Dwarves with Enormous Phalluses

A red light flickers. On and off, on and off. Over and over again into eternity.

What to do? Buckle my shoe. Honey bees float through.

Summer. A mentally disturbed obese woman swats them with her jaundiced toes. Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz.

The severe-looking librarian with the spectacles falls asleep in the corner of the hall, snuggled up to her book. She has a wet dream about being endlessly ravaged by dwarfs with enormous phalluses.

"We are gathered here today, daily beloved"

Ravens croak and float on the wind. She sits in a room, waiting. Nobody appears. She doesn't know how long she's been waiting. Maybe she's already dead.

A little girl in a white petticoat screams. The windows smash.

A blue bird is trapped in the garage. It can't see the glass and keeps banging its beak, over and over and over again.

The Shamanic healers gather underneath the yellow moon for an orgy. They are dressed up as clowns. They shove balloons into every orifice while a wolf howls from inside the tree.

Wouldn't it be awful to die in this wilderness?

I've been walking for ages but I still can't find the snake.

A huntsman spider sits on the toilet seat. Tropical storms rage outside as lightening flashes and rain masturbates furiously against the window, where the morn meets the dew.

Pay back God's things to God, and Caesar's to Caesar. The Whore of Babylon skips through the spring-time field with a large dragon. They ejacualte blood into the mouths of anyone who crosses their way. The Lord floats above the sky, rubbing his hands.

Young virgins tie themselves to trees with barbed wire, legs spread wide, waiting to be ravished.

A demented tranny with blue hair, pink lipstick  and seeping pus-filled sores dances through the forest singing Abba songs. Anifred and Agnetha bare their teeth, gnashing and snarling like dogs. A monkey hops alongs the pebbled beach as a tempest rages. The sky is red and the sun is falling.

The League is only open for elderly gentlemen with long, flowing beards. They gather on a cliff top on the darkest night of the year to sing hymns to Satan. The night is progressing as usual when Madness seeps in from On High and they all start throwing themselves off the cliff, to be dashed against the rocks below.

Their bodies smash into blood, bones and bile. Mermaids resting on the rocks nearby gather around for a feeding frenzy. Scarlet blood drips off their chins under the purple moonlight.

Brown Eyes and Lithium

Purple fills the room. Mustn't look, let's not make it too obvious.

Today's lesson was so boring that someone out on the street started screaming.

Cultural injection. Close my eyes and drift. Forgot where I was.  I was sold on Spain but Japan is calling me. I see myself walking through green mist on a blue morning. Water kisses. A golden temple looms on the left. Insence filters throughout cold marble. A monk sits motionless.

Back in the Ulster Hall the petite conductor whirls her stick like a harpy. A cacaphony of faces bubble under the river bed. It's like thinking you're just one pebble amongst millions and then realising you are the beach, and the sea as well. Where did that come from? Load of old shit.

Red faces browse shelves of books. Coffee floats.

Probably not the best idea, asking if he had gypsy connections. Note to self - think before speak. Banter got tiresome without the anti-depressants. Voices droned on in the background. Flower grew up her arm.

What to talk about though? "Pardon me, but I want you to ride me senseless in front of the slide robes."  Maybe I should take up smoking again.

Try not to look in that direction. What's underneath? Leg shakes frantically.

Wax-covered wine bottles on wooden tables. Faded programmes of long-forgotten acts hang off the wall. A labyrinth of dust, and books. Dream-like twenties swing vibrates out of the transistor.

Try to focus on words.

The old woman overseeing it all is pleasant but faded, peeling off the wall like one of the programmes. She goes out for a smoke and watches the traffic from a haze. Sadness settles like dust.

Ghostly jazz echoes.

The park is dismal, overcast and forgotten, apart from the pretend-punk couple, the beer and the radio.

I see myself in the middle of the grass. Frisbees hover under the sunshine. Summer of love. Pity he turned out to be such a cunt.

Nice to have a body beside you in the bed. Too caught up in my head now. No room. Brown eyes. Must stop harassing the Shaman. But what was the snake? Tired of it all.

Just close my eyes. Lose myself in the music. So detached right now. The movie unravels. Need some hard fucking. Lies. Need a body.

Eyes to get lost in

Hair to ruffle

Arms to spoon

Wake up with someone else. Remind you that the world doesn't exist in your head. Still, second chance. Motion propels ever onwards.

