I want to go to bead. Let me. I don't want to talk anymore. I just want to go to bead. Just let me, I am ready. I have always been ready. But been waiting for you to get up and get out. Just let me go to bead. And I won't argue with you anymore. I promise.

I am not crying. Really, I am not crying. These are not tears coming out of my eyes. I am really not crying. So used to crying mutely I can now do it on demand. As a game. No need to worry about acting skills or breathing techniques. Very simple and easy. Practice makes perfect.

Fighting has now become a habit. Now the fighting is a habit. Fighting is now a habit. Nothing to fight about. Just got used to it. It has to happen twice a day, every other day, and three times on Sunday. 

I am not very good of maths, but I can tell that that’s a lot of fighting. I feel so lucky though, to have someone to fight with. Imagine all these other, lonely people, who do they fight with? 

is your plate full at the moment? does your water taste like shit? is your plate full of shit? full of random shit swimming in your plate? does your water exude a smell of shit? how many shit is in your plate at the moment? can you count? can you actually count?

we will keep you for a while until we are ready to get rid of you. just evaluate your options. you may have a bonus next year, so consider staying. be a man and make a clean break. let's take the risk together.

Where is the thermometer, all things missing, where is the thermometer? All things gone, well and truly gone and missing. Did we ever actually have a thermometer? An electronic one, perhaps and yes but not a manual, not the kind you stick in your arse and fart and pray. Where is the thermometer, I am burning. So, this is why I will never break up again. No thermometer and I am burning.

I suppose you know that by now, how heavy the logs are. And how hard to cut them with with no soar. They are long enough to put in the fireplace as long as you can get the right angle. Otherwise they will go inside your mouth and eye and nostril. You need a soar. You know that. But no soar to be seen. It is well gone now. Bring in the logs, the long long logs and stick them up your nose. They will be warm at first then start burning. Then burn your skin for good. Unless of course you have a soar.

I am coming. I am coming. Wait up. Or do not wait. I cannot warm up my hands anymore, there is no time. I am coming. Wait up. No noise from the cutlery please, no noise at all. No cutlery noise please, no crockery sound. All quite now please, just keep quite. Walk softly on your toes, touch the switch with the tip of the finger, remove the towel with one hand and pretend you are washing. The water makes noise too, remember. And when your armpits will smell and you won't be able to stand it anymore, just pretend you press the soap dispenser, no noise, and that you rub in on your skin, no noise, and that the tap is dribbling, no noise at all, and that is it, all washed and ready to go.

So you try to kiss me and there is no tongue but too much saliva, I cannot swallow. I try to swallow but I cannot. There is a vacuum in between our mouths, a vacuum that can never be filled. Although our mouths are touching and I try to swallow there is an endless vacuum and no tongues. Or too small tongues. Or no tongues. Then, I realise. I want nothing tainted anymore in my life. Nothing tainted. All should be pure and white. No past, no presence, no baggage. Especially no baggage. Hand or checked in, it doesn't matter. Neither is good for me. Only pure and white. So, no years on top or under, no years left, no years to wait. No years at all. I cannot wait for any number of years to see what you decide or what will happen. And you never took an interest in my blog in any case. So, pure and white, no tainted stuff, not anymore. No counting down till I can be pregnant or counting up, till you can be pregnant, or counting sideways. No coming to terms with your body, no coming to terms with anything. Still pure and white, like my white fluffy carpet and the pile of sheets you left behind. And never sleep with beardless people.

Κατέβα. Κατέβα. Κατέβα σου λέω. Πιο κάτω. Μα δε σε φτάνω. Πέταξέ μου κάτι τουλάχιστον. Κάτι δικό σου. Να το έχω όταν θα είμαι στο νησί. Κάτι ήθελα να σου γράψω μα το ξέχασα. Α, ναι. Θυμάσαι που σού'χα πει ότι θα σ'ακολουθήσω παντού, όπου κι αν πας, κι ότι θα παρατήσω τη δουλειά μου και θα'ρθω μαζι σου, κι ας μην έχω δουλειά, κι ας μην ξέρω να πλένω τα πιάτα έτσι όπως τα θέλεις, κι ας μη με φιλάς κάθε πρωί όταν ξυπνάς παρά μόνο όταν σε ξυπνά η γάτα, κι ας μην ξέρω να φτιάχνω το πληντήριο, ή να φωνάξω κάποιον να φτιάξει το πλυντήριο ή τελος πάντων να δηλώσω εξαφάνιση πλυντηρίου, κι ας μην έχω telephone manners καθόλου, κι ας μη με θέλεις, κι ας μη μ'αγαπάς, κι ας το κάνεις ψέμματα ότι μ'αγαπάς, γιατί σ'αρεσει το σπίτι μου κι η παρέα της γατας, και το τραπέζι του κήπου, κι έχεις βολευτεί για τα καλά, κι ας μη με παίρνεις στο τηλεφωνο ή στο σκάιπ, κι ας μη χαμογελάς όταν με βλέπεις να γυρνώ από υπερατλαντικό ταξίδι, κι ας μη με προσέχεις που αλλάζω τα μαλλιά μου και φοράω φούστα μίνι, παρά μόνο όταν νομίζεις ότι δεν είμ'εγώ, κι ας αναστενάζεις συνέχεια, κι ας παραπονιέσαι οτι σ'ενοχλεί ο δικός μου αναστεναγμός, κι ας έχεις μεγάλο πουλί, τόσο που καμιά φορά δε χωράει, κι ας μη μου κάνεις νάζια ή κόλπα, ή τίποτα απ'όλ'αυτά. Θυμάσαι τότε που σού'χα πει ότι θα σ'ακολουθήσω παντού, όπου κι αν πας? Το εννοούσα. 

I know why you did that, sweetie, I completely understand. No, no, I completely understand, of sweetie, don't worry, no, no, don't you worry now. They did not speak to me, they did not speak to me at all. They just walked out one by one. How serious, oh how serious, to have nowhere to go, nowhere to rest. To know, you have nowhere to go.
What did I do wrong? Did I not hold your hand tight enough? Did I not promise things will be better? Did I not buy you the expensive things you wanted, cook a nice meal at the end of the day? Did I not tell you how much I loved you, often enough? Did I not bend backwards and forwards for you to have someone to hold on to?

What a fig, what a lovely fig.
The other fig, I walked all the fig and found my fig, drowning in fig. When I figged to fig, the fig, somehow figged to no fig. I learnt to fig and not so fig, so fig fig.

I am a false fruit. What a false fruit. I blossom inside. I am a false fruit.
Where are my buttons? Where are my buttons, where are they.

I am capable of stuff. Stiff stuff, stuff.
I am capable of stuff.
I am capable of stuff. The stuff of the stuff stiff stuff.
So many stuff.
I am capable of stuff.

I am not a false fruit
I am not a false fruit
I am a multiple fruit.
Multiple and good. I am a good fruit.
I want to be good, I want to be good and do well.

I want to be friends with you, be good, do well. I want to,
obviously, listen to,
obviously, your point of view,
obviously, I want to know,
obviously, if you have few,
obviously, children and,
obviously, when you do.

No no, no imitation needed, just free entrance to all events, especially if you are a famous fighter. Leave a meter of lace hanging, this is at least what Francesca said.

Inside further on top
Tear it out
Inside further on top of the top
tear it out
inside left of the top of the top
pull it out
both hands helping
night pulling left letting go
left pulling right letting go
inside of a mouthful of pear cuts

It’s so serious

No I don’t want that, I don’t want any of that. My cardigan is too small, it is too small and I am falling. And I know that I have to be nice and stop complaining. So hard that I can hear myself scream from the other side. How long have you been standing there? 

I have to change this cardigan, change this cardigan and start behaving. Like a proper lady. I should not ask for more affection. Never ask for more affection. That is not lady-like. Never ask for things you should not be asking for. Just shut up and listen. Just sit down next to the cardinal and listen. Why don’t you want so many things 

Gimme more affectionnnnnnn, gimme me more affectionnnnnn, caress my hand, kiss my jaw, touch my hand as if by mistake. Gimme me more affection and kisses and all. Or I will die. 

Stand, Still, Next, to, the jaw. Your Jaw. Don’t. Move. Your Jaw. Stand. Still. Next, to, Your Jaw. No JAw. No Jaw. Stand Still. DOn’t move. 

It’s so serious. Trying to make sense of my schedule. 

It’s so serious. Ordering a side of hand cut chips.

It’s so serious. Smoking.

It’s so serious. Auditioning for a part you barely want.

It’s so serious. All these fucking people in the street.

It’s so serious. All people in the street swearing at you because you don’t take notice of them.

It’s so serious. All the people in the street, the fucking people, swearing at you, because you do not take notice and accelerate and almost fall on them. 

It’s so serious. Your mouth full of debris. Your mouth full of stupid debris. 

It’s so serious. Not wanting to want to cook or keep wanting. 

It’s so serious. My pyjamas - are so serious.

