recycled

a new sight flying dark grey-blue like the depths of a cold sea...exact like the colour mix on my palette...then the scab of brown-red, discarded soul...Now I could pick up radio-signals.They didn't care that i had cheap metal stuck inside my nose-brain. I said sure but this has been insane before. You must know?? I !! know !!

If you're all sure.

recycle and leave

..I was in glorious sunshine, I slept like a new colour, summer hot, there were colours in the bedroom, I just got a hotel room! A colour adventure, I got a mixture of yellow liquid and crushed pills in a white plastic cup; I was so sun I did what I was told. Because compasses pointed North...I went to the bed. Then I woke up in the morning glory of the sun. My nose ring had slipped out and spread up my nose into my brain in the night.

Recycling

I spin from the window to the cackling women, everyone is smoking. What an odd heave, white doors are all locked. But:

"We are all dead. !!"

One old Viking King, long red and gold beard, fast cigarettes, collection of lighters, tobacco case, filters, all lined together, at the window. A smile for me. A bulk that confines himself in the space. Not wise though, only if wise knows what is so appealing about him to me. The situation, brothers leading a movement, the knowing we share of these latched doors, those with the yes, unaware of making their own mistakes. I can free through in many ways. I'm stitched and wearing something fresh, a blood red velvet suit, a dark brown cord jacket, black cravat. I spend a lot of time, while he spends all time, at the window. He doesn't speak, he winks, and he sees.He looks like he has been stationed at the window by someone unknown. I don't think he ever even smokes. I know he hears me. But he won't talk. I meet him for a whole day."We have died, and this is All Heaven. Save US!"    I said to the King;

A longtime of War. A never-ending battle. And UnwantedÖI have been stationed for months, many more months than i supposed. My record is that I don't shower enough, that I smoke in the rooms, that I don't dress smart enough, I do, I dress cool. Always. Well, the monster remained. New songs come and go, the stereo is an ashtray now, covered in mashed burnt plastic scars, and little dusty cells. Taped three brand new hits on over-used cassette. I was in monster many long. Then booted it, and free. Too many long. Here's how the days went; A little less bully, swearing, and some more help, kindness. Because I could come back with this, and say it's failed, and what could be telling me this? And....? another thing; something is letting men through the day, about every half hour for a few minutes. F****Off, I saw a man, there, I saw three times, someone trying to punch her head, and I've managed to keep them away, and when I get high...nicotine, just go....stop worrying you have to be there, and If I'm saying things like * *** while looking for the dropped needle, then I say, low...sorry....that's a surprise...talking like that, every ten minutes!!

End of The World

==========================

Where has the world gone to?

It is an empty office.

Why am I now a man, a new type of man, where are the men, I am the lost-man, that has no more men. All I am to do, now, is run. All I am now. 

 but run.

 Ferrets, a cruel ferret, a stranger in a , yellow and brown, having spasmodic fits, and twitching mouth, like it wants to get into my trousers only. 

Fright kept with me, it was guiding me, I was through with the office, and I cut holes to go walking through the walls, Can we leave, please? "Could you?" Could you leave that behind. 

I was lost of thought. 

You wanted me to mission. I am running away. You wanted me to overcome something, like your solution was mine. But you are mine, and we had to, run. I am alone. When you were learning I was learning, now I am learning this new world. Because I left both of the worlds.

I know I wanted to jail in the end. To lose her with spite. I wanted a hell to run through her. I threw her away with spite. Then, we were made to run together. Where has her world gone?

 Now, I have come back, okay my dear?.

I turn the corner.

I have broken into a wall.

White wash breeze blocks and office walls, like the office, bland, thin boards and fluorescent lights above me.

State your case! It is around time to guess, night, about 2.20am...I don't have a watch. 

This is an alley.

How could I get to the end of the alley?

Why is this place for me at the end of the world, this alleyway? This small capture, this one trap, high perfect walls on each side, no holes, no turns.

High place.

This is the last place, then, it looks like an office, it has tubes of bright persistent eye burning, headache light hanging over me, it has broken plastic spinners, broken plastic made-up things, to sit on, I sit nowhere. I am walking now, I am walking towards the little tree at the place where all I can see is broken. I'm waiting, breathing sharp ice, my chest lunging up and down hates me, it shows me, it makes me big here, it is an alarm signal. it dangers me. The breathing inside is noisy, stiff, but just too loud and the rhythm of it is like a rattle gun...

"I like a little!"

Banging. Dark blue in the entire place. That is what is. That is the move colour, of the whole night...One colour left, for no-one who could think, a good night for night animals. A good to time to find something to eat.

"I like a little!"

 Black sharp things  crashing in a symphony, exploding from the black rattle tube, lines after lines of poisonous darts, one cut me, it bit my neck. My energy cut out so quickly, and I felt dead as the dart sank like carbon monoxide, like a last breath. She did me with a hit, took all my fruity workaday readiness, cut me down to sink sick with bad blood. Licked all my quickness and made me drop at work, it was at work. I was keen and bright, and the needle hit, and I staggered, and I said, not now! I am working! Now all the stuff's taken me away! You've bitten me, and I was being brighter! So quick it took me.

I sighed, there was a woman with me in the office, and when I got frail, I sighed, and carried on with it all, only a little less able.

All the work had been completed and I just wanted to sleep, but not while I was working! I had three hours left! You pickanenne! I mean, pigama-me-me, I like to play with words, because you get giggly, so I told the workmates, a little pygmy savage has spit a dart of poison in me, I said. A pyga-me-me.

I need to carry on working, I just feel she is a little naughty deadly woman for hitting me.

It was those cigarettes.

.

It was like the last cigarette I took. The last time. I was weak. Like a last cigarette. 

