Wednesday, 18 November 2009

Funny World #13

If I keep traveling West incrementally until I reach minus eleven then walk backwards to zero, I should be exactly where I am now.
I'm starting to grow weary of her French noir stupidity and her insistence on getting a grip on something substantial, like dream-like objectivity. In approximately fifty years time every one I have ever spoken to will fall in love with me.
For all my bravado it is nice to know I still have the capacity to be floored by nothing more than a neon light.
Where are you now little mouse? Where have you taken my gusto?
My shoes are paddles and the neon light dips it's splendor into puddles. It's majesty is swallowed and presented to me on a silver platter.
I walk some more.
My socks are wet, I think about my cold room waiting for me. Shades of grey bottled up in order, light to dark. My cold room used to be blue.
It must be dying. What medicine can you give a room? If only it could see this neon light.
My only regret is that on that night four months ago I didn't offer you my cardigan when you were quite clearly freezing.

The one quarter maltese girl ties a string to the dealer of rumours, and gets dragged into the night by her fingers. She tells me she just wanted a rose on her arm whilst someone passes me a ladybird, all the while reconstructing her image in the belly of my mind. These trinkets keep following me, bad dog.
"You don't talk to your dad?, you're a vegetarian?" yeah of course you are, I could have told you that. Everyone I meet says the same thing.
Last week everyone was called Jake, this week their called Ben. Stop looking at me Sigmund and let me sleep.
I'm deconstructing the ladder and re-writing it on her back. I'll climb it soon when she's sleeping, and slide into her particles.
Her lights are like bullets and yet I still can't find the movement of pen to gratify them, a hopeless affair.
I cant remember walking home and my suitcase is bloated and hopeless. A shock of blonde or a shock of blue? The cigarette ash summersaults to the floor, a poetic reminder that my lungs haven't given up just yet. Where will I find this movement again? The German market?
The white tiger looks majestically, motionless. Maybe not, or yes, probably, the omnipotence is a golden downpour.
Fuck off ladybird, leave me alone. I imagine the robber had a cartoon smile under his scarf, and that all we talked about was food. It wasn't, but at least we talked. I'm so elatable. I'm beginning to see her corrugation pleats like a kitchen knife and a graze to the hip.
Today was a good day.
You're welcome.

If I keep traveling East incrementally until I reach plus twelve then walk backwards to zero, I should be exactly where I am now.
The last time I saw a peacock I ate an octopus out of a tin. Fuck, sometimes you just forget how beautiful peacocks are.
Eye cuddles given to me from a distance and two folds make a zip. "What you thinking about?" I am trying to wrap up the day in a cinnamon cone.
Great apples and sqwiggles tongues inside 2p machines. Let's take this black hole and pass through it infinitely. Dazzling carousel, hello, how are you?
I'm asleep in a cave for two days and can only remember other people's dreams. Is that you Plato? Is that you in the cupboard? I can see your silken shadow? These sheets reveal thoughts and hands overlapping. I can't hear these alarms because my batteries are on the floor under your shirt and the door is whispering when we walk. I'm going to sleep here forever, indulging in the charm of your cave. Just so you know.
Stand on the chair to predict the future and walk backwards towards the present to show you that you're not alone in this. We'll climb these stars in three dimensions.
"Where do go when you die?" You asked.
"New York" I said.
I wish my arms could reach you.
This is everything I can do.
Can you please untie my stomach and soak up some time? A pocket head for my ego, buttoned up so I don't fall out. I'll stay inside my self for now.
Remember when you said "I quite like you."?
We looked at each other and you told me your grandma had died. I told you to describe a white room in three words.
"Pure, peaceful, calming."
I hope that helped. I don't think it did. But I'll pretend if you will.

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