My underpants. Are so serious. The hundred times I am woken up by all the sniffing. So serious. it’s so serious. Why don’t you give me a fucking break. It’s so serious. You are so serious. Oh so serious. Oh so serious. You know when you are looking at me as if I am not English, as if I do not have an accent. When you think I am who you think I am. It’s so serious. Being serious. Oh it’s serious. Being serious. Oh it’s serious. Being serious. Oh it’s serious. It’s so serious. Being serious. Oh so serious. The headaches, the pieces of musty bread in the sink. All the batteries that I do not know where to recycle. My cat’s antibiotic treatment which never expires. It’s so serious. Having too many pillows. Not making the bed. It’s so serious. Hating the people in the street, hating the fucking people in the street, even the ones you like. It’s so serious. Missing the meeting. Missing the meeting. Missing the meeting. It’s so serious. Missing part of the meeting. It’s so serious. Missing part of the meeting and wishing you were not there at all, wishing you were DEAD, wishing you did not have to add it to your online calendar, because you are DEAD. it’s so serious. Being DEAD, because you don’t want to be in the meeting. 

It’s so serious. Oh so serious. Oh so serious. Oh so serious.

Trying to think of a think that will make you relax your shoulders. not being able to convince yourself to stop the madness. To stop pretending to stop. Oh so serious. Have the fish. Have the battered fish. Oh so serious. Close your eyes. No, no ketchup, just mayo please. Eat the chips. Just eat the chips. And do not think about the meeting. 

Just pretend you have created an impression. Pretend you have created an impression. Pretend the other person is important and you have created an impression.

My bathtub is full of debris, standing on four feet. I open the tap and do not realise that my bathtub is full of debris. The bathtub is shrinking like wax, very small and now transparent. Next thing, I fall in love with a man with two children 'I have two children', he has a moustache 'I have a moustache', he holds me for a while and then has to go 'I have to go'. He returns and 'Here is a t-shirt' as a gift and a list of the best Lebanese restaurants in the area. My dad opens the door and I say we met in an international, interdisciplinary conference.

Who am I going to complain now about my tooth 1,2,33,4,5,6,7,8,9,29, that is broken again? My dentist is DEAD DEAD. He died under the most horrid circumstances, he was illed while trying to fix a 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,29 broken tooth.

Underneath of me there is a pool of shit, no, no, underneath of me, there is a pool of shit, no, no, underneath of me there is a pool of shit, no, no, underneath of me, there is a pool of shit, I envision you struggling to come out. Taking too long to come out of the coffee shop toilet. And then, I turn round and I see you. You are standing with the familiar pose, one hip slightly leaning. You are talking about cultural imperialism, or something, to a woman, I do not know. What if she is funnier than me? What if she entertains you more than I would do? What if, she will take you by the hand and make you laugh more than I do? What if she falls in love with you and you fall in love with her and you both talk about cultural imperialism underneath the candlelight. What if she proposes to you and you accept and you go to Santorini for your honeymoon and you fracture your toe and they take you to the hospital and while you wait for the doctor you overhear a conversation about cultural imperialism and your doctor has written a book on cultural imperialism and your wife refuses to have children unless you talk to her about cultural imperialism and your uncles and aunties open a trust fund so that they can fund your operation, so that you can keep talking about cultural imperialism. And what if in your first meeting with your publisher about your book Cultural Imperialism and other tragic stories, you meet me again, and you remember how much you loved me, before you met that other woman, in the coffee shop, on your way to the toilet. 

You write to me and sniff your nose and wipe it all around and up and down. Is it because you wan to say 60%, or or 60%, or 60% or or 60% or 60, 60, 60 % ?



I am dripping in my pants. You are HOT HOT and I want you now. Your tie, hot hot hot, always does the trick. If you come, hot, on a Friday evening, hot, hot, I will wear my hills and smell of nutmeg, hot, and vanilla. I will ask my students, not so hot, to do some task, hot, so that I can think of you. You will be lost in the maze, hot hot hot, of this place, hot, but will eventually find it. It will be hot, the right kind of hot, and you will hot, and hot the other way, perhaps a hot of shyness. I know this is not hot, you always find the hot hot, but it's ok. I am not hot, or hot, or hot hot. In your hot I find hot, but it made me hot to you, so Ho hot and hot and hot hot hot and hot and hot. Hot hot hot hot hot hot hot.    

I thought I was in love with you - your long hair, beautiful eyes, until you wore that stupid scarf. Until the day when you put on that stupid head scarf, a stupid egg yolk bandana around your head. Give me a break.

Mi Fa La Si Si

Let's pretend it is Saturday

Mi Mi Fa La Si Si Do

Let's pretend it is Saturday

Mi Fa La Si Si Do Do Reeeee

I take a walk in town and my legs hurt, someone gives me a wheelchair. I have a girlfriend and she has no tits and my boss, who looks like my uncle, tries to kiss me in the middle of the road.

I, I  was just helping

BITCH

I, was only helping, I was not the mole

BITCH

I had security clearance

BITCH

I was helping my twin brother who knew nothing about the president's alternative route

BITCH

I had security clearance

BITCH

He was my brother

BITCH

He he

BITCH

It wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't

BITCH

BITCH

BITCH

It wasn't me, I was never on the Bieber or the Russian plane or the casino in Macau

BITCH

It wasn't me in the fiords, or in the mountains in Pondinya. I am not familiar with the morse code, I have never worn a wig, I have no knowledge of the radioactive RTG light houses in Russia, I wasn't the mole. I have never been to the STS headquarters, or the NSA, CIA, STD, YMCA offices, I promise

BITCH

In ppppp
In ppppppp
In pppppppp

are you bored?

in pppppppp
in pppppaaaaa

in praprapraprap

in pact
in parct
in practice

you know this, you know! This is I did this is I did this thing I did this thing, the parrot thing, drunk and pissed off, cause the line-up was so shit and did this parrot thing mmmmmaaaaa Pipineza!! Parrot wanting to shit with his butt but the owner has invited the president for tea, Pipineza!! mmmmmmaaaaa, the owner, Pipineza!!! Has cleaned the bathroom doors, the knobs, the matt the brush and the parrot wants to shit with his butt mmmmmmmuuuuaaaaaaa but the owner, Pipineza!!! has invited the president for tea. The president, Charchoudas, has been invited for tea and the owner, Pipineza! has cleaned the bathroom mmmmmmmmaaaaaaa!

Why not- why not take off your fluorescent orange bikini first
the bottom then the top
why not stop in the width of coast, look
at me and say
why not stop in the
width of coast, look at
me and
say
why not look at me and wave.

Left right leg
up- left- left
right - leg down
upside down - leg
left left leg
right left
leg left left
and then right
and left left arm
right left arm
right left and
right. Right
leg right right
leg left left
arm right right
right arm left
left arm left left
arm and leg left
right.

You are coming that way, You are one two three, four five six seven, You walk in two's, under the branch, next to the rock, near the parking. You dry the excessive water off your shirt. You are out of sight.

Thailand 2014 In my dream you whisper: egg-free pistachio, egg-free pistachio! I had a boob job and my tits look like fried eggs stuck together and looking sideways.

 No, no worries, I know you do not munch crackers in the airport. No, you are not this type, munching crackers and cheese cubes our of the purple bowl in the airport. No, you are the type who wears a long, pink, chiffon skirt, which touches the floor and sweeps the cramps from the crackers in the airport.

 Thank you, thank you Town Hall! Thank you! Thank you Town Hall, Thank you for your kindness, for the years of trust, for the sleepless nights, for this magnificent ceremony, for saying goodbye, Thank you Town Hall, I love you. I love you Town Hall, I have never met a Town Hall like you before, my dear Town Hall. Ευχαριστώ, σας ευχαριστώ, με συγκινείτε, με συγκινείτε, πως με συγκινείτε.

 Hear that? KSSSSSS, no that, KSSSSSSSS, that? KSSSSSSS, hear that?

 Pipipipipipipipipipipopipopipipopopopopipipopopopopopopopipipipipipipopopopopopopopoppopopopopoooooooooooooopopopopopop, hear that? 

Oooooon watermelon-lon-lon-lon-lin-lon-lon-lon 

OOOOOnnnnn, watermelon -lon-lon-lon-lin-lon-lon-lon 
ooooooooooonnnn watermelong, lon-lon-lon-lin-lon-lon-lon
 You chocked oooooooon watermelong, lon-lon-lon-lin-lon-lon-lon
 ooooooooooooooooooooooooon watermelon

Debris

My bathtub is full with debris, standing on four feet. I open the tap and do not realise I have to bathe in debris. The bathtub is shrinking like wax, it's very small now and transparent. Next thing, I fall in love with a man with two children. He has a moustache, he holds me for a while and then he has to go. He returns to give me his t-shirt as a gift and a list of the best Lebanese restaurants in the area. My dad opens the door and I say we met in an international, interdisciplinary conference. What a bore.