It was going to have me taken, I could feel myself collapsing. But, it wasn't the given idea at the time. All of us smoking then mean't that no more were smokers lying, then. Invincible all those beautiful smokers, agreeing about many things, all the things!! but yearning only for the next one, the cool hit, the smooth tasting, my cry in that place was a cry about physical wealth, waste and waste I said. I felt I was pathetic.

 i knew it would leak all my energy away. I was sighing. I never used to know anger. I went to work.

Do you like taking everything available? You take anything offered. You take waste. I want everything you said. So, so? Take a cigarette.

 No more of all the worlds, here, one blind back-street.

===

Discussion

"What do you ask them for?"

"To see if they will commit suicide."

"So....you are a psychiatrist?"

"NO....I see them. I ask them what they want to die for."

"You date these women."

"I meet them."

"Do you like them? All of them? Or some of them?"

"I like most of them, some I don't call back."

"It's peculiar, that you date so many, one after another."

"This is my special meeting place."

"But never a second date, with just one girl you like most. Always, one after another."

Resistance NOW

The Spy

excerpts.....Nu! What if...

ant.

What I did want, now the mad little blue girl's through with the room. Away. I wanted a type of peace, without people, where i could go away, even from all the Peace-men. Just to find out a way. Never wanted much.

The silence boy, brings a strange kind of peace, while all these big glacial fur-coated large men, chatter and share, smoking and booming discourse upon such fighting, as so and so, and onward fighting, knee fighting, big fighting,..ever-ready control of this type against even bigger controls. Huge men that could brawl in cages, but pick mind, and elucidate minds in jars of thick, slopped, waving whiskey arms.

That stupid adman girl, and my stupid patience.

There's a damn prince hiding there, inside his quiet doe eyes upon paper and song, solitude of the mind, and it overcomes it all, with more quiet, and quiet, and you think he has mind-quiet, and you stare for enough minutes it takes to record that beauty and that chosen hero, but you know, to how to stop with the stare, and let him rule on, pushing minds into each decade, watching the decade after being formed, one point by one point, he places them, round discs, of tiddly winks, on the table next to the jar of sugar, poor-man's toys piled like coins, kept stationed in generation beckoned,generation pushed, and moved by pure angry, silent patience, it makes woman loud and animal-like, they stand at his word, staring like cat-feet, stand screaming for his notice, a recognition of them, and he waits exactly a minute, or exactly for the amount of patience in each new woman, he stares at nowhere, and silences them by pointing out his dark frowns, clean soft coral pink pouts, and pointing long brown eyelashes to floors. He rules them. They know. How do they know? They obey him, every one of them, not because he can speak or is to tell them so, but because they are given understanding, first one of the long day, they turn into spiritual women dropping the war they have been carrying every single day, near every single man. That is Good, he exclaims, that is good. It is swift, concrete ....They stop, and he bows to the respect that stares into him. Unknown by...

I'm in silent too, to forget, what they may have gone for, and what going for that in that way, may have got them?

the vile rate, a ratedness of popularity. Wars against looks. His looks win All things. He wears the looks as he wears silence, no questions about looks. They even stop at that bow, and begin a new form, how a woman would form plans, in the expectation of becoming a man's wife. 

The next wife, even. wife after wife.

 He pats long, thin tanned fingers, upon his little tiddlywinks, plastic discs of different colours, that you flick at a centre spot on the table, trying to hit the mark as much as possible, and to win,  hard things, and nods with eyelashes, his silence is organised into peacetime petitions, all he knows we wait for, all generation awaiting his words. 

Just because to encounter, him, in silence is the best i did want, even, when you are angry for words. Women know what he is immediately, well, some of the wiser women do. 

His silence is like silence even when he speaks, and silence purrs and rolls upon his tongue, in a syrup accent, he says something softly, 

I'm upon that soft word, there are so many rare things. I wait decades, and then keep each rolling syllable, and only our eyes, all our eyes are thrown at him, eyes that get angry at silence, new eyes of anger, turned over to the silence of a better tpe of our companions

We have enough spirit in us, that is what brought us. 

We know that, 

he know as he knows.

=========

He doesn't think about words. He must just be polite, patient, waiting for the special girl, who is always abit overwhelming for that slow, husky breathed lord.

He doesn't think about words. He must just be polite, patient, waiting for the special girl, who is always abit overwhelming for that slow, husky breathed lord.

A subjective tune for a little city generation man respected over all lesser kings, city cryer.

======

 Pretend you know, catch that word of his, that rare expectation, then weep loudly for ways in other men, that have sent you lost for a new song.

 Cry out, with sunk in emotion, wrecking the body and mind, ripping red bolts of fears, and loss in wet tears, at the sight of the dark-haired skinny boy in the corner of the room.

Stressful, wet, sopping fears, packed in for the last decade, attuned to etiquette, forms of speech. Forget how you learnt to speak, and what it did, it was worthless all your life, because a rare thing has happened, he looks slowly, and because there was a word forming from his pouted lips, that said everything every man could have, but wasted in the directions of 

having to just do that, obey this, I mean, wasted my fucking life, upon, greetings, and patterns of excepted languages, unthrilling presentiments, ....the fucking witch in women, that obeys him like obedient wife, murder, every female a wife for a boy.

and it can't be forgotten,

the wise

 but it wont let you have it for too long, the wise in him, the silence comes back, his black eyes knitted. But not in frustration, in complete sleepy understanding of all patterns of people, the stereotyped fit in, and cut out like cardboard

and you fear to send a word back, because all of it has been spoken. SO, leave him at the back of the class, in the corner of the cafe. 

Some woman are shocked at the way they have walked in on him. They are the louder ones.

You have a soldier, in silence.

A forever..