Machine Gun Fellatio

I tried to talk to you,

But I can’t get past the weather.

A friend I thought I knew,

Found something somewhere better and here I am. Thinking dark thoughts after an in-sobering dinner. Tired, just tired and the ringing in my ears can’t deafen

The honesty I feel. You shine most brightest. It’s time



To change.

Rattle rattle. My skull, all that recycling out the window. Late night beers, me fears and your tears. Tear, trays, teats, tots, tits and

Low energy. Uncooked blatant tiredness.

How was the thing? Good

How was that other thing? Good.

Ok going back to bed. And that’s why I don’t write this. Call it a

Loss of words; like my “pregnant delusional”… but I feel like we’re NOT the same. We’re drifted. Since then, let’s make this split amicable, easily able to move on- loved and fine as per; no stress, easy, 2 weeks no friends and fine the decision’s made. Being skipped, not a part of it.


Damned soft

Skin sorted and scammed

For scanning and friendship’s sake, my sale of My souls is cheap and nasty as a chap of unwavering stollen. Bread lost if breAd found for dogs. Fuck you, ducking off for a goodnight. Fowl eggs and goose of reason. See how I feel tomorrow. Goodbye this.


When he was 40

Suggested. Te big bash.

Simple single mother, strapped and struggling for cash. Stuart paid. 4 girls. Going back to the Uk (I love the uk). How old was I when I was last there. Running and rubbing the walls or bars. Elbows and knees raw as all hell. On the desk in the hall, hollow, hallowing plays. The moaning flop of it all. Jabbing nonsensically at my parts, heart beating until the cold infiltrated me. Separate. Spraying drool. My spite pooling at the back of my throat. Absent pickup. Rolling eyes.

The pick up was half past four. His voice was fading. Picking up dogs. Rain and snow and sickness. Raining down cum. Blinking eyes, crashing blows. My unfamiliar comrade; ships in the night in record number. Pulling out the cucumber. Spiritual gaze, glazing skin. The glisten of sweat. Rain. Work work work. My mind turned to cigarettes – an old fad. This young man, squirming inside me. Food for thought, perhaps we’ll do this again, hopefully soon my two minute noodle.

Funeral- for my bridesmaids. Busy days. Sport and afternoons to play majong. Cups and cups of this that and the other. I think that will work out. The queen vic?! Stopping for a chat, this and that. My old cat. 3 people, all of this injustice.

Hope. Demon. Love. Chance… I forget the 5th, Justice? ur-words. Original. Prism, light. Direction, colour fashion. Cohesive write up.

Let me

Let me tell you the story of the two lost brothers. Out climbing one day, swimming in the open Ocean, around the bay they would paddle. In, to the rocky points. They’d slice their hands and feet, pushing with the swell of the tide. Sometimes heating against the large two tone faces. Carved from a Millenia of waves. Thumping spray into the now crescent shaped ravine. The two boys would misjudge a few times, trying to climb up and out with the swell of the tide.

Hands gripping with a lost infinity of strength. Sliding release of digits, unthinkable failure of strength. One would grunt and then splash back rejoining the surf. Only occasionally would the giddy thought of blood in the water make them both scrabble, like they were now. Elpi, spiderlike with a determined sorry face made it up the face, quickly at first, only to become considered once the lead was established and he climbed high out of the water with his brother’s dripping and pointed urchin hair. Looking up from ankle height, the latter brother blinked and breathed. Blinked and breathed. Pretending the piano their grandmother owned, was playing in the breeze. Two tone colour as far his eyes could see. Closely followed by the notions of cold and vertigo. Shaking off a shiver he continued to climb.

Neither of them were present that night around the dinner table. Though others were, to comment and feel the space. A rental had opened up next door and some jazz played, perhaps a band of coloured people, the bars were on the same street- so things were always moving. The glowing nights with their golden, browns and red. The household was between the radio music funk house and an abusive couple that never covered their top halves. They could always be seen shouting, him mostly, with straight arm gestures like a salute. Always the blinds were peeled at an angle to look in on. It’s was Like an old black and white film, the actions seemed sped up and overly played out. This would have been before sound, never a peep from her or him could be heard. The lips, manner and gesture was all out of proportion to the noise level. Maybe it was the jazz band or radio next door. Dinner was brightly lit by an 81 candle chandelier. The only piece of decadence the family had ever owned in its long and cultivated history.

