He is drunk again. I put my arms around him and try to mean it.
These things embed like YouTube clips on loop. In the head before sleep under covers, one-man shivering. In libraries, shops, cafeterias, at bus stops eyesight flitting out of reality; clicking play, again and again, again.
(promise I’m not going to be hiding for long)
Trash - Part One
The fashionistas the trashionistas the pencil lined faked smile assisters the skin-pocked tightened totts the orange-sun-bed-skin-rot the covered up and stripped down the nightmare garish body clowns skele-mums with the double-tucked tums with the lipo, hypo, iron bums. The baby show off pageant wheelers the new-fad diet dealers, the money rich the culture poor the plastic gods of...
Bradley Knox #1
Wendy Cope (semi)famously wrote a series of short poems from the perspective of one Jason Strugnell - a poet she invented. The poem is called Strugnell’s Haiku and can be found here. Anyway, I wanted to do something similar. Here is one from a rugby-player-womanizer, Bradley Knox … I Took some Viagra. Take that, son! Back of the net. Now it won’t go down …
From I Wish I Had A Cat To Meow With Life’s surreal, internet. Very surreal. In the last year everything’s changed for me. A year ago I was shuffling along to poetry events, about to study my second year of Biology at the University of Manchester and hating life because I was unable to write, unable to spend my time doing exactly what I knew I wanted to be doing … without having a chance to....
Take off your socks, pants, clothes. Snuff the lights, close the cupboard door. Lie down between sheet and fold quietly slip, pitter-patter into dream. (I’m currently working on a brief to produce a number of poems based around sleep.)
I Wish I Had A Cat To Go Meow With →
This is my new blog to chit chat and all that about the next year of adventures … the name might change ;).
If I was a vegetable, I’d be a cucumber. All wrapped up in clingfilm, nice hard stick good to have a chomp on raw from the fridge. Sitting on your face I’d unpuff your eyes. Excite you much better than most other guys. I’d be tzatziki, salsa, mayo and more you’d take my juice and smear your pores. Despite all these ideas I’ve been told they’re a fruit. ...
My heart’s fluttery maybe I’m in love! Oh, no. It’s just the coffee.
Moira: He really is very happy lately, you know. Larry: Who? Moira: Jared. Larry: Oh, yeah. Are the antidepressants working then? Moira: Well, I think so. It’s hard to tell sometimes. Larry: How come? Moira: He also keeps on going into the bathroom for a wank with the Cheryl Cole calendar we got him for Christmas. Larry: Ah. Moira: One time he forgot to put it back in his room and...
I Think I'm Going To Have To Fire John
Lisa: I think I’m going to have to fire John. Samantha: Why, what’s happened? Lisa: Um. Samantha: I thought he was fine? Lisa: Well, yeah, he is. Most of the time. Samantha: Most? Lisa: He doesn’t work as hard as everyone else and he might be good at what he does Samantha: But he isn’t consistent? Lisa: It’s not that really, he gets us a lot of work. But...
David: I heard he fucked a pillow once. Joe: Dude, that’s gross. David: Yeah, yeah, really gross. Joe: I just use my hand. David: Me too, most of the time. Joe: Most of the time? David: Well, you know. Joe: No. David: Sometimes you want something more. Joe: What like a Fleshlight? David: No. What? Joe: Fleshlights. They’re like beercans but feel like pussies. David: Oh. I didn’t know that. Joe:...
Quick FYI, I’m not dead and I haven’t run off with the milkman (yet … we don’t have a milkman and the chances of finding a co-operating gentleman in such an adventure are slim but you can dream). I’m busy beavering away at my novel. I’m about to start a masters in creative writing and I’m going to be handing in a 5,000 word chunk of it to be critiqued so...
There were cigarillos in my dad’s bedroom, the one in his childhood home, behind brown Latin books slotted in a crumpling blue box. Tobacco, then, a childhood smell. I would take them out when no one was around and sniff them drag them across my lip. Back in Chorley, far away from Durham, I would buy chocolate ones and try and smoke them to little luck. Once, in the bright of dawn I...
'When A Thief Kisses You, Count Your Teeth'
Take my coat and hang it by the door next to others. Rip my shirt, button by popped button, tie it around your waist. Pick up the little black things and put them in your pocket. Undo my belt, wrench it until the loops split, curl it up. Slide down skinclung trousers. Fumble with my feet and socks. Cut off my boxers. Naked, take in my scent and shy eyes. With a razor shave my hair, brows,...
Hey ... you know that short story? →
Click through to read (and vote) for my short story to win the monthly prize … thank you.