My apricot stone breast

So I take you to the other end of the world and you choke on watermelon. Something about displacement of enjoyment I guess. But what do you want me to do for your watermelon? What do you want me to say? Wewwaterwaterweewareewaterweterwarwatermelon

Who am I going to complain now about my tooth 29 being broken again? My dentist is DEAD DEAD

Underneath of me there is a pool of shit. I envision you struggling to come out, as you fight your lower tummy cramps, taking too long to come out of the coffee shop toilet. And then, I turn round and I see you. You are standing with the familiar pose, one hip slightly leaning. You are talking about cultural imperialism, or something, to a woman, whose face I cannot see. What if she is funnier than me? What if she entertains you more than I would do? What if, she will take you by the hand and make you laugh more than I do? I love you x

Let's pretend it's Saturday. I take a walk in town and my legs hurt, someone gives me a wheelchair. I have a girlfriend and she has no tits and my boss, who looks like my uncle, tries to kiss me in front of everyone. Let's pretend it's Saturday. My legs hurt and I am afraid I did not do enough stretching after my pilates.

So good looking

You are so good looking I can hardly take my eyes off you. So good looking. Your hair is good looking, your eyebrows so good looking, your mouth, oh, your mouth, so good looking, your elbows, the tip of your nose, so good looking. You are so good looking. your lips, so good looking, your ear lobes so so good looking, the back of your neck so so so good looking, your fingernails, so so so so good looking. You are good looking. So good looking. So so good looking. I think I love you.

What to do with myself

I don't know what to do with myself. I am sitting here, not knowing what to do with myself. I am feeling restless and a little lonely. Not because I don't have friends or love, or because my family is miles away and my sister never calls and the beef bourguignon was a bit too dry and the potatoes a bit too thick, but because I don't know what to do with myself.



I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know what to do with the early mornings, the radio which keeps falling in the middle of the night, with all the recipes I do not know and I will never be able to memorise. I do not know what to do with myself. What to do with my guilt for being here, for having a house with a garden, a cat named Veronica and a rug from Peru. I do not know what to do with myself. What to do with feeling restless, feeling angry, feeling over the moon. Feeling that this is my life and I do not live it because I do not know what to do with myself. I do not know what to do with my parents, the external examiner's report, the UCU strike, a degree in Japanese Language, extra dimensions, temporal arteritis.

I do not know what to do with my cash, when I am bored, about orphaned animals and the wildlife. I don't know what to do with the feeling that I want to be a man, so that I can comfort a woman in my arms and say that it will be ok. And perhaps that woman is me, not knowing what to do with myself.

I don't know what to do about this concert on Wednesday, what to wear, how to make sure I do not fart. Don't know what to do about my helmet, my lousy ovaries, the fat cat that keeps shitting in my garden, my doctor who wears pink.

I don't know what to do with the mince meat, whether I should season it before cooking or after, when do the onions come in and if I should clap when they do.

I don't know what to do with 115.293 results of not knowing what to do with myself on google. And finally, I don't know what to do with short hair, leftover chicken, egg yolks and daffodils after flowering. But I suppose there is time to talk about those things and figure it out. And you are here, which is always nice. Thank you.

Kind of fine

It's sort of kind of fine that you are pressing against my bottom next to the rubbish bin while I'm trying to savour a Cornish pastry. It is kind of sort of fine that you pretend not to notice that you are dribbling all over me. All over my new vintage vinyl bag that I love so much. All over my new golden brooch, all over my fury collar that never sighs. 

It's sort of kind of fine that you are fine.

So late in me

So you are so late and the noodles are all soggy and the ginger not so gingery and the chilli pepper all over the place.

You promised that you'll bring some soya sauce bad you forgot. So late in me now and no come pillow at all.

So late in me

So you are so late and the noodles are all soggy and the ginger not so gingery and the chilli pepper all over the place.

You promised that you'll bring some soya sauce bad you forgot. So late in me now and no come pillow at all.

Youme

You write next to me and sniff your nose and wipe it all around and up and down. You wrote and I am looking for the  % symbol, which is very hard to find.

Every time I have a shower I drown and shout as if I'm drowning. But I am drowning for real but I shout as if I'm drowning although it is for real.

I leave work, meet you at the pub and we fight.

You either have your legs too open or too closed. Why don't you just wrap them around my body? You say, while you contemplate moving to a different summer resort closer to the beach. The price is higher, but who cares, it is important to have a view to the sea (I suppose).

The doctor is naked. His body looks very lovely and symmetrical. I think he loves me. I lie down and he examines me. His penis is near the tip of my nose and his dead mother next to me under a sheet. I think this is not a clinic, it is his bedroom, or, his mother's bedroom. I think there is an electricity cut, that's why he can't work in the clinic. There is a long queue outside but he is very thorough with his examination and doesn't say a word about his mother.

The murderer has a habit: he kills two people at a time and buries them in the ground, after he has carefully removed one of their shoes. But this time, his victims wake up. They are alive. They seek revenge. They post the other shoe to him. He receives it with two days delay; a post strike or something. Need to buy batteries and be nicer to my cat x

I am waiting in the middle of the street. I am waiting with my mother and my sister and this man who is wearing a wig, whom I do not know. We are sitting on a big dining table in the middle of the street, waiting for our taxi. We booked it through a wedding company, it was a good deal. We are waiting and chatting and my water is finished and I use the shop's fountain - twenty seven pounds? For a little running water? I return and sit on the dining table, the man in the wig is still there, I sort of fall asleep. We have now been waiting for two hours. My mother does not want to cancel, I can call Camcabs or something, but she does not want. I sort of fall asleep and then everything happens quickly. The taxi is still not there, my mum refuses to cancel and the man with the wig decides to leave. I wake up just at that time, when he has left his seat next to me in the dining table in the middle of the street. I wake up and I realise the sucker has stolen the battery of my new iphone - I run after him, grab him from the neck (cause I love my new iphone) and challenge him : Gimme me me iphone, gimme me me iphone. He grins, with a stupid grin, his wig falls slightly on the side and he gimms me me iphone. Then I have a fight with my mum about the taxi, my sister is there too, we are all sitting down, next to the kiosk, I realise that I am wearing a wig too.

How much did you say? How much does this cost? how much does it cost to spend a morning of serenity with my cat lying on her pillow and the tap running. GO eat a burger.

Now you are ready, now you are ready to start swinging from side to side, to take off your belt and start swinging, to play skip rope with your mother's kitchen gown, to start jumping up and down, from side to side. Now, now you are ready. Now, now.

oh no no, no baby, no, oh no no, no baby no. No more of this or that or whatever. No more of anything. Just lie down. Lie down and sleep. Sleep baby sleep. Do not fart, do not sweat, just sleep. Baby, sleep.

no more tummy tuck

I refuse to tuck my tummy in any longer. I have been doing this for at least twelve years. Twelve years of my life, I have told myself: tuck your belly in, yes, yes, that's it, that's better. That looks good. That's it. That's it ladies and gentlemen. That's it. Tuck my belly in no more. I may have to adjust a few things, like 1. wear slightly bigger jeans and 2. avoid tight t-shirts, but 3. who cares, ladies and gentlemen. My belly knows it, too many years of tucking in.

Just grin

No one will actually tell you this, but the opposite of grinning is frowning. They won't tell you, because they have nothing to lose. I have something to lose. I have something to lose. I am so fed up of all this grinning. My forehead hurts. I want to be able to collapse, not once and for all, just little by little. I won't grin every again. I will laugh, yes, but not grin. Stupid cow.

1. do not stumble 2. do not hunch (hunching is never good) 3. do not frown 4. smile 5. smile 6. smile wider 7. wider 8. relax your face 9. try again 10. how pathetic.

Fed up and cracking up

That's it. I am fed up. Fed up with the whining and dining, the here and there, the nows and goes. I do not want to do this. I do not want to have to face the bells, when ringing out of tune. I do not want to only eat rice cakes. I want it all. I want it all. And a little each time. I want to be able to walk slowly, without stumbling or falling. I want to eat BREAD to eat BREAD to eat BREAD. I want to eat bread. That's it.

I am going now. I am going. I am not going far. No, not too far, but I am going. I am going. I am going downstairs to make a cup of tea and see whether you want to talk to me now. I am going. But I will come back.

this is good. yes, very good. no, the other way. do it the other way. do it the only other way you know how to do it. you know it's only the other way you know, don't you know how to do it, don't you. don't you don't you know how to do it.how to do it now. now. now. yes, yes, oh, yes, that's it, yes, that's it.

i 've had enough. of all the shit, they shitty shit lying around. i've had enough. of all the shitty shitty things lying around. i know, i can be a bore, but i've had enough. not a pig, just a bore. a big bloody bore. thank you very much and goodnight.

here we go again. sweaty armpits, toenails longer than usual and an itchy back. and all I care about is my shoes. My shoes. MY SHOES. whether they look nice. And if they do the thing, the thing they are supposed to do. The very specific thing they are supposed to do, that is, walk me everywhere. Students seemed to like them. So, that's good. It is a start at least. A very good, hopeful, precise, wondrous beginnng. here we go.

