Saturday, 25 September 2010


-You dizzy ya cunt?
He looked sullen, violently morose actually.
-Is that cunt dizzy?
Other voices. He continued to look down, could not look up. Vertigo, existential vertigo, of the most intense variety. Not too palatable, lad.

-Aye, and you're no gay! You're no gay ya cunt!
Exaggerated sarcasm to imply scepticism. The bus sped onwards through the dark night. Knees against plastic, metal. Tension in the calves, flinching as he moved his leg. The awareness of his drunkenness, and his manic grin.

His quiet influence was observed, only he didn't want to acknowledge it, he was reluctant in this regard.

He felt rattled by the rush, man. It wisnae good, no. He shook his head, sighed a wee bit.

Her sagacity went unquestioned, her attitudes and motives were ancient, seemed ancient, and thus seemed time-tested to an unimaginable degree.

-Why have you disappear?
Her question to him. One that required pondering; there was no simple answer. Or else it was obvious but in a really vague, ineffable way, you understand what I mean? I hope you can grasp this.

He had a lassies grinding about on his lap and wouldn't have said he objected to this state of affairs too much. It was rather agreeable in fact, truth be confessed. Oh yeh man, he wis totally getting a semi like, no question about it for fuck sake. Yeh. At this rate he would be spunking in his briechs before too long ya radge.
The lassie grasped the corner of the wall for purchase, she had a blankly feral, erotic glimmer in her eyes he imagined. He groaned and she whimpered in response. It was fairly pathetic. He began to soften.
The music went quieter. Gas flares illuminating the November sky.

Women were perverse; they saw a guy enjoying himself they wanted to stifle him, to shut him down. Merriment was disallowed.

He had to sedate himself in order to engage in various activities.

She mistook glee for an out of body experience, rather frivolously he felt.

Torment, a familiar notion at 4pm. The quiet agony of overcast skies. Incinerators just out of earshot. Welcome home, son.

A vague ennui, no known cure.

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