Archive for February, 2009

Skeleton Song

I’m a skel­eton breaker I nab the bony bas­tards Snap­ping ‘em clean through Lov­ing the sound of frac­tured pel­vis At 3.15 on a blue death night I’m a skel­eton breaker I’d bleed your pupils clean out If you still had eyes Stick your head here, give me your sock­ets Smash your skull on this breeze block […]

He’s got a screw loose

When my head imploded, it col­lapsed in on itself, slump­ing to half its nor­mal size. It had been young and smooth once, but over the years it had become just one more sag­ging bal­loon, wrinkled and droop­ing at the tail-end of some spoilt child’s birth­day party. My shrunken head slipped fur­ther and fur­ther down into the […]

Writing about writing

Writers’ Bloc is a new site, a fool­ish ven­ture and a pun that seemed like a good idea at the time. Put together by these unre­li­able hands, it’s a place in which, as the title of this post sug­gests, vari­ous people who prob­ably don’t need any more reas­ons to spend time play­ing with words tackle […]

The great provoker

I know it can’t be. And I know it shouldn’t be, will never be, must never be. And I know you shouldn’t be talk­ing to me when you’re noth­ing but an inan­im­ate object. Noth­ing but a mere obelisk of imper­fect glass. And I know that I shouldn’t hear its watery pleas. And I know that […]

Hounded

I have one hun­dred dogs One hun­dred dogs and Twenty-five pieces of meat And no leashes I am doing the equa­tion Mak­ing the math work in my head Simplistic sums are the sum Of all I learnt in school, by rote One car­cass between four dogs Is never going to feed Their empty bel­lies Or their […]

Seven fifty-four six degrees cloudy

Stop right there. Stop whilst I can feel the creep­ing tendrils of new life in my fin­gers, the work­ing week’s first sur­ging and rip­pling in my whitened knuckles. I stop myself. I always do, always. I have to stop myself. I can­not be any other way. If I exist for only one reason, it is […]

Methinks it is like a weasel

She saved me from the labor­at­ory exper­i­ments, she and her black-clad com­rades. I had been test­ing vari­ous brands of eye­liner sev­en­teen times a day, and dur­ing my impris­on­ment at the hands of the cos­met­ics industry, I dis­covered that all eye­liner tastes like wax cray­ons (a product I had tested to destruc­tion, nausea and copi­ous vomiting […]

Face the wall

That’s him. Him. That’s who I want to be today. Him. The one who could punch your lights out, fuck you up and fuck you over. And then fuck right off. Hate on his right knuckles, hate on his left. Bile in his heart, with his blood run­ning poison and his mind run­ning on empty. […]

Ed is dead #3

Fears for miss­ing mar­ket researcher The Isling­ton Local & Her­ald Sunday 1 Feb­ru­ary As a wide­spread search con­tin­ues for Edwin Scara­manga (known as Ed), the Isling­ton man who went miss­ing over a week ago, local police have appealed once again for any inform­a­tion relat­ing to his dis­ap­pear­ance. They have also expressed ser­i­ous con­cerns for his […]