to put it out of his head but it would linger at the perimeter of his psyche and he would only think what is it I'm trying to forget and he would instantly remember because he was clinging to this drastic news, clinging to it, trying to resolve it, come to terms with it inside his own noggin. And now he was on the bus, inserting distance between himself and the, the, not the problem, the eh situation, he needed distance and time alone to think and he knew where he was going.

He ordered a bottle of Polish beer and she told him to sit, that she would bring it to him. And he did sit and she did bring it to him and he did imbibe it praise the lord. He loved her. Naw he didnae, he didnae fucking even ken her. But there was something. That ineffable feeling of such potent attraction it was like magnetisation. It was glorious and agonising he wanted to scream and ravish her and protect her so much he almost hated her.
Here she came walking past don't fucking look at her OK a wee glance... He sipped his Polish beer. Christ, such a self-indulgent shit of a man. Useless. Totally fucking hopeless.
Aw here she comes now now here she comes now now here she comes now now mmm mm mm she looks so good mmm mm mm she's made outta wood just look and see
Yeh man. Yeh okay. He didnae realise that in a few weeks he would think of her as a cunt. He didnae realise that in a few weeks time there would be another lassie from eastern Europe, a lassie with pale skin, a lassie whose arm he would wish to bite. He didnae realise much other than the obvious ie. reality is acutely astounding.

She had the wildness, the glint in her eye. The husky voice. The loud manner. Would he be equipped to handle her christ she seemed like she could be quite temperamental. She would seize upon any sign of apathy, weakness, indecisiveness, despondency.
His ex used to become angered if he couldn't decide which pasta sauce to select ot he opted to take a nap circa 7pm. But it was winter and he was feeling lethargic and listening to Dead C. If any of that amounted to an excuse at all. He suspected it didn't.
He enjoyed to listen to some exceptionally strange musics. Sometimes he took cannabis, not often.

The dog was exhausted, as evidenced by its occasional groans, deep breathing... The man also felt a wee bit exhausted but no enough to sleep yet. There was a comfort he felt in nocturnal solitude, scribbling away, as if he was reaching the end of something perhaps. The end of his tether. No, something like that but more of in a positive sense.
He had mixed his beverage strong as if he had something to forget. No he had nothing to forget and no too much to remember. He was just... here.

The gradual imbibing of the bevy, that was the thing, the gradual unfolding of the euphoria. No giddiness, no dizziness, no double vision or slurred speech, no reckless spontaneity or destructiveness, no black holes or erosion of the memory box.

His father in the next room, tucking into cornflakes. The clink of spoon against bowl. It was 12:40am, June the something 2010. It was 4th of June, he was almost certain. Some exquisitely strange musics ie. Vampire Belt. Meditative harshness.
A diet of inebriation and writing he had prescribed himself. Gradual, measured inebriation, none of yer crude stupefaction.

The dog was exhausted, folks. He need to rest his warm black body. This was also something the writer need to do. He [the writer] sought to cuddle him [the dog] except it wasnae a good idea; his weight would crush and disturb the dog from its euphoric slumber. The dog now licking its lips or clicking its teeth or something some saliva sound or -----

He was just... here... just here, man, and he was contemplating obtaining another beverage. It was definitely rather a good idea, for definite.
Memories seeping back: escalators, discount stores, train stations, ancient dreams, ancient mysteries and enigmas. Acutely and eternally fascinating for sure.

Father departs for bed, ascends the stairs to retreat to bed. The dog has been roused, will likely follow. He is panting now, vibrating the couch. Licking his lips, looking around, panting again with something like a grin on his face. The pressure of my pinkie on the atlas as I write, keep writing, keep on
There goes the dog. Ah, he has relocated himself to the floor. Innaresting manoeuvre. No doubt building up to making his way up the stairs to his basket or the bed my brother's bed. I am sleepy and consider whether another beverage is such a sage notion. Perhaps no. Perhaps aye.
Deep breath.
Vampire Belt is bloody fucking good.

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