excerpt in the trash

ONE OF THOSE N=ME

One of those men lit up in neon pink on my girlfriends door. A huge circle burning round its rim, stuck in the door. If I let it in. 

 That man was slobbering on the radio, with each of the dog's devil's.

"Have a good day, today." She shoots off to a guy...

You see, a black car, that kind of devil black, a nice expensive car.

You were jumping around in the living room, leap backwards on the chair, with legs apart and shooting a gun from between the  legs.

I twitched to those maggots, I know. Slow sat the girls. 

The computers were down on all fronts. The devil-light computer.

Sign the paper of the time's room. She did it full. You catch too, she killed, sighed, floated at me, to sit in on the times, It eats, them slow, sat the girls, with maggots in it. I went in to know, and went to it, and down, fending in the dark, I played with the black. I killed, jumped, through this room to another room, a sheepheaded soul.

I looked empty.

=====

But they are anger, and they know who I am. My scares left the bones of men dry, they happened to kill, who I needed, I die, joked the girls, It was them again. Go to the computer alone. Foolishly decrepit, from tails of leftover food, called smoke and ash, down went the signs of the storehouse. I met men that made my bones tremble, clacking and cutting up my soft parts. Fight, got in, and got off. Hot giant light and Hate. The room stamped its feet until it got warm, my feet got sick, and tripped through the mushy mud of hell.

I wouldn't stop, "...until the devil happened." 

She had anger, but I had more than her.

She twitched sometimes. the thunder in them, was no match to mine. Kicking, slow off the horse, I made more and more men angry. They devilled that horse in, when they put leather round it, and metal in its teeth. Empty scares brought many a man down. Girls lightly stamped the ground. A giant warm devil, was it, on and on again, more they talked, they made me sick, and my soul went to tired anger. 

The joked hot room. You foolishly look down on the weakest. 

=The devil took her thunder.

Had I not felt we had died, already, I would have got worse.

So, I left that girl.

. 10 convictions about alcohol, find a woman with hair gold and brown, like old honey beers is getting grey and I'm growing white from the velvety singing of a man in a crooner wearing white long scarf jacket.

 I rum and leave quick, and get back onto train. 

Smokers blonder, jumping and going black, gone, the war-game first, with a tea to pick around the problems in the market.

A quick tree green tea drink, expensive games, wear and check, first, the face lazy and oily, a system time geometric, convictions.

I'm on the old train patter, gaming rides, nowhere to go, somewhere to find. The train pattern stopped still, hours, weeks, gone. Gaming rides instead, black mono, read through and banned...

I pound at my chin, with a thick fist, unpredictable white shit. velvety singing, comes out of the underground door, a big old Irish man, with a clogged up scar, between his eyes.

I walk on.

I find a cocktail floor. Women with extra cosmetics. My long-term night vision, I get a small vodka. My heads proud to be at the party. 

=====(something happen)

The wife cat and the colour bite.

I hand him moods, I am advice like death.

into curse the dead.

He is drinking, catching her then, her, childish was, black-face, turn to the drinking.

==

Oh, killer towels, wrapped round borders like war. Boomerangs, je's my need, because, sick, ham hallway, ruins the sister, the cat's god arm is terrible. insane smoke black my my insane.

Then the dressing gown change.

Money is shooting around It, crying out;

MASTER! MASTER!"

=========

check gaming white static going. It rides computer week's nicoli spots black alone. The pictures first monograph, to the smoker where reading. It pounds with lazy night-vision pounds, weird next, the oil, now my vodka.

I found a jacket,  I am going and gone, my ducks gone , black the  System beers it's

 Around the cosmetic shoulder's of the girl, tea for all or console girls with rum doses.  Home figure am I pick on and in and out, out to 'save the cafe ...

The last college of stars in the market bang and blast.

The last bang.

