Layers and levels to today’s tragic beginning and its coming close to the end.
“If you say so” – after thought “if you say so”

Watered down wine won’t fix this spell.
Food wont cure this cut,
nor a bath this bruise.
Cold.
I am elevated.
Scraped, clumsily my foot on the stairs.
The bumbling rumble of our hero the professor.
Talking, talking, so much talking.
Head down, face to face, in reassurance and thankyou very muches.

I don’t like this model that we have in place.
I think that the Fido account, the idea of your PAYG system is trash.
What do people actually want.
They want to pay 20 dollars, get a few texts, and a bit of data just in case they are stuck. Hell! Throw in a free call

*CLACK* Fruit flys.
Stunned. Smoted… nah, smeared on the table.
Water and wine.
Fire and brimstone!
“she’s back” Yes yes, that girl we queerly labelled Bianca is back.
The joke of her death falls flatly.
Like so much of this day has for me.

Sport, walking, eating toward nothing.
Sunshine. Indulged like I were a black mark.
Soaking it up, growing hot headed. Under the collar.
Fumes. Fumes from cars, take care. FLAPS.
Bus flaps. bips bizzare.

If she kills you, how are you supposed to get better?
I ask you a question, you answer incorrectly assuming i’ve asked something else.
Which is nice, because that means that SHOULD have been the question that I asked.
Right? Maybe…
So then I let it fall. It bugs me, like a fruit fly. My eyelids clap, for wanton lack of a slapping hand. “did you even fucking listen?” Sorry, did I stutter? Is the fabric between us somehow smudging my content? My smile is a broken down-turned smear of exhaustion with the day, which you have so easily been folded into.
God, put foil on my mind. Let me put on a mask.
Jesus! Ch-Christ. There’s so much to do, thanks for being their Placebo and Coldplay.
Run over by a cyclist.
*shoulda woulda coulda” tends to run through my mind.
Thankfully i’d cast testosterone from my day-plan. I smiled, like Justin Langer when he’d been hit.
And the pasta hits. My stomach again, filling like so. Terrible.
My neck slackens. No bear in its cave to process, reject or use.
Store, as you will.
Go to the store if you please.
Yes yes, the material obsession that is supermarkets.

A huge bottle of Coke has been lumped onto the table.
Law won’t be sleeping tonight is my bet. Straight from the bottle.
This is bad folks, this is turmoil, self destruction, energy, ecstasy of flavours and… My, how jarring would it be to have long hair and cut it all off.
What a change.

I feel like people are making themselves more real in this life of theirs.
Finding out about themselves. I think I want change. I want to see what i’m capable of. Change change change change.
He talked of that settled moment. Disgusting people arm in arm walking past him.
And he laughed, laughed himself sick.
He’s a fiction, so take it with salt. Yes yes yes.
I hear chipmunks and squirrels fighting.
Burp. Knocking. Slopping.

My ankle bled.
I went back to bed.
poor choice of shoes.
No aid or help to muse.
Help i’d welcome refuse.

Aye me what a state.
I got home, then out again.
And was run over ‘sif by fate.
What we my next refrain.
Smiling, moving on-in pain.

So to vent, took me in.
Angry thoughts flew about.
Thinking thoughts of sin.
Thin voice’s screaming shout.
Then on, with stoutful pout.

Home after softly spoken plans.
Saw a friend from the other night.
Found out how it stands.
Then broke away from her sight.
Wondering day’s change might.

But not to be was how.
And I wish and hope and why.
But wonder not human cow.
For this day is your sty.
And more to come, me oh my!

To bath. Rest, read, think.
Dinner time soon I thought.
Out I left. Pruney and pink.
Think I did, as food I sought.
New groceries, plus leftover bought.

And glass!
Fucking glass.
my tooth, my tooth.
And anger flashed in my face.
My minds eye! WHY?!
And my hands were mace.
Hate and concerned flashed.
I wanted nothing more than to dash-
damned it everything.
Spit and spit and spit into bin.
Wash mouth.
These little things.
Mundace conversations and repitition and seeming nowhere progression.
My failed attribution.
Stomach in a knot. And a head full of blood.
Naught else. Pull the handles off tea cups and upturn candles.
This hole in the ground, accommodation.
My basic needs aren’t met. The wheel turns and the ideas blur.
It must. Must must must have been a bad nights sleep.
You can see it on me.
Smell it. The reek. And this music is not so sweet.
Anne-Lise. Thankyou for your music.
You’ve saved me again.
I roll one six for the day.
And cure the sickness.