This is like an online notebook, this stuff is not finished or often even started properly.

The Great Distemper

here be men with heads like lightbulbs
greek tragedy in the cul de sacs
screaming on your mum's doorstep that you are more than the sum of your sins
pretty faces blushed in blood
you pick the glass out of the washing machine filter
every two weeks
the question on everyone's lips
'whose the daddy?'
chips are flying
chips of bricks
chips of shoulder bone
the great distemper.

Flab Of The City Part Two

Flab of the City.

I was trying to decide whether to buy the Swedish bread with holes in it (they reminded me of a rash) when I heard the sound.  It sounded like a bone cracking but I felt no pain and none of my bones appeared to be broken, however I was sure the sound had come from somewhere within my own body.  I couldn’t be sure where exactly - in fact the more I thought about it that was strange in itself, normally my body has a very good sense of it’s own geography, but this cracking sound seemed to come from some undiscovered organ or space, unmistakably internal but not yet mapped.  I bought the bread and paid for my shopping on my visa card and left.

Outside I suddenly felt very faint.  My mind was filled with the most intense confusion, a storm of dislodged thoughts.  I had to sit down on a bench between two red faced tramps.  They passed a can of super strength lager between them and I stared into my bag of shopping and it seemed to me like a infinite pit, bored straight through the middle of the earth itself and out the other side, I felt like I was watching the cosmos and everything in it drip through the bag and pass out the other side into nothingness, an absence, an abscess. 

After a moment of staring into the shopping bag I suddenly realised that I was real.  That I was an adult and that I was terrified of myself and the future and of the creeping terror of the the day to day.   I interrupted the flow of the can between the two tramps and snatched the can draining it’s contents and crumpling it one movement.  Just then a child slipped in a puddle, the fear of death flashed across the mothers face, but the child was fine.  I took some coins out of my pocket and pressed them into the palm of one of the tramps.  

Then I got up on with my life and but the episodes continued regularly, like internal earthquakes, moments of severe reality unfiltered, raw, yet I never deduced a proper reaction to them and in many ways these episodes, these attacks, dictated the flow of my life.  I died never understanding the inside of my own head and never having found that mysterious organ, from which that devil crack originated, I died surrounded by my grandchildren, to all extents and purposes, a happy man.