Church, Some kind of Victorian story, NOt,,, nnn Steampunk

He sat on the aisle seat, and stared towards the altar, he bit his thumb, growling, dragging the newly moulting skin off him, in one piece, with his pointing green teeth. He wept to discover a prayer book, delicately placed on the pew shelf, because the book, the object as it was, was happier than he was, some woman had loved it, and left it letters. He drew back at the arrival of a group bored, or people, because the people were stupid and he wanted to tell them so. He growled at them, he was here on a good reason, he wanted to discuss that reason privately. What were these silly people doing here? Forgetting to wash their hands, and standing all over the floor, in their dirty street shoes. It was his last chance, but he wasn't handling it at all. Why should they have kicked up a such dirty storm in this place, and somehow, leave happily, without nasty consequences of having blindly desecrated the show here, and hurt him, brought on with the silent theatre of freedom, and, their dirt boots  stood all over the altar, making loud shows of delight, the sound of metal scratching with sharp noises against expensive special things, that can feel it, he can feel it, the narrow cuts biting into his skin, making huge, thick burning wounds, turning the blood, shrieking the catch illness into him, a plague up, in burnt and salted flesh, they got hurt for doing a good thing. I don't dare do a good thing, the attention would make me most upset. 

Colour and what has gone , in, dark, long funny.

I've got films and reams of silly boy on this television!

Flying cameras, and spy lights, from broken doors and black windows, filming life around us, observing other life forms;

Next the one where a big man, grabs him and shakes him about violently, throwing him on the floor, and so the camera, films him trying to wake up from a cut up curb, by

And from a jiggling clump he looks mad, he is such a spaceman, and a be never man, and he flew hopefully y, without leave, anything left in a cowboy? What a banana without me, a fool on tape, he'd arch true, whispered a cowboy confused.

I keep going out to the motorway, the junctions, the crossroads, that keep a piece of civilisation, and the bridges. I don't do anything bad. I wait for buses that never come, at strange hours. Always alone. 

 It's sounding, I can see, Hate. Hate a bulldozer, I didn't want to be called anyway, and say I shut down, weapon town for war.

==

Should actually distinguish selfishness in many

In  the pink hour, drunk instruments take their monthly lyrical pill dancing girlfriends. Even the takeaway is empty of women, this time. 2006, summer months, chucked in bracelets as key notes of fifty marriages, barking, wide eyed, technical chemical help. The evening has an accent of semi-consciousness. I want to belt down all comfort, I picked up the street telephone, and whispered it's emergency number to how I love.  Street persuasion waited outside the booth, I told it not to hear me, cos he goes talking his clothes, and I end up on some junction, jaywalking, a stereo hanging out of my pants. I have some drugs, packed up and kept in a bookshelf called old months, crude grey pills rotting inside the book like crude milk, crushed and dampened by the air. I am all alone. 

I'm open line for girls. came on a wonderful, I cant hold out song, I went with a lass thrown at the motorway adverts, the billboards, shook like, they could bring out thunder. I'm in women's nowhere land. Common chaos did another old one.  The last hounding of that other girl, the first one, always the first. So like not the wind, this windy way, the poison on me, pathetic and scanned by a policeman with a red laser gun pointing in my eyes. I got frumped, held by the skin of my shoulder, and directed away from traffic. I ended dribbling, and knocking up the glass window of the Japanese girl. 

played that music black as my head, TV alone. I go dribbling through the night.

It spat on me, I went to rest. This room island, is starting to be over identified and over attacked. Dwell in the island., A MAN ON A PILL DRIVING PAST AT THAT VERY MOMENT. I cleaned up the television with a soap and cloth, it was always buzzing, the screen was best left on, because when it was black, loud voices came through, i went as far from it as possible, took a room somewhere else, but, still, the same voice from the same TV. 

I had been complaining about the scraping of a rat below, the wood boards, where, my lighter had tripped, and burst a wire below, causing a magnetism in the air, I think, shaky electric force all around the room, Impossible to get clean. 