Billie Holiday sings sadly about the moon while Josh pontificates. Jesus Christ give that man some lithium, I think I'm picking up on a theme.

Bisexuals, Bulls, and Roy Orbison

Weak winter sunshine absorbed by a sponge. Busy weekend cafe. Low-level voices click against cutlery. Light gropes through. Yellow glow on checked tables. Prefer it quiet. Fades back to cloud.

Head buzzing a bit. Worth it though. That's what they say, isn't it? Abba spread out to fill the gap.

He loves Geology. It's a new subject.

Pink lips curl slightly. Hair is a raven. Timid girl floats behind her glasses like a bird. Clings to granny like a doll.

The hair and the blood and the breasts. Not wanting to be in your own skin. Puberty waits for no man.

Brief Bohemian Rhapsody interlude. Slight leap of joy inside when song begins. Then all  of a sudden the gong. Nothing really matters, anyone can see. Nothing really matters....too meeee.
Cafe reappears slowly.

That dream about the bull ring. Walked in a side entrance and realised. Running of the bulls a bit evil. Prove your manhood by getting gored. Still, why not apply? Spanish cafes, cobbles, churches, cathedrals. Muy tipico. Ya Ya, Dank.

Table relaxes now the awkward bird girl has left. Glasses steam up with tears as she sits beside the box. Smell of lillies.

...

Derek swayed gently behind his tenth pint. Foggy red-faced head. The sexuality question.

All on a scale, Kinsey, fluid, no one fully this or that. Ya da ya da ya da.

Curious as to why I thought him bisexual. Bit scrawny like but something about him. Don't want to be one of those queers that give us a bad name. Can't be friends with a straight without wanting a piece of their knob.

Always comes up one way or another. But, now there was surprise. I had no idea. Funny drunk face. Highly amused at being in a gay bar. Nice chest. Pretty brown eyes. Question - did the eyes become cute before or after the bi-ness? Maybe I am also a bi.

Couldn't breathe. Faces down on the table. Uncontrollable laughter worth twenty meditation sessions.

More coffee.

Cupping action. Barking up the wrong tree, obviously.

Sticky feet, boke. She had noticed my shoes. Well, nothing wrong with a splash of colour.

Peeling off his tight black boxers. What would it taste like? To put my tongue...

Lights flash. Strobe. All the drunk gays. So predictable. Hideous queens. He didn't get it. Just like a straight person who had got lost. Wonder what his boyfriend was like? Wonder who fucked who?

Burroughs, Beats. Hundreds of cafes in obscure European towns spread out before me.

Drunk hugging with strangers. Bearing life stories as they cleaned the glasses behind the bar. Lights came on. Drunk gays formed a procession out into the night. Straights into hell. Flames sparked and smoked in the corner. I think he preferred her. Maybe he wanted a menage a trois?

...

Love this Roy Orbison song. Makes me want to get up and jump around the room. Nice to go out and not feel like a tag-a-long.

A Sad Parody

You need to get off that mountain. You live down here now.

The ice blue and the sky pink. Moon hung over the high rise. But how did I get here, of all places? The city lights reborn. Yellow cranes. Wing lights flicker, expectant.

Tired of the dark. Breath became mist. Smoke floated through the dark. You could taste it crackling. Comforting somehow, to think of orange flames, gentle sofas and moving images.

That place, exactly the same. Recognised him from school. Had long hair back then. Best to pretend. £3.65 please.

Same boat as I. The mickey mouse course, a sad parody. Tease you with a glimpse and then rip it away again.

Thought I saw the old school librarian walking down the road at lunch. Similar legs.

Another plane. Follow it across the cityscape until it vanishes. Imagine all the people living in the little houses below. They always say you're running away from something. Prefer it if you rot.

Need to let go. That place. Dreamt that Year 8 had bought me a Christmas present, all nicely wrapped. Forgot to open it. Brown paper bag. Wonder who stands in front of them now? I still wake up and think I have to go in.
Can't step out of it any more. Swept along like a piece of wood. Even when I sit there, in front of the candles. Still have to return. Wonder is there a plan or is it all just blind groping? Don't hide your light under a bushel.

Love this song. Forgot how much. Dark, atmospheric, beautiful. Just perfect. Like floating through a dream.
Makes me want to go outside. Breath in the cold winter moonlight bouncing off the roof. So many stars.

Wrapped in cold late at night.

The Mulberry Bush

Altercation on the avenue. Police v Immigrant. They hunt in packs like hyenas. "Go home!" Eyes black. What gives you the right? Maggot in a petri dish.

