2p

An ache in the tuppence.

tuppence (two pence piece) is both large and small.
Large coin, small value
meaningful to a child
useful to an adult.

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rolling through the motions

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charming battery

bent sugar

empty word

fat region

giving up

positional descriptions that rely on a reader imagining their own contorted body squeezed into a new straight line.

chat chatter chatted chattering

no reason to continue

no one could read

the end.

————

do think it’s good enough

do think

do

think it’s good enough

think it’s good

think

it’s good enough

it’s good

it is

good enough

good

enough

_______

quiet turning

around the merry go round

scrummy sugar in a bowl

finger licking

more and more

crunchy awareness of lessening volume

more is less

soon gone

empty bowl

full fat fat full belly sore

empty bowl.

—————

fuck at the mercy seat.

The well wishers sat below the skanky statue, all graffitied and buried in pigeon poo.

They hope and prayed for better days as the goat was lifted to be sacrificed.

It was an old tradition.

It followed on from an era long ago. A famine, when a supposed miraculous goat had kept the children of the village well fed and watered through a long miserable time.

To celebrate, bizarrely, they would throw a goat from the church steeple. Or the priest would.

And the crowd, drunken, down below, would fight to catch the flailing beast. Before it splattered, injured, surely dead or dying, into the giddy crowd below.

No sense in this sacrifice. Except that for the cost of the life of one billy goat, the village full of human dwellers, and all their local relatives, and passersby and tourists, all came together in a festival, a feast, a gluttonous bout of revelry. Pissed. shit faced. larva-ed. Belly ached. Vomiting. Shit.

The cost of togetherness is high amongst the humans. Generally they hate one another. Stay well clear. unless a certain level of trust, or interest, is generated through similar, or amusing behaviour.

And togetherness? what then? Well then the continuation of social living. togetherness was safe, is safe. Alone is frightening, dangerous.

It’s the booze and the drugs that enable it. togetherness. If not amongst the women, then definitely amongst the men. They forget. Which is a close rendition of accept. Forget is close, then, to loving. The drunken blood eyed version of loving. the swollen vein. the bulging eyeball. bulging anus. fat tongue. red skin loving.

not all the time though.

I’ve heard there are sober people among us. still heads. quiet thoughts. straight types.

Others, like myself, can’t even cycle straight. We need pain killers to move.

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after forgetting

a soft landing followed the journey, from bed to washbowl.
a landing on pillows strewn around the room
the bathroom
it seemed elegant at the time, he thought days later.

they were sodden, in reality.
brute force had smashed a pipe
and a dozen minds had thought the best course of action,
would be bung with bed linen.

the water was having none of it, of course.
spewing and belching with the abandon of a chimpanzee

chimpanzees, by the look on their faces, seemed to have figured out the true horror of their destiny: the ever gazed upon idiot cousin with no power except to scream and pounce. human folk now carried tazers near them. the chimps learnt fast.

the water burst forth everywhere. all were sodden by its alarm, and slamming of door and running helter-skelter for options ensued. To hide in defeat, with nothing to give to aid the problem, was the recourse of most. It was beyond them. they would not help.

however, gallant and experienced folk, found the stop tap. plaster work was saved. though carpets not.

bit

rotten fruit

alright you miserable looking sod
you piece of meat

a silence dropped and a strawberry fell to the floor

caught again in the vegetable shop
red-handed
the thief stealing fruit.

nothing to say
no words to justify food theft
least of all vegetables
the least profitable yet most essential form of diet.

the fine would be too much
so community service would commence.
‘how will that fill my belly,’ he wondered.

very tired from finding ways to live
that don’t involve hunger.

white

dead to the world

skin lump

a lump of tissue
was found
behind the head
bottom right
of the skull
where the brain, apparently, was growing
at an untold rate of affairs

tumorous bulge
a throb and a ping
with occasional excruciating agony
that would floor him
in a second

he would slap the floor
and moan like an elephant
blacking out
thankfully

inoperable, this lead to death quickly.

an unseemly (due to salivating and vomiting)
yet rapid (weeks rather than months)
way to go

 

[internal link]

data is set…an odd menu

all about
a transfer of knowledge, hidden
in specialisms
transferred across specialisms
a poking out into the thin open air

natives that talk about native knowledge in a native way
can be scorned
as dumb because their voice is not heard therefore they are dumb.

we are dumb, not listening
and having listened
is it possible to throw on the brake completely

why not? brakes are for stopping.

do not fear the screech of brakes, you never start going backwards, which is where the sound is coming from. do not fear the screech of brakes but rather fear not stopping.

the deathly (here we go) drift into smack bang wallop the edge of knowing nothing at all ever again.

the reek of sweat and sex dreams, a cold awakening. washed clean by a splash of hormone from within.

Challenge Yasuní is a fictitiously fabricated reference system on top of a dataset, small, of interviews. It leaps to, from where you came; an idea or something constructed. i.e., the menu system can only be understood by reading.

the urge to be poetic is balanced by intent. i want to; therefore i justify dreaming. a concrete ‘i want’, rallied against a rapturous construction. Both are make believe: the i, which wants, and the i that justifies dreaming.

arrogance faces humility; knowing you are equal and therefore the same.

not a single misdeed is not immediately punished therefore be generous and patient.

data (is) set

sauna

f

es primitivo
nada mas que primitivo
dinosaurios son muertos
tipografia esta temoroso
lleno de miedo hasta el estómago
un golpeteo en la puerta
tembloroso ensangrentado y frio
fria oh ah
en la mitad de la cancha
el campo
la cocina
cocinando
yo

in the middle

 waiting

begun too right again
must aim left
going between the knee
bending over backwards

never really minded much
saw a lot of black woods blue
and strawberry cocktails full of sherbet.

giving all up backwards is a grave thing to do
especially when you’re screwed on that way
normal
the mean
the average
dead set middle
no variation
a wibble and a wobble
moves us the same way again and again.

now going to make believe
can reassure us of one thing
that i am the dreamer

waking up on the other hand
we should try to remember
and try to forget
leaving us nowhere but in the middle