The head man had been pointing at my bed, while I thought it was just nice to sleep. I was submerged like a spindle, pie, and the submarine on course to my bed, rushed in, like zeppelins too because it was so fat. I didn't detect a smell, it crushed my  bones down to light, and ate me all up. I yawned, and went to a sleep. 

See some scream, be so, the noise. Two of these broken reporters, and the workers office, and everywhere spinning, and 12 letters of hope. Doesn't guys eventuation, help singing, that haven't got me happy me, but someone had given me birthday sleep, so sleep well, too. For the day that money went screaming, I may since, and stop. That was the amounts of the letters, flowing like, a tap flowing, switched down, or stopped, the paper comes through the door, beside the column of red fire, stuck in the corner, I am afraid of the fire.

. See some scream, so be the noise. 

The people are angry. Sometimes, they have to be angry, but they don't want to be, 

===

Im just grumbling like the washing machine.

==

The Neighbour

Your waterplants in a singing pocket, were dripping and rotting. My coat left outside, in the summer. The neighbour barked and rolled his g's, whining when it got stuck in its own throat, went on and on, rolls over with his song, and got stuck by the lead tied round the well, and pulled itself, bouncing back and forwards. I threw the last egg at it's head. It went to the toilet.

Her mind was pure, her face was mousy. An ultra mouse, delicate round pale blue eyes, stunned when spoken to and lips parted like quiet. Little representations of different animals. A little of a mouse, and when evening set in and the light faded away into the floor as the darkness stormed down from above, really heavy it seems, when you look at nature from inside a room, in that itchy, pressurising electrical light. She looked like a cat. Well, when she wanted to kiss, she looked like a cat, her eyes closed up and turned black. Her lips said, you are not clever, and when they were trying to tell me that, she waited, her eyes waited for some kind of, rightness, which you would always fail to give, so they got black, smaller and ready to go to sleep. Because; nothing, you said. 

Cat Poem, Novel Excerpt

The over each other squealing prostitutes stopped and followed the neighbours wire. They walked at once, both of them, they go screeching and up to the cats, along the fence. 

The prostitutes followed the cats, at once up and over the neighbours, one of each to the fence over the wire, both to the fence to face each other.

Then squealing they walked, the cats prostitutes screeching, at the other; stopped, and, along the one fence they followed each other's cats. 

They the prostitutes, up over the wire, screeching them both, squealing at the other neighbours who walked to stop.

Outside my fences, next door.

Honeymoon

The moons are for it, and want contact.

Reducing being like the others, crazily found in tomorrow, and they are clean. No keep, and find her tidy. I take forgiving on fully. The last indigenous wedding, in a pond, was, kindness, I went white as sap, bleeding from a tree, I stole the alms, and thought of they and the them as black and turning deciduous, full grown, and stuck rooted to the ground of  adulthood.

I sat in the back of a dark taxi while she eyed the sun visor, applying lip-gloss. Bought steel knickers, my only contact with the others was how to drink, when to drink, to stay in the room that kpet and sold the drink, so it was that, I drank so much, that I was the cause of,  the black murder in the honeymoon. The wife drowned in a monsoon, and I said please, do that.

I stabbed the white plate with a knife, intently, rhythmically, I'm white! hurting my white,she tapped the empty see-through jar with a black straw,slowly, methodically.

I got lost, in drink, for two weeks, and in my hand broke things, ringing a danger period, there were no protein colours, once there were hundreds of celebrations, my doubts are not yours, I said to the bride. She was full of fashionable apologies when I took to the holiday knife, like soap operas. I bought a green t-shirt, with the words; I Stay Here.

I sleep in the oceans actions, back and forth, and dreamy foam sounds. I am greeting the world. Loving has no ground, when accusations are with girls, the bride either crazily stroking my speech, or stoking hearths, went in and stole a bag fold, with love, a card and a card number, bananas chewed and marks on twisted tie dyed T-shirts, floundering in the tide...

Nullified, the fish at the honeymoon, dried and floundered.