Who was that on the door? Wasn't even going into shop. Faint trill of recognition. Past.

Hospital gave me a sore head. Yellow paint pealed off the building like a tumor. The smell. Human animal. Naked.

Bit more ordinary with the glasses on. Lights came on behind. City obscured by cloud. Cars, lights. Asleep in the rush hour.

Then the tears. The embrace of two swans on a frozen lake. A life shared. Corridors upon corridors. Expanse of memory. The black and white wedding photo on the mantelpiece.

Nurse! Nurse! Constant, soft like he wasn't sure who was speaking, or why. Blue eyes of life on a body of death. And then the scream. What was he seeing?

Terrifying for reality to be pulled out from beneath your feet like a carpet. The precipice
beckons. Closed over eye in the corner. Some sense of humour. Moments of existence culminate. In what?

Funny to be in this bright coffee shop. All these people. Lips moving. What are they talking about? Do they even know themselves? Some joke alright.

Laughter from down the hallway. Ever step outside. Watch from afar.

I woke up and saw a kestrel perched on the wire. In the kitchen it floated across the field. I see my reflection in the mirror as I write. Green shoes - purple t shirt. Ashtray sits. Buses go past in the darkness. Music jangles irritatingly. What to do?

Here we go round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush. Here we go round the mulberry bush, early in the morning.

The Red King

Expanse of space. Body fell off and truth shone through.
But what to do? Still driving the vehicle. Limited or limitless according to perception. Question of distance.

Open eyes to look around. Trust.

Wind blows. Dark countryside. Down the chimney. Want to go out in it. Wander the country lanes like a spirit. White or black. Funny to see for the first time.

Cars drive past. Fade. Music filters. Neverending corridors. Windows fly open. Music soars on to the moment. White. Majestic. Green eyes glow. Creator exists in a mirror.

The others. Glad to get out. Why destroy? That thing. Middle of room. Greasy hair.

Alice and the red king. Awful to be a character in another person's dream.

Like lying on the water being carried by the waves. If you know that the rocks can't actually dash you into pieces then why fear them?

The Matrix

In the dream city, there was a dream person.

"Everyone thinks they know what's going on, but they don't know anything. Less of all, themselves."

Billie Holiday stares out from behind the fog. So much sadness.

But that old woman with those bright blue eyes. She came to me last night as I was drifting off to sleep. It was like she was alive. Maybe I'll find her some day.

The forest when we all sat around in that circle. It was so alive. The insects, the birds, the smell of the vegetation. The blue sky. I felt like a child. That was real.

But then all this madness. Bombarded with images, filled up with lies. What I'd like to know, is who decides what makes the news? The great cover up.

Cheryl Cole chats to Piers Morgan

Stern but sympathetic he gently probes her with questions about the break up of her marriage. She wipes a tear away, artfully, and the camera goes in for a close up.

We're all morons.

Keep us dumb, feed us lies constantly. Tranquilize ourselves with Eastenders and alcohol. "To view but a small portion, and think that all".

Dreams they can't control. Whole worlds spread out before us.

The guy with the dreads and the baby in the waiting room. Beautiful tatoos all over its head. Aeons of knowledge. The old ones returning. But how could we bear it?  They sink in all around us so that we don't even notice. This world would tear someone like that apart.

Slumped in front of a TV screen, why be alive?

Sometimes walking about the world she want to scream. You're all zombies! Can't you see how stuck you are in this insidious web? How has it got to this?

 Madness is collectively created and shared by millions. Go undercover. Can't watch the news with its hidden agenda. No, better to sit and let this music sweep over me.

Nectar. I want to swim in it, breathe it in . No TV, no newspapers- Just this.

But still, you feel powerless in front of all the rest. The great cover up, the great lie.

 Millions of others sharing this dreamscape. Preparing the way so the world, with its Camerons, and Cowells, and Coles, won't chew them into little pieces and spit them out.

They can't. Not when this music exists. Meet in the aether. Dreamgates. They can't take away the sunrise.

An orange ball rising slowly across the white field. The snow was so pure and crisp. I saw myself in a dream walking towards it.

Fear is their only weapon. Beauty and Love win out every time. Turn off the news. See how they try to fill you up with fear, make you suspicious, uneasy, untrusting. They can't take away the sunrise.

Slipping and sliding over the ice I trekked up through the forest, past the waterfall.