I had another strange dream, I put all my clothes inside the toilet, after I had expelled faeces and pushed them and and flushed, because I thought the toilet was a washing machine. Then I had to tell the man in charge to dig a hole on top of the shit hole to fish my clothes. The operation was successful and I washed my clothes and let them dry in the sun. I also dreamt I was a sort of poet, who wrote in a strange way and was only reading when there were christmas decorations around.

Last night I dreamt that a white long shiny mushroom was growing on the side of my bottom. I pulled it out and it did come out, only it grew back again. I pulled it again and put it in a napkin for autopsy.

Top ten

of 2012 1. Swimming in sweet lake with toothless Johnny 2. Finding out about my new job in Cambridge 3. Performing How to Catch a Dog in a Bucket with Joe K. 4. Performing Lola and Stephen with Owen G. at the Hayward 5. Keeping in touch with Andriana, Haris, Owen etc. 6. Performing Pussy Pocket in the lesbian dinner party and having dinner with Amalia 7. Seeing my mother recovering after a long time 8. Moving to Cambridge (with Owen) 9. Visiting my sister in Berlin 10.Meeting G. 11.Being a respondent in PM (G. was there) 12. Falling in love with G.

I squeeze squeeze squeeze your hand as if to say: I am here, I want you and I will stay. And I hope you feel the same. But my hand is cold and my skin is breaking apart. I miss you and I have no words to say this. Just rubbing my broken skin on yours and trying not to look at my watch.

I feel I am doing everything wrong. I woke up too late, I did not call my mum, I waited till my coffee was ready to open your letter. I did not wash my hair, I made a bun instead and I am spending this precious time thinking of all of this. Stop thinking, stop thinking, you stupid bitch, and get back to work.

It is very cold today and I don't have any ear muffs. I wonder what you are doing, with your slender figure against the wind. I had nightmares again last night, about you having an allergic reaction to my duvet. I did wash it, I did wash it a while ago, but I will wash it again. I promise.

I know you don't want a bike. I know you don't want a fucking bike. You just want me not to make love to the train driver. But I won't. I won't make love to the train driver or the bus driver or the captain. I will sit still in the middle of this cold nothingness and wait for you to come back home.

Am I the fucking fat girlfriend who spills her wine all over the place? Am I the fat fucking girlfriend with the woollen skirt who does not break the glass, but manages to spill her wine over? Tell me know.

I so fucking desperately need to make new friends in case you leave me. And I am pushing away all the people that come near me. Like Katrina. Why did I push Katrina away. She had a lovely accent, and two big sunglasses and ear protection. Why did I push her away. What a bitch I am.

What a fuck up

I fucked it up ; there was a loud knock on the door and I got extremely scared. Someone put his hand through the letter box and I shouted. Oh. It is my landlord. With a strange looking woman. And before I have time to think, I say: who is this weird woman? I actually said, in front of her: who is this weird woman? I mean, I think being weird is a compliment. But, people can be different. Then I was panicking and my heart was beating. What a fuck up. (And you are far and silent and I cannot reach you).

I am feeling a bit sick in my stomach today. Wondering whether it is the egg and garlic rise I microwaved or just that I am missing you. You are not that far away, and I am in this little room with two sky windows. I really like them, but sometimes there is too much light on my screen. I am burping and burping the garlic and hoping that you won't smell that through the screen, in these words, on a lonely Sunday afternoon.

I got a door stopper and a bath mat for you. I know you needed them and somehow I know that now you love me more. Especially about the door stopper. Because you are of course someone who appreciates that kind of thing and does not like closed doors. Or hidden things or dark secrets. So, I will make sure I keep my door open for as long as I can, but please do not be late, because I am cold.

I came into your office and you turned my heart into a valley of roses. You told me about your colleague who died and his wife who cleaned the space and all the dark dark thoughts she might have been having at the time.

I am eating curry and I cannot stop thinking of the little poo that got stuck in between my buttocks. Is this very appetising. There are chick peas into my curry. A little tiny poo was hanging from my buttocks, as if from an imaginary thread. What was I supposed to do? I shook my butt from side to side, felt it hitting against my buttock walls but not falling. I shook again and again and finally decided to remove it with my index and middle finger. The imaginary thread came out with it. I washed my hands and had my curry.

Very horny this morning thinking of you cleaning the mould. When I left you last night, the double doors of my building sang Only You to me. Is that a sign? Is that a sign of love? Do my double doors love me to death and very desperately, or do they take the piss out of me falling in love? I want to clean your house. I want to clean your house. I want to hung the curtains, mop your floor, tidy your drawers and books and towels. Tidy your towels, give them a good wash and hope for the best.

Took my homeopathic remedy, sucked really hard on it and feeling better today. I also held hands, shared affection and broke plates. I feel an instant attraction towards people in pain. The more the pain, the stronger the attraction. If someone's finger gets caught in between double doors or under the piano lid, I am attracted to them. If they fall in a paddle of water and break their wrist or shoulder, I am very attracted to them. If they are in any kind of physical pain, caused by a long-term condition or just accident, I melt for them. But most of all, it is emotional pain I am interested in. Breaking up with a long-term partner, losing one's job, losing a loved one. I die of burning desire thinking of all these hits of faith; and deep down I want to love all of these people deep and hard, because I think my love has a healing quality.

Shoot me. Shoot me. Shoot me, or I will shoot myself. Please, shoot me. Don't you see? Don't you see someone needs to shoot me? I am DELUDED. I am so fucking deluded. Don't you see? I decided to be a bitch, a real bitch, and not so long ago. I decided to be a real, truthful, trustworthy BITCH. And look where I've ended up. Look how silly I am. I am here again. In the beginning. Exactly where I started years ago. And I've learnt nothing.

I can never tell which is worse. To be loved fully and completely and to be utterly terrified of losing that love, or never ever experiencing it in the first place. I struggle with this; if you text me, then I will text you and then wait for your text. And if you text me back I do not want you to wait for my text, but if you do not text me in response, then I will wait for your text. If you do text me again, because you are nice, then I will contemplate not texting you, so that I do not suffer from waiting. But I do not want you to suffer either, so I end up texting and waiting and suffering from waiting for your text.

Once in a while I wake up feeling shitty. Really really shitty. Today is one of those days, like Dan would say. Not Dan Shelton, the other one. I feel so empty and fucking lost and I forgot to take my homeopathic remedy and my friend is abroad. I will never love and be loved, cause I have a fucking hole instead of a heart, which is dripping. It can remember nothing, nor the love, nor the kisses. Maybe I should eat something. Maybe that would help. And some coffee. One day I love this place, the next I hate it. What the fuck is wrong with me? Now, tell me, Dan Shelton, or the other one.

I am dripping in my pants. You are hot and I want you now. Your tie always does the trick. If you come, on a Friday evening, I will wear high hills and will smell of nutmeg and vanilla. I will ask my students to do some kind of task, so that I can think of you. You will be lost in the maze of this place, but will eventually find it. You have a compass in your heart. It will be dusk, the right kind of dusk and you will smile and turn the other way, perhaps a contour of shyness. I know, that is not the right word, you always find the right words, but it's ok. I am not shy, or jealous, or competitive. In your ruins I find shelter (that is also stolen). But it made me think of you. So, make up your mind and come and see me. And I will dump my students and writing and come and meet you in the threshold of my loneliness (blah).

You are back. With your glasses instead of hair. You put your big ass on the small blue chair and you pout or smile slightly. What are you thinking I am thinking. Oh god. You start humming. You start HUMMING. Emmmmmmmmmmm. To the cheesy music of this cafe, which is actually far less disturbing than I imagined it to be. Just don't talk to me. Please do not address. me. You hold now your lips together, as if you have heard me. Please don't talk to me, just keep humming. Emmmmmmmmmm. I know what you've done. You have taken your coffee and moved downstairs. Where it is very dark and very warm. I think you expect me to follow you. You expect me to follow you, sit next to you and keep typing, while you slip your hand in between my thighs while sucking your thumb at the same time. Now I cannot even go to the toilet; that was the whole point, to have an americano and go to the toilet. You bitch.

You have no hair whatsoever just a few blonde hair sticking up on top of your eyebrows; and you wear sunglasses instead of hair. What a fucking weirdo you are, looking at me so intensely from such a close distance. This is a public space after all. And I already have someone I love.

I am holding my breath. One two three. Seriously. I am holding my breath while typing. I am holding my breath to see how long it will take you to reach me. I am trying to reach you. I am trying to reach you. I am holding my breath. I make drafts of unnecessary chapters and trying to reach you. An old man with a blazer passes next to me, he smells of moth bolls. Doesn't he know these things are toxic. I am trying to reach you. He just needs the toilet. He says it out loud. I just need the toilet. Now I do too. Cause I am trying to reach you. And I can't stand moth balls. You know. I could do many things, but I am still holding my breath.

So you broke up over sauce hollandaise and raspberries. These things can be important. Sometimes I do not have time for any of it and others I keep thinking. I am in a foul mood and you read your newspaper next to the window.