The brothers gripped hands, Elpi’s right in his brother’s left. Forearm muscles wormed and sea water mixed with the sweat drawn from their climb. “A 18 meter drop was all”. Thèse are the words that rolled from others lips, as waves do, pushing and pulling at the fragile cargo of the young men. Wrapping them up, chilling and pushing, forearms bold and trembling. A look passed between them, an end to the ebbing, peace. Exhilaration as they jumped. Elpi may have lead, but he felt he jumped higher and now fell behind, slower in falling than his brother. If their arms were wings they would have glid out into the open ocean and careered forever onwards, or at least until they were smout and dashed upon a South American Coastline a full globe away. Elpi blinked and breathed. Soaking in fracture of the moment.

Thé candella that had been lit, so as to reach the chandelier wore its way low. The tide mark of melted wax grew outwards, as the light waned. All four of them had eaten and worried their bellies full. The two brothers hadn’t returned. This marked another year, eight in total since they’d gone and not come home. The stepchildren, grandchildren and friends walked about this, as if on a rug.

All muted, all covering the trap-door into a much darker pool of memory. A fathom of others unthinkable things. Bitter hope’s ‘could have beens’ in the silence. No word from them ever came. No note. The mood was still, as it always was from the date. The date since. Marked by them, and unmarked. The jazz let up, the couple went out or perhaps to bed, and the two-tone family watched as each of the 82 candles melted away, dripping themselves dry.

I should

Mouthing a scowl. Speaking of the “I”.

I really shouldn’t go on… I really can’t. A belly full. Flavour and food- glutting, gluttony; go on. It’s all in retrospect, clinging like a crown to the past. Time hanging around us. Broth, booze and snooze y’a lose.

Liquor toast makes



Made and forget my mail male mate. Porking and turning it all. Over. Fraught with curls and hoping trails. Moving tragic fuming holiday. Estalgia rollicking permanence. Fuck me you strangling gas. No sight- just an invite and hoping for the best. Cover me.


Me up. My love zo zo zo zo zo

Prolong names

Dednal. Ret. Retallion. Bidar. Kinju. Alp. Hustar. Bari. Conder. Ravik. Mallah. Kestook. Byah. Clorid. Njep. Stomell. Floska vallé. Bisken . Holdir. Hajutah. Krhaal. Dempah. Vidd. Xooy. Wermsko. Qootja. Bilk. Moil. Genalm. Pirastus. Fledo. Ghuulmark. Yastislaa. Pidlan. Sperda. Wolt. Linard. Curloy. Pittu. Feenkan. Eear. Maarreh. Jintuul. Kotor. Krittimaast. Lopz. Lodz. Rasprook. Buldigs. Hillmar. Spooldread. Bracker. Tollitant. Strakker. Micher. Warrepern. Mostarian. Qandratta. Idokkar. Xhion. Connv. Sthalabad. Blejasnapadek. Falachoodah. Fippenhalstreng. Crunnel. Steppernesspl.

With heart of red.

her sweet sea swelled.

Rich, fanning – ballooning belled.

Lips and languid looks.

Bright petals, salted anemones

ask for it wrong, so current affairs.

Shrinking away – foiling thoughts –

Past Pulsing hidden species.

Free urchin raged, gasping ragged.

Breathe through a jokers hat:

Tupping all the suits.

Ignore what’s red and black.

No Scottish moon tonight

At centre sun, a heart.

Teeth, tendrils and her petal part.


Threatening. Interlinking overture if the last word.

I said I broke it. You said what.

Starving me.

Unprepared. Washing- wasping sickness. Where humour is the only cure. Driving me silently insane. Great expectations and you’ve nothing to share. No output. The paradox of the thing that makes you beautiful is what makes me hate you. Uncomfort riddles me. Plagued my pauses. Riding for the hills of new dorms. Inexpressive, exhaustive misunderstandings. Cold hands hold it all in. Love, lust and the walk down a lonely path. Splitting me in half and half again. A bitter refrain of timing, energy and options. No changes. Backward steps. Eyebrows and solder come unstuck. Could you be kidding me? Have you really be this, this entire time? I tire. Rolled over on my back. Weak with loss. Refusals and suffusive elongations pedal. No doubles, just surfboard balance and a cup of emptiness. Move on.


I haven’t done anything. Lines- not even stand in line. Fart. Comfort. Sun and droppings. Scatter me and my wife brown, erotic glinting eyes. Euphoric.