Tuesday, 28 July 2009

New Poem

Stalled technology
erodes my thoughts

I’m at
the other side

of an infinite ocean
of yearning

which separates us

A cold sun
to gleam
on this ocean


vacant of birds

viewed from an airplane
on another

At 6pm
I hallucinated yr smell
on a mirror
whilst other men
exchanged information,
formed constructs
amid evening & dust

Monday, 27 July 2009

Mature, Lonely, and Out of Control

Juanito's Spanish teacher had fallen in love with him. It was an extremely weird situation. She was a 37 year old married woman, he was a fresh faced man boy of the tender age of 26.
"Juanito!" she summoned him. He was out on the balcony immersing himself in the baking Madrid sun. He entered the cool air conditioned apartment, stroking his enormous bulging phallus.
She lay in repose on the Queen sized bed, nude. He climbed onto the bed, crawled over to her and placed his head between her open legs. Here lay the sublime secret of her cunt. He began lapping at it zealously until his tongue ached. She moaned and twitched and gasped.
After she came he masturbated over her titties.

Her husband eventually found out of course. He came across an utterly filthy text message Juanito had issued to his mature lover. He became so enraged he immediately took out a contract on Juanito's life.
Juanito fled. He had nowhere to go, no money. He spoke no Spanish. He ended up in Berlin park. He got roughed up by some thugs. In a moment of total despair he stripped naked and got into a fountain, immersing himself in the cold water, scooping together handfuls of one and two cent coins. He was apprehended by the police who roughed him up some more then tossed him in a cell.

Juanito was mercilessly bummed by a gaggle of leering idiots whilst in gaol. Afterwards he lay numb and confused, pondering the events that had landed him here. More than anything else he couldnae believe he'd bust a nut in a married woman's ass, in her marital bed nae less!

His lover came to visit him in gaol. She brought him a tin of Cherry Coke, his favourite beverage. He thanked her sincerely.
"There's some real demented pederasts up in this bitch," he informed her.
"They be going buck wild on my young ass," he said, lapsing into black slang for no discernible reason. She told him she regretted the way events had panned out.
"How's the husband?" Juanito inquired.
"Hard to say," she replied. "Last I saw him he was watching our old wedding videos whilst simultaneously crying and masturbating."

So now Juanito had a deep sense of guilt to contend with as well as endless bummings from the surly inmates. It was a situation that could only be described as utterly shit.

Juanito was eventually released. But he still had his lover's husband's hitman to consider.
He hid out on an old ranch in the Spanish countryside. Drank red wine till dawn. Slept during the day. Read philosophy. Affected a pious, sensible demeanour.
He was tracked down after three months and shot in the head.

His funeral was fairly well attended considering he had alienated most of his friends and family during his short hectic life. In keeping with his dying wishes, all funeral attendees were required to participate in a mass orgy whilst Juanito's corpse was lowered into the earth.
Some questioned how a man shot in the head, an abrupt death for sure, could have articulated any kind of dying wish. Others were less skeptical, more enthused at the opportunity to indulge in communal depravity.
Juanito's lover was exempt from the orgy. She poured Cherry Coke on Juanito's grave. Then she shat herself, accidentally.


Thursday, 16 July 2009

Portrait of a Young Man in a Shack Pondering the Complete Absence of Meaning in his Life

It had stopped raining by 2am. The thunder had scared him. He had imagined he felt a tingling, electric currents coursing through his body.
His back was sore and he had an erection. The two aches seemed similar, congruent.
Too much coffee and then the thunder. At one point lightning flashed and he had counted one-two-three before the ominous grumbling thunder had sounded. It had almost been too much, he had almost fled back into the house, fled through the teeming rain, except he hadn't. He had not chose that course of action. No, the plan was to remain here, inside this wooden summerhouse which had just been built. He lay on a fold out bed, one of only two items of furniture contained within the structure. The other was a green sun lounger. The walls and floor were bare.
Electricity. Would it be possible to have electricity in the structure? He had pondered this earlier and then asked his father. His father confirmed that it would. I would have lighting and maybe even a TV.
Swell. Sans the TV. That would be unnecessary. All he would want would be a light, so that he might read books at night.

It was all rather pathetic. Not this. I mean everything else. Everything other than this. It haunted him. The feebleness of the human condition. Maybe not even that. Vague things haunted him. Sentiments, fragments of memories. People he had known, still knew. People he remembered. The weight of these memories like an anchor that kept him grounded, inert. Resigned to this shack.
He would be drunk again before long. He sensed it. And he contemplated what he might do, what course of action he might follow, who he might choose to meet. Which people.
It was impossible to predict.
If there was one thing he had learned in America, one preference he had gleaned, it was that he was quite particular about breast size. Small or large breasts did not attract him. Regular was fine. Somewhat pert. Somewhat firm.
Och, he was awfy depressed these past couple days. Well, mibby no depressed. Just listless. Jet lagged.
He had a situation to contend with, one concerning a certain luscious wee lassie who had taken a shine to him. And he had told her things, with regard to the affection he felt for her, or thought he had felt at that stage. He had now began to question the validity of these feelings, fearing that they were borne of some sort of emotional/romantic boredom or else a reaction to the end of his relationship with another lassie. It was difficult to gauge his own motives and behaviour. He had always struggled with that.
He also encountered difficulty in making plans or any kind of decisions. He thought too much, his palms and feet sweated most of the time. He felt ill at ease in his own flesh.

Sickness, sought

Climbing out
of doors
anxious eyes
follow streets
and other scars
or scared
we follow
disintegrating patterns
and scores kept
are scars
to soothe

American Grin

1. american grin appears
near the beach

2. american grin
at arcades

3. american grin
is all teeth &


The past
me by.
I ate pesto.
I was a pest.

Cryptic Cream # 1

When people begin to reveal themselves to me I hate it. I have tapes I don't listen to, pens I don't use. Except I must use them; I detest waste.
Hangovers are evil. Darkness is nothing special.
I hear my mother's crutches. This pen ruins my mind.

The Violet Skies of Madrid

Her dirty blonde hair. She pushed it away from the back of her neck so he could kiss her in this area.
A plump Labrador plodded into the room and looked at them. Swished its tail.

She got dressed. You look cool he told her. I am cool she said and leaped onto the bed to embrace him. In that moment he adored her completely.

They walked along the street under trees. He looked up and saw maroon leaves against a violet sky. These colours pleased him.
She said: "I like it when you touch me and I don't expect it."

Unfolding fragments of infinity. They lay on the grass in the park as it got dark.
"Do you still like me?" she asked. He assured her that he did.
"You are my edible, rapable, black Scottish man," she told him fondly. She caressed his lips.
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