I have to try to get out of bed as soon as I can and go and have a dump. How disgusting and how dare you talk like that. I will wash my hair, perhaps, and pretend I am ten kilos less and have a kiwi for lunch. My garden is a sunny one with two red chairs. You have never seen it and you might never do. But if you come one day, I will make something special. Venison or something.

Now this might be a long one. Because I have lots to say and nothing at all. Because you say I should remain the same and then you don't like your dinger in my ass your tits next to mine. You don't want to walk all the way to the train, or make an omelette without help. You sit on your carpet and tell me how we are incompatible. And then you tell me keep loving it. I will keep loving it now from a distance and I will eat sweet and savoury and listen to the radio and think of you.

I dreamt that you were fucking me and I was throwing up milk on your expensive sheets like a six months old baby. Then you took me to bed and I was trying to cover the mess.

Don't you see? I want you to jump ahead. I want you to think of staying over at mine, waking up in the morning and drinking coffee, making hand made cous cous with coconut oil and nuts. But if you jump, please take care of your dodgy ankle. I don't want you to hurt or anything like that.

You dress smart, come down the stairs, empty the rubbish bin and eat your croissant with knife and fork. Seriously? Knife and fork? Which sane person would eat a croissant with knife and form? I am just asking.

I dreamt that you told me to turn around and take my underwear off; there was a man next to me doing the same. So I did. We were both on our fronts with no underwear on, his ass was hairy. And then I realised that you wanted to lick both of our asses at the same time and stick your finger in them. And so I protested: But that is not hygienic! How are you going to do that, first the one then the other, all the germs will transfer from one ass to the other. And then Jack, from BBC, who was masturbating nearby, said: Oh, I know! I have the solution. And produced from his pocket a little plastic blue brush with black bristles, usually used to clean the keys from old type writers.

I see you from my window. You are in your garden. You are smoking and spitting. Smoking and spitting. Taking the smoke in, exhaling from your nostrils and then spitting. Why the hell are you smoking and spitting.

I am over the moon. You are coming to see me. I will place the dog bone I kept for you in a brown paper, fold it over and keep it under my pillow tonight. I will give it to you when the time comes. I will try not to show my enthusiasm out of fear you might run away. Please, do not run away, just bark softly and eat your bone.

I wake up my mouth is dry my tummy is dry my pupu is dry and there is a tropical storm outside my window.

I am walking towards the grass and the swings and you follow me. I hold a dog bone in my hand. I show you the way and call your name. Something something the swings and the grass, something something, your name.

I am helpless tonight. Under my dotted duvet I wait for nothing. I am looking for nothing. Only for someone idiotic enough to want to skype with me about nothing.

This has become a habit of mine. To love you and love you and hurt. My tummy hurts again tonight. And I know it is not the urinary infection. It is because you write to me and then you stop writing. And I do not know whether I should wait and wait, call or just call. I moved house today. I lifted fifty three big packages and a small one. I carried your toothbrush in my purse, next to the lorry driver. I did not want it to get dusty from the mattress. The lorry driver, who has the name of a Shakespearean hero, listened carefully to my five year plan and the list of potential grooms I have made in my mind. I laughed, made some pleasantries and waited for the ride to finish. But you had still not written to me and my tummy aches.

What do you want? Tell me, what the hell do you want? One week thrush, the next urinary tract infection. What is it precisely that you want and why don't you leave me alone. I have other things to do, you know, I have my postgraduate degree to write, my article to finish, also to figure out how not to piss my feet. It is quite late now, please leave me along.

I think I will throw up. The longer it takes for you to answer, the more I want to throw up. What have I eaten today? Chicken cooked with cumin and white wine, bulgur and green leaves. So my vomit is bound to be green and white. I have also drunk some cranberry juice for the urinary infection. I am in the library, so I will probably throw up all over the computer and the books I have borrowed. Then someone will come to help me, I will feel embarrassed, I will try to clean the mess. People will look at me and politely smile. I think I will throw up all over the place.

My tummy hurts and I am all alone in this terrible city. Thank god I am getting out of here. Thank god I will not have to spend all my mornings and afternoons with my tummy hurting not being able to make tea or fruit juice or pasta. I have been here for almost a year. Every time I set foot on this place my tummy aches. Ache ache my tummy. I only eat brioche and almonds in this house. I cannot stand big buys. Because big buys mean long periods of time. And I am hoping of course to go very soon. The big white stone in my heart grows every day. And I have tried to love this city and make it mine. But I leave with no guilt and no pain. I hate this place.

So you have everything in order one and two and three and two I wake up in the middle of the night and I think of you I am sweaty and hungry and I want to lie on your sofa and read newspapers and fart all day long. I wake up and stand next to my bed and think of your radio; the blue and the red; they are kinda the same but they are not. What are the called, they have a name. I wait and wait and sweat again and again and drink cranberry juice and visit friends and think of my vagina and you lying on my sofa. And how my sofa is so dirty that you will never come back to visit. And I can see, clearly now, all the stains in my apartment; the toothpaste stains, and all the hairs stuck on the inside of my bathtub. And I know now for sure that that is the end of our relationship.

last night I dreamt of you. My belly was naturally a killer and we were stealing post it from your work. Then we took the elevator to visit the countryside. We went through all the trees and landscapes. We were the two of us. Two sissies together. And you decided you wanted to keep the purple post it, you didn't care about the green, and we rowed and rowed and loved each other's breaths and blinkings.

Now I am going away. I am leaving the small shitty town I never loved or cared about. I am moving away with such joy. I will pack, again, all my little things and hope you will come and find me in Walthamstow. Did you hear the good news? I am fucking off from this shitty place, from this big whole of poodle, from the worst of the worst of places. I am fucking off and never coming back. Because I love people and places, because I want to wake up brave to face this shitty world, because I want to have someone who will appreciate my red satin kimono. Because there is no way it will take me so long to wear my kimono again. I hand it behind the door for a time of emergency. I I wake up in the night and I want to pee. Or if there is a fire in the building and I want to escape. And sometimes, you wear it too. Did you hear the good news? I am fucking off, you big piece of shit, you nasty little number. Bye bye.

Blue

Now I know. Now I know for sure. My mother is reading my blog, every morning before going to work. Does this change things? Can I still say fuck off and you big piece of shit and hold your prick, baby, until I come back home and wrap it in sugar and eat it? Can I still say how much I love you, although you are never there, how much I think of you in Liverpool? Once or twice, I know now, you think of me. You know that I have never spilled my drink, I have never shat on the brink of the wall. But I do not have blue hair or small lips. I have brown hair. Is that the prerequisite? Is that the prerequisite for your love. My blue hair for you darling.

some filthy folk

I have only found a title for this one. Nothing else comes to mind. Only the fact that my window is not high enough for me to jump.

yeah. Walthamstow

you are so far and I've been waiting. I hate the train, I can't stand the bus, I'd rather walk and come and find you in Walthamstow.

been waiting

I have been waiting for so long. For a change. Now I am not only the girl with the bad hair, I am also the girl who is left behind. I couldn't do it. I couldn't do the sprint. And there were so many others, older than me, that could do it.

I come back home; I sit next to the fireplace, I fantasise about you. I always doubt whether I should write fantasise with an 's' or a 'z'. I am all alone and you always give me raki.

You just listen to bad music all the fucking time; I know you have two pillows next to your bed and all your fucking bad music and you spread your shit all over the place. When I come to your place, you give me lots of things: a pair of white slippers, a piece of bread, half a lemon coupe. Every single time you kiss me goodbye, rubbing the lemon on my lips. I like the white slppers, I wear them and I eat the bread.

You never pick up your shit; you never pick up your shit when I give it to you. When I hand it to you during breakfast, lunch or all of the above. You never ever let me pick your shit up and you never put it in its place. I told you; shit should always be on the second shelves next to the towels. Next to the towels which are next to the towel detergent, which is next to the toilet paper. And don't argue with me please, don't argue with me, I told you, you never pick up your shit.

Did you receive my Christmas gift? I wrapped it up and sent it to you last night. I was careful. I did not cry or spit. I followed your instructions. I took off my pants, sat on the marble kitchen table and pissed all over the place. I then careful wiped the piss with my pants, added some orange peel and marzipan and posted it to you.

that is not your name; you only fucking show me how it is you need a name to go by for people to call you to shout at you to use in bed. that is not your fucking name. I am here now counting each of these words being scared of the consequences. This is me being scared of the consequences. I need to have a fag, I need to have a fag, my chest is heavy and I need to get away from my boring life.

I am thinking of you, dearest darling. Of the times when my fringe was sticking on my forehead and that was a fashionable choice. The times when I was wearing a shirt for a dress and could not smell the dirty loneliness of the vast city. The times when I could only feel the excitement and the filth and nothing else; when I did not need to earn a living, when I only had to walk and read. I was good at that. Now I have to earn a living; how tiring; to sacrifice everything you have in order to hate yourself every morning. And to be scared that even that shitty job of yours will be taken away from you one day. That, which makes you drug yourself every morning and have chocolate for breakfast and crisps for lunch.

