Some browse the pregnant for
hours and seventeen years. I got a man like you to steal a photograph from a
dirty little sauce bottle at Floyd’s. Just like you to say whatever you want me
to with fresh air and party parts. This is my valuable time to weigh up the
costs by knickerbockers and let’s say ta to the farthest reaches of Province
Red. I was the golden earring on the Arab that drinks tea for the good of his
roubles. This is a card that wishes to have love like a trainee-in-waiting, a
card that makes naughty movies for adulthood’s exploitation. Follow me to the
right round back, set the magazine free for the centrefold by burning it with
firecrackers and the hedonism of a computer programmer. His brother is a
hacker, his sister a slacker. What did you get for the exit anyway? Was it just
a sign or was it something more substantial? She’s lying by climbing drainpipes
and grabbing better oceanography for the sake of the Mafia and their undulating
love of short fiction and blue Koran suggestibility. This is the shit that gets
me off the tracks, saves me at the station for juncture and giving deliveries
for ponces. Why do you crimes in the light? This is the sample of the hammer
being thrown, being flung across sun tan lotion and people who are out there
for the organisational whipping. This is sadism in its bleakest form with one
heart to do away with and commit fallen policy to communal memory. I am
sheepish, just as sheepish as the porn actor can get when he fancies the porn
actress and just wants to make babies for a living. This crap is canonical to
my timeline, this is the way that my hero becomes a hired gun for the sick joke
of a randy gorilla. Nobody laughs at the telling, nobody pretends to be an
ambush outside the festival of erotica. Streamers make me father, balloons make
her mother. You know her, she is actually your mother or at least could have
been had she not been flown all the way out to Cyprus for a business deal that
went fairly awry. We towelled it down and lived again like apostrophes in
villas, blanking out every siesta. If your memory serves you well then you might
just accrue a polite invitation and a handshake from that Englishman in the Netherlands.
I’m crying. He is crying. I
am living inside a Spanish flat. He was living inside a Spanish flat tyre. A
bald man came and took me away. A bold man comes to take him away from the
equation. I’m a high priestess. He became the highest priest test. The black
cabs will trample me. The black trams with caber farts. I’m a trouble all the
time. He is a curious troublesome twitch in the timeline. She’s with my battle
mace, she couldn’t be a friend, she’s walking on weapons from prehistory. Such
love.
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