Archive for March, 2009

Three-ring circus

Down on my luck, with a few scrap­ings to my real name and even fewer clip­pings to my vir­tual one, I took myself off to the end of that slow and once grace­ful meander, where the well-heeled lux­uri­ous palaces — built in styles of archi­tec­ture bear­ing their regal inspir­a­tion and car­ry­ing blue plaques pay­ing testament […]

From fecund to feckless

I’ll try and speak and shout and scream above the sirens for you, dearest. Raise my faded energy loss voice and alco­hol addled larynx above the soused spec­tat­ors on the streets out­side and down and dead. So, yes, you should be warned that there’s one stink­ing shit­load of Fri­day night fren­zied fuck­ing and fest­iv­it­ies going […]

The sickly smell of sacrifice

Jesus had been hanging around on the cross for three long days. Frankly, he was get­ting rather tired of it. His arms hurt from all that stretch­ing, the strain was tear­ing them from their sock­ets, and he had bloody great holes in his hands. As for what all this expos­ure to the ele­ments was doing […]

Hoisting my Jolly Roger

If you like mess­ing about in boats, might I recom­mend dress­ing up as a drunken sailor and then drop­ping anchor at Six Sen­tences, where you will find my frig­ate fly­ing its flag of con­veni­ence. Or some­thing. I think that’s one too many dread­ful sea­far­ing puns, so I’ll stop now.

So speaks the voice of experience

Turn left. She is all polite­ness, but laced with the venom of palp­able men­ace. Turn left. Don’t want to. You can’t make me. Turn left. But I prefer the river. You can’t. You can’t go in the river. Why not? I could be quite the most expert of drown­ers. I could suck up city effluent […]

Sounding the life cycle

Stay silent, stay prone Recum­bent, even Under this late-flowering can­opy Dead-headed to pre­vent fur­ther Infest­a­tion, molesta­tion To pro­mote new growth Of tell-tale green shoots Split open, then, to stop the telling Of plants talk­ing back Through mouth­ing leaves Stay silent, stay prone Open to the touch Of these tender traps, if you let them grasp […]

Dead people’s things for sale #3

Dead people’s things for sale #2

Wake me when the world ends

It’s late, and there’s noth­ing hap­pen­ing here. It’s early, so there’s always some­thing hap­pen­ing over there. Send it down the wires into my lap. At the push of a but­ton I can start a chain of events, unfold­ing them in a far-flung corner that could so eas­ily be the next street. All it would take […]

Dead people’s things for sale #1

Something what I wrote (sic)

Hello. If you go to the rather splen­did Cor­duroy Mtn. (they have very aes­thet­ic­ally pleas­ing fonts), you will find some­thing I wrote. It is under my real name, too — a treat for all you stalk­ers. Addi­tional note: cor­duroy is a very pleas­ing mater­ial to stroke one’s hand over whilst touch­ing thighs. Not my own […]

Ed is dead #4

Exhibit ES 240109/TR-pa Tran­script of voice­mail mes­sage left on Ed Scaramanga’s mobile phone: Tues­day 20 Janu­ary 13:47 Hello sonny boy, dad here. Guess you must be in one of your meet­ings. Listen, can you give me a call about your mother’s grave? Was con­tac­ted by the cemetery and some little thugs have been tear­ing up the […]

Somewhere, late afternoon, before sunset

Syn­chron­ise watches. Just nod if you’re syn­chron­ised. Okay. Good. So. I think we could be there by mid­night, if we leave now. I really want to be there by mid­night. Mid­night, there or there­abouts. Depend­ing on where we end up. Yes, I like drain­ing my last drink dry come the witch­ing hour, then fall­ing into […]