Get the hell out of here, get the hell out of here. You run around all day long, your weight still running; get the hell out of here. Walk in the night on the small street on the green grass on the dead leaves in this ugly town. Run around, go to this, go to that, nothing for you, nothing for you, nothing in it for you, nothing in the whole world would make me stop now. Just get the hell out of here; out of this small big sweaty bed of yours; just get the hell out of your bed and go clean up and be a man.

I scream and shout and then simply say I cannot keep doing this any longer. What's wrong, what's wrong you say; you pull your body next to mine, your carpet stinky. You hold me and hold me, what's wrong. I cannot keep doing this any longer, running and carrying my own weight; I am too heavy and too old for all that. I have been heavy and old for a very long time. What's wrong. Who cares what's wrong, you only say that because you do not want to see me crying, you say that to remind me I should not cry. And I try my best not too. I discover you have a freezer instead. Onion bread and chicken tikka, this is all you eat, night after night, in front of the giant screen of yours. I have never had chicken tikka in bed; I have now. What's wrong and my weight is heavy and I even travel light. Pair of knickers and a dress.

I am down here and I can see one thing; the hole of your asshole; you wake up and turn around your hole is turning little sweat on the side it has been warm during the night; you were scared of catching a cold; you left the heating on all night long; you had this weird dream, screaming and shouting: but I AM HAPPY I am happy but I am happy, your arsehole is happy that is for sure. You wake up, you turn around, a little sweat, you wipe it off pressing your shirt into your arse how disgusting; imagine if when you are thinking about me you then press the same bit of cloth into your mouth. How darling.

You are fucking teasing me; you stick your tongue into my mouth and then you say you want to catch the last bus, you have to catch my fucking Tongue you fucker don't want to mess this shit because I know I would and if you d like to come over for tea I have no sugar I have to warn you darling no sugar from me tonight, perhaps from someone else
Type delete tyPe delete no

You write to me, I think you are the man of my life, as you say: where does the snowman put his website. I think this is a genius question. Come on, who could have thought of something as brilliant as this. Then I reply what I think the right answer is. In his arsehole. And then you ask me: are you male or female? And I say I am female. And then you never write to me for the entire day. Then I write back asking whether you were looking for a man. And you say no, a natural, genuine woman. But I am not what you are looking for. And I ask why. Please tell me why. And then you say: like I said, i am not interested. Please note I will not be replying to your messages again.

I'm dripping wet. You have been telling me about that tiny and light woman; and I am dripping wet. she was light and small and you lifted her up against the wall; I am not jealous baby, say it all just say it all, give me the thrill of it all just give it to me you know like the last times when far away you used to live alone and I used to be young no belly no fat no regrets just an intense fucking solitude all over my arms and underneath my armpits which is now covering the whole of me my belly and fat. i have to fight my belly, take my sour and fight it; i wonder who will win; me or her fat disgusting belly.

from scudd

I am always astonished, when visiting England, to find that people are, at least linguistically speaking, almost constantly afraid. I am thinking of sentences like: 'Oh, I'm afraid you won't be able to work in the manuscripts library next week: it will be closed for cataloguing.' Or: 'I'm afraid I can't help you with your request to have the promptbook scanned; it is far too delicate.' Or: 'I'm afraid, sir, that you are going to step through the gap; as we say, "mind the gap"; do take this seriously.' Or, 'I'm afraid I can't go to the theatre with you this evening, for I have another engagement.' I sometimes hear utterances where I do understand why fear is present; e.g. 'I'm afraid our government is engaging in draconian measures that will seriously undermine our quality of life.' Or: 'I'm afraid that our politicians are not only corrupt but can escape with impunity.' These make sense to my Canadian ear. But being afraid of more pedestrian matters-I even heard someone say: 'I'm afraid you can't use the loo, the janitor is cleaning it'--it is these that I don't understand. An explanation or explanations would be much appreciated, if only because they would help me to understand the subtleties of what characters in English plays mean when they regularly talk about being afraid.

some broth and soap

ok bye bye for now. i will go to the corner shop for some broth and soap. i will come back when you are asleep and sing you a song. i will make soup and feed you until you wake up and see me fanning. I will fan all night for you dear I will fan and sweep and cry. and you will ask me why lower case why lower case why lower case you will ask me why lower case why lower case why lower case and i will say why broth and soap why fanning. and you will ask me why lower case why lower case and I will say

what if the rest of my life goes on like this food work work food I will be fat by the end of the month and ugly by the end of the year and so fucking horribly bored by the end of it all. Great, that is exactly what I need. And a big huge cock for ventilation. Has it always been so hard? Has it always been so hard to create a current of air? A little bit of blowing gently, of fanning away. Just be mice with me darling, just be mice with me and fan away.

I smell nice. I do. I smell nice. I smell nicer than yesterday, nicer than the day before. But I feel shit. I feel so shit I can almost smell it. I can smell the shit all over the place. The shit is just all over the place. I flash it again and again the fucking shit is all over the place. The whole school is smelling of shit. Every toilet door I open, I see a little turd inside. I see turds everywhere. On the windowsill, hanging from the trees, above the fire exit, inside my lunch box. So much shit I can hardly type. My fingers are sliding off the k e y b o a r d m y f i n g e r s

why do I smell shit

My office smells of shit, my hands, underarms and armpits smell of shit, where does this shit come from? My labelled folders smell of shit, the container that keeps my coffee warm smells of shit, my stationery smells of shit, my new shelves and new curtains smell of shit. Where does the shit come from? My drama anthology smells of shit, my post it and ID card, my golden fish all smell of shit. Did I not wipe off my ass well enough? Did a piece of shit get stuck in between my buttocks? Did a piece of shit like you shit all over my desk, folders, gold fish and plants?

Why the child wants the shit

To rub it on himself.
To take good hold of it and rub it on himself.
To take good good (guv guv) hold of it and rub it on himself
To cry hard all night long
To take good and bad and good good (guv guv) hold of it and rub it on himself.

The child: Plots this in every detail
The child: buys the five meter rope, the matches, the hollow buckett
The child: ties the buckett with the rope and lights the matches
The child: burns the rope slowly that leads to the buckett
The child: places a big fat sausage on the edge of the buckett
The sausage: provokes the dog's big nose
The child: approaches the dog
The child: threatens the dog
The child: gets closer
The child: gets closer
The child: cathches the dog in the buckett the rope still burning the matches all over the place
The child: takes the shit
The child: takes the shit
The child: gets hold of the shit
The child: gets good good hold of the shit and rubs it all over himself.

I have met someone. Someone new and tall. And I still despair. I won't be around to see it when it comes, I won't be around because I am too old and too fat for a cylinder to run smoothly down the slope. I am sure there will be holes on the way and bumps, the road will be wet and the snow thick.

I have never experienced such loneliness and such despair. Four out of five people I meet don't know my name. And the fifth hesitates. All alone in a city that pretends to be itself, in a city that does not know its own name. Breeeendaaaaaan, I shout. Breeendaaaaan. Only you and your cycinysm can save me out of this fucking misery. Please, come move in with you. I won't harass you. I will only photocopy the pages you like, I will stay put in case of emergency. I will eat my chicken, I will clean your ears. I will never force you when it comes to sex. I can't live like this. Without you and on my own.

how to do it, how to do it slowly without pain, how to do it so that you only know it is happening, how to do it with no sound, with no door creak, how to do it in the dark, how to do it in the dark, how to do it without a candle or two, how to do it without killing yourself, without contemplating to kill yourself, without regretting not havivng done so. The days pass and I wonder; how to do it.

I am so horny and bored I could die right here and right now without even considering the depths of the fucking shit that disguises as my future. What is this and why am I here? In a city with only acquaintances and no friends in the middle of a shitty town. Be patient be patient and eat your shit and only bark during the night. The beach is now far away and all the times I cried because of you I have forgotten you piece of shit. I only remember the morning when I woke up sweaty in the heat of the athenian breeze with pants on and no dignity when you had fallen asleep in the middle of my despair.

It is not you, darling, it really is not you....I absolutely adore you, it is not you or your difficulty to express your feelings, you disappearing for days without telling me where you are, it is really not you, darling. It is your chest hair. It is this butch of black thick wig hair you have underneath your chin in between your eyes your mouth your shoulders. It is this little bird nest where ostriches lay their eggs, this seaweed swamp. I am sorry darling, I cannot deal with all the eggshells and moss, this big mess in between your shoulders.

someone calls me from Greece. My uncle Haralampos is dead. But I cannot remember him. My dad says you really loved him, but I can't remember him. You really loved him and he is dead. And I cry these unknown tears until the morning.

Hit me, darling

Lola looks beautiful in her red and silver bow gown. She pulls her foot pump as if it was a little dog.

Come here doggy, yes, come here.

She looks at the audience in front of her.

Everyone in the audience needs to calm down. Just calm down, everyone and come closer.