=

I am too world. Decide all the make-up and that. 

I left the honeymoon bed, to tie myself up in a sleeping bag. The cigarette bank, and my green card got taken. 

Moon says with twisted hands, 

"Jack's eyes lie, when the cider in him moans and  cry."

I stabbed her white skin with a knife, I killed her. 

I pack up, all Covered in bleach, after the blood, dump my wife in the ocean, write myself a reminder, and wipe the make up off my face.

Much stains are here. I am depressed for one moment. "Few things can survive a black monsoon,\"

My fashionable bag, was actually the world,  the pair of us, due, fully for the ticket back home. 

Stole her body, threw her into ocean, and only bleached the red marks, my green hands spotty, `i have too much, too mcuh bleach. And my nose is dribbling. Drink up my danger, one of the shit periods, there body broken in glass. There on the floor, bottle to mouth, realise a thousand comedy possibilities. 

My maid entertains, i am drunk she is sleeping. I pour your black doubts into the water, ripped and shredded and crimson, I'm not on the  drink. Bring the thoughts we keep here, downstairs in the barroom. 

So, I packed up and left the blood marks in the ocean. The maid won't find out.

i am the Prince Menshikov

i meant

i was a kalashnikov

Poem

I children, dead had turned and looked.

Then Death said, 

I like myself.

Children dead had turned and looked,

painting with wings my purest dead, is is ;

by man's side.

How do you fall in the way i do?

Is it different, a different scene, how can it be a scene, is one is me, and me is three. I am often alone, sometimes i appear to be alone, when I am not.

I don't see much, and I don't like much. 

What did she like?

"who blocked the the toilet."

i did it,i did it, i'll sort it out, sorry.

\What pisses you off when its time to clean the toilet, and you feel like your respect,

is shoved and flushed, and drowned all over it, you look into the white basin, with

two little blackened cheeks, coaled, discovering the ways of mercy in another, who

is just lifting up their voice, with who done its, and you smart in like a gracious

manner and say you will clean it all out, give your all and give it in, but you did it,

and pretending you are helping the house, and in it, in all of it, rent apart, working

for the claimant, like it was the best part of all charity, is part of the house, part of

lies in houses and family shared, you won't tell her you did it, but you will remedy it,

now, yes, now, no objections, stop shouting, listen to the way i'm cleaning, happy,

and duty cleaning,

But especially, if you love the way she is angered, then you bawl, sob, weep loudly,

eyes hurting from the pong and the show of weakness, how all that gristle in you,

fitted the tube, roundly packed pongo, dog's stuff, so you sing reels of mercy for

yourself, and the shock of the shit under the stool, and mop it, half wrist fallen, weak

wrist hushing down digest, picking at the edges, cutting up the spool, make like you

shove it with anger, cut at the full sepia tinged bowl, and formed of chestnuts tissue,

hit it, with respect for the person who found your last, lost, embarrassment trussed

up, with fat, and sweets, sing out the door how you clean it the best, wash the softie,

and stuff it back in the plastic frame cylinder, a pool of bleach mixed with shift tides

of anti-matter, at the bottom. Where goes the sea? Where is the last place

what is at the end? Where do you go there?!!! Pirate and wonder,

pirate on the fair sea, burnt up rats, get you choking and then flee,

whishing washing spins, of fat and dark brown pumice, stone full

like rocket-ship, trussed up pirate, locked together those

vegetables, which are spinning and spinning into the sea of hope,

where do you go there? Where will that be a weapon for me?

Where art thou going? What are you as mine, all that is? That's

got flowing water-spins, and freedom of all seas, it goes like

happy loud song, down into white basins, and bleached water

follow after it, gone. It has me all upon, waters, my red face skin

all bleached and proudly i hang up my tools, the work is done.

"Who blocked the toilet."

It doesn't do enough to make me hate at least. Hasn't she just decided she doesn't love me, but

comes back, erratically, with her army of reasons , which all agree to disobey me.