She has stolen this opening phrase from Stephen, from the AWesomeness that Stephen is to her.

My tulip is yours. My big fat beautiful tulip is yours.

She is standing on the left pulling something from within her breast, but it is not a tulip.

For you, for whenever you want to visit me.

She looks ahead, motionless.

This is for you, for not wanting to do this thing with me.

How long could you stay away from my round genitals, my perfectly shaped like a circle fallopian tubes my hairy scurry disgusting labium; a slight sigh hanging from your collar. You take off your socks because you want to, because you have eaten too much and I fall asleep in the middle of the night. How dare you, how dare you hang your excrement from your ass, how dare you fall asleep in the same way that I did, in the same way that my dad inserted a scarf inside his pants in the summer time.

In this bit the audience is invited to throw stuff at Lola in an attempt to hit her. Lola gets really upset if no one attempts to throw anything at her.

Just strike and slap, just smack and spank, just hit me darling
Just punch and thump, just punch and thump, just hit me darling
Just bash and bop and beat and pop
Just hit me darling

Just smash into me
Just smack into me
Just hit me darling

Just strike and dawn and come and gone
Just hit me darling

And if you hit me I will love you more
And if you smack me I will be your doll
And if you bop and clip and sock
I will be your sock
I will be your sock

Just smash into me
Just smack into me
Just hit me darling

Lola takes a deep breath, extending her arms.

Your beautiful round bottom is full of nonsense tonight. Yesterday I was someone else yes you know that you have seen it before I have seen it before so many times. An afternoon and then BAM BAM BAM I am dead I have shot my self without noticing while having breakfast on the seaside. Somewhere between you and me I will find the truth. I will walk, it won't take long. And I will let you know, because I am not selfish, just slightly scared in case I get there first. I will let you know how it all happened in a BAM BAM BAM and I am dead I shot my self without noticing while having lunch on the seaside.

Lola takes off her silver gown. She is now wearing a giant red tulle net scarf around her tender neck and some knickers.

this is the worst part of it to wait for you to finish wiping off your ass and come and kiss me. You seem to wipe off your ass quite softly in a slow pace your left leg extended. Your right arm does the whole job, the left slightly lifted is pressed against the door. Balance is important to you and symmetry. You always have to find the perfect position. No weird angles or all that shit. Just smoothness and leaning.

At this point Lola takes her favourite foot pump and starts pumping a red balloon

VOILa, ladies and gentlemen, my small parcel, my tiny tiny small parcel, which hops and parades, looking for you, longing for you, BURNING for you, can I open it, can I open it, ladies and gentlemen, can I open it please, no, not here, not here, ladies and gentlemen, better at home, better at home.

Stepern, you do the doggy now, come on doggy

Lola is thirsty and asks a boy in the audience for a sip. He tells her she can keep the can.

my little doggy dog chews its hair every time a passer by caresses it. My little doggy dog chokes with its hair every time a passer by caresses it. My little doggy dog dies with its hair every time a passer by caresses it. Spit it out boy, spit it out.

Lola barks every time she barks

This dance is called: You hurt your back.

Lola looks at the beautiful boy on the front (his name is Brendan) and dedicates this piece to him

It's all about the time when you hurt your back and you were being such a pussy, a big, fat, smelly pussy, breaking up with me in the middle of the street, in the middle of this big, fat, smelly street, just because you hurt your back. Look out for the pelvis turning around. It describes you being a pussy. I request that the camera zooms into my pussy in this particular bit. It's likely that this dance will make you feel like a big, fat, smelly pussy.

Dear Stephen

you make me burn and swift and pamper all over the place. I am just
pampering now, Stephen, i am pampering all over the place. I love you
Stephens, I love you and I have to make your name sound a little
awkward each time, oh Stephern

I have nothing in my arms; nothing to give you, only a short small shy stroke on the forehead, but you do not take it. You let it fall, the law of gravity, you say, and I believe you.

Lola thanks the audience and walks away with a half empty beer can.

12 August, Agnus Hughes Gallery

I would like to begin I begin I would like to begin at the beginning, I begin by beggining by saying I begin by saying that I begin by beginning.

I would like to begin by beggining but I will begin in the beginning when I begin it will be surely the beginning. I begin when I begin when I begin when I begin when you let me begin at the beggining.

Now you begin. Now this is you beginning. This is your beginning and I would hate taking it away from you. DO you know what a begining is? And is it already the begining? DO you know what it means to begin? I begin with you again here and now, I will cry if I keep beginning, every year with you here and now.

This is your beginning you begin the way you want to, you begin without even beginning.

You came to see me and you are amazing. I love your jean short, your fiery hair, your fingers on my pussy. Yesterday, when I was pissing this sounded better. It was more honest and to the point, like you. You always make up words, like Baba and asshole. YOu are perfect and brilliant and a big fucking asshole.

I walk on a paved road, with two high walls, a little bridge. My bag is heavy, I have a big heavy bag and I am falling. It is the books, I am convinced or not the books, it is my legs perhaps that are not strong enough. There is this man and woman there who are cooking something. They push me, they give me a push because they also think it is the bag, they push me hard on the back to help me. Then at home, I wash my dirty feet and the staircase floods, the salad has gone straight into the drainer and has blocked it. the water is everywhere and my sister speaks with her mouth full, something about a choir, she has found a new choir and she does not even invite me.

this is based on you wanting me wanting you
if I come close during the night you pull over
just pull over near the break near the hand break I am telling you/u
just pull over when i come close to you during the night

If I come close to you during the day you lean over
lean over next to me near the gear lean over
just lean over near my gear near the break lean over

if I come close to you during the afternoon you bend over
bend over I am telling you/u just bend over
this song is rubbish I am telling you just bend over

come near me during the night, during the day and bend over

If I come close to you during the evening you toss over
toss over I am telling you/u just toss over
just lean over, bend over, toss over, I am telling you/u

Just pull over near the break near the gear near the break just toss over

da capo

mock performance

I promised I would write a mock performance when I got back home this evening. I am back home now. This is a mock performance:

I am paraphrasing. My tulip is yours. My big fat beautiful tulip is yours.

She is standing on the left pulling something from within her breast, but it is not a tulip.

For you, for whenever you want to visit me.

She looks ahead, motionless.

For you, for not wanting to do this thing with me. I know why. I do not wonder why. Because you have seen it all, you have stayed far from home for a few days, you missed your mirror, the golden arcades of my nostrils, the feathers and dirty towels next to the sink. You have seen it all. The bang bung taratatzum, the here and there. And you do not want to be here, in this white space, full of bullshit. I know you, because you've seen it all.

Don't you see it, don't you see it, we have been lying, I scream. I have been lying to you and you have been lying to me. You want it now, you want it now and hard and hot.

Now Stephen comes in. He is AWWWesome, he is as AWWWesome as it ever gets. He wonders around the room, holding some paprika and three tulips.

Where did you find these? I ask, who gave you these?

I am not entirely sure, Stephen replies. I got them from within your breasts when you were sleeping. Noooo, I scream, you are lying, you have been lying all along.

This is crap, this is all crap. Go ahead and bite my nail. I have walked purposefully through parsnips, and, run past a rhododendron, I've even tiptoed around triffids. However I do nothing near tulips.

I hate it when you do this, I shout. It does not really fit in your hand. You might hold it, a little bit, but you won't hold it the way it's meant to be. Why? Because it's split up at the bottom. It might just about fit. It's split up in your hand. It just about stays in. Made in Taiwan. Does it pop? Oh, yes, it pops a little bit. Ohhh! Yeaaah! So that's it, a few of you a few of me lying and somehow never wondering why.

Stephen is clearly upset. She goes back to where she started and starts again.

I am paraphrasing. My tulip is yours.

why don't you do it, darling? I am far away anyhow, I don't have to see it, I don't have to see you shoving it up another woman's bottom, caressing her orchids with your tiptoes, smelling like your beautiful bottom once smelled near me. Why don't you just go into the

my tulip is yours

I have walked purposefully through parsnips, and, run past a rhododendron, I've even tiptoed around triffids. However I do nothing near tulips.

[Thanks Philip]

I hate when you do this. It does not really fit in your hand. You might hold it, a little bit, but you won't hold it the way it's meant to be. Why? Because it's split up at the bottom. It might just about fit. It's split up in your hand. It just about stays in. Made in Taiwan. Does it pop? Oh, yes, it pops a little bit. Ohhh! Yeaaah! So that's it, a hundred eighty nine added to my collection.


[Thanks Jamie]

poor bastard

I am now clean from all the summer dirt the one that goes straight into your anus and does not let you sleep, the one that whispers to you late at night before you have the chance to wash it off. I am a lady now. I am wearing my pearl earrings, I hold a note pad and a pencil, I scratch my crotch only when no one is looking. I don't love you anymore. It took a while. It should have happened faster, I reckon. No big dramas or fellow tears or pasta dreams or rose petals. I am done with you darling. I am doing this: I have my pubics high on my belly, I am a poor bastard, I hold your hand and climb the hill. This is my hill, I shout, this is my hill, my pubes, my saggy tits, my wasted years.

I only wanted two or three fingers inside me and you were missing a tooth. I still did not care, I just wanted it. In between the carriages of the train I showed it to you. Your iris adjusted size my hand in your pocket, your tooth still missing. I shouted: where did you miss your tooth? In a conflict. A conflict of interest. Do you miss your tooth. Not all at you said, not at all. One, two three fingers, two perhaps or preferably three, one tooth missing, two carriages, a conflct, your adjustable iris, the cornea of your eye.

I'm With You Residency, Scarborough 2011

I am standing on the edge of the cliff. I observe the back of your knees, your tainted muscles. I am standing on the edge of the cliff with you darling. Your hair is frail and smooth, wanting me to come back, wanting me to stay put in case of emergency. In case there is some fresh erosion at the back of your knees, in case a tornado takes the remains away. This cliff is not like the others. It is frail and smooth, wanting me to come back, wanting me to stay put in case of emergency, in case there is some fresh erosion on the back of your knees. I am sitting on the pavement. I am not being defiant and you shout: who told you you are allowed to be doing this. Can you read? Can you read? Can you read? Can you read? Or are you blind. I have two legs, one good one bad, one good one bad, one medium/ In this steep end of a cliff, unaware of which crime I am committing, I will build a house. One good one bad, one good, one bad, one medium. In this steep end of a cliff, in front of this lousy landscape, I come back to observe the back of your knees – in case of emergency.

I'm With You Residency, Scarborough

I will do it now, the back of neck will flutter in the wind, the fur of my neck will hover. I don’t know how this works, I don’t know how this works, but I’ll do it anyway. No way I can stop now – Am I stopping? Am I stopping? Am I having regrets? Just go with it – don’t hesitate. How embarrassing to stop now – right before the end – right before something is about to happen. Right before something comes to pass for a reason or by chance, something befalls me.

I'm With You Residency, Scarborough, 2011

One out of two times there is a giant snot, a beautiful mucus, an extraordinary phlegm hanging out from your nose. No wonder I’m so in love with you – no wonder I’m in love with your nostrils – they are round and dark and perfect – they will never shut up or betray or abandon me – they will never inform an enemy of my existence, spill, blab or kiss and tell. Your that kind of layer, your somehow sinuses, your that kind of area. Your bogies, your boggers, your piggies, your curl up figgies. You can’t see it baby. You can’t see it dangling and crumbling. Your snot is a luxury you cannot afford. A little hair on a belated wife on a black mole on a white skin, on a green grass, on a clean ass, on a beach house on a crumbling, dangling cliff.

I'm With You Residency, Scarborough, 2011

Look at boy Manuel, just look at him. Take a good look at him. Look at his blonde hair, his fluorescent sunglasses, his dirty jean short, his hairy thighs. Is your name Almunia, darling? Is your name Almunia? Just be my goal keeper, darling, just be my goal keeper. Just score twice, three times, just score as hard as you can, but you must never toe poke, darling, you must never toe poke, because if you do, the world will know that you are not my goal keeper boy. And I will say. Look at boy Manuel toe poking, look at him, take a good look at him, getting into my red field, into my red empty field – and score baby, and if you toe poke from time to time, I will forgive you – and I will not say: look at boy Manuel toe poking. I will stay with you and look at your blonde hair, your fluorescent sunglasses, your dirty jean shorts, your hairy thighs and say to the world: This is my goal keeper, world, this is my goal keeper.

I'm With You Residency, Scarborough 2011

Just do it, just touch the sweet beautiful beard of william shakespeare, as if nobody is around to notice, as if you do this thing every day. And once you do, I will make sure i report you to the police or the reception desk, as someone suspicious. Just do it, just press your fingertips along his beard, his moustache, his tight neckline.

I am a terrible fucking shit person. I am sending glances of hatred all over the place. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you and your power suit and your fringe and your long hair and your mobile phone and your english accent and your fucking necklace and your appropriateness. I hate you. Just go fuck yourself, you pretentious shit. I am all alone. and no one is coming back anytime soon.

I am packing. I am packing my socks in little boxes. I make two boxes. One for you and one for me. I know you are not coming back and so I just pretend. This box is for you. I am packing. I will call the man with the van, the only loyal person, this has been a four year relationship, once a year at least, we meet, business, goodbye, my healthiest affair. No weird stuff and stupid expectations. I am packing. You are not coming back, this box is for you.

I have been through this and through that, I have been through that and the other, that other thing. I have been through these all these all these things. I have been in a long a short and medium size love affair in a serious liaison a fleeting encounter. I have been through all of these un hurt un fucking hurt and honest. And i am still doubting still believing that this fucking thing will happen again that I will fall again into the trap. Did you know I am leaving? `Did you know that I will be alone again, ALONE once again and somehow forever? Did you know that no matter how long short mid size fleeting serious and fucked up affairs I have been in, I am still alone? I have no one to talk to, to spit, to fuck, to shit, to hope and love? No one to ask the most stupid of the questions, the most disgusting of things, you know what.

I dream there is a party in my new house and there is a problem with chairs. The chair I want to buy for my new big table is plastic, too inexpensive and not comfy at all, but it looks good. It looks better than good. It loos amazing. There is a baby in the house, my friend's baby girl and lots of gifts. She asks me whether we give presents in my hometown to each other and I lie. I lie blatantly in front of her face. I say no. I have two bedrooms. The one fits my bed and the other my wardrobe. I wonder which one you will pick to sleep in when you come by to visit. Then I wake up. And there are no chairs, no party, no birthday gifts or babies. Just the pathetic realisation that you are not there.

I am running towards you, dear. I want to be here, I want to stay. I want to stay and be here for now and for a little longer. I have ten fingertips and some flour; I will bake for you a loaf of bread for each day. Six days you will be gone and when you come back your little belly will poke. Because you allergic to love and yeast, it makes you bloat. I will mix the flour with the salt and kisses and make a wishing well in the middle and wish for you to find the Laistrygonians and the Cyclops the wild Poseidon on your way. On this big trip of yours. I will not wait. I will not weave and unweave every night. I will just write and read and cook little loafs of bread and swim from time to time. And one day, I will just see you again.

Do I? DO I? Do i hurt? Or is this just my selfish side not wanting to say goodbye, because goodbye is always about letting someone go and holding on to yourself, with perfect hair? My hair straightener is broken; my hair won't be perfect, so I do not want to say goodbye. DO I, do I, do I hurt, or is this just a fear of not doing it right, not having the shiniest haircut of all times in this painful goodbye? I am so scared this will be so hard, this will be harder than the time I had the perm, or the bowl cut or the bun. It will be harder than the time I had the dutch braid. Yes, yes, that's it, remember the dutch braid. This is how it will feel like. Like that time I had the dutch braid.

in my dream my ear was in pain. It was as if you had inserted your fingertip into my ear and it was stuck there for hours, like an earphone, like a little fingertip stuck within my ear. We stayed up late drinking gin. I can talk to you forever. I hoped the night would not finish just then. Just then, with the victory of samothrace, with the third glass of gin. With the story of Ithaca inside your eyes. We talked about this and that and that. And that was it. That was my last night with you in this city I loved so deeply and for so long. Now you are going. You will be gone for a while and I will miss you deeply and for long. I will see you again, I hope you will see me. I hope I will not turn into a pumpkin or a butterfly or even worse into a fingertip stuck inside my ear during the night, when I dream.

You just did it. You just did it. You took your clothes off and you dipped in. You dipped, you dipped, you skinny dipped. Although you are so skinny. I thought skinny people don't skinny dip. But you did. You took your clothes off and skinny dipped. Fuck that. Fuck commitment and all this shit. Just skinny dip, baby, just skinny dip. And fuck me and my feelings. Just do it, just go in there and skinny dip, with your other half or any other half you like. I will stay here, waiting for you. Like a big terrible idiot, whose idiocy traverses the waves and comes and finds you. Only to remind you that it's ok to skinny dip with someone else.

You just did it. You just did it. You took your clothes off and you dipped in. You dipped, you dipped, you skinny dipped. Although you are so skinny. I thought skinny people don't skinny dip. But you did. You took your clothes off and skinny dipped. Fuck that. Fuck commitment and all this shit. Just skinny dip, baby, just skinny dip. And fuck me and my feelings. Just do it, just go in there and skinny dip, with your other half or any other half you like. I will stay here, waiting for you. Like a big terrible idiot, whose idiocy traverses the waves and comes and finds you. Only to remind you that it's ok to skinny dip with someone else.

Although modern swimwear is more practical, nude swimming remains a fairly common activity in rural areas, where an unwanted audience of outsiders is rather unlikely; yet it may be forbidden even there by law. Today, many swimmers in the U.S. limit nude swimming to private locations due to concerns about public nudity.

Benjamin Franklin, an avid swimmer, possessed a copy of the Art of Swimming by Melchisédech Thévenot, which featured illustrations of nude swimmers. Among other notable Americans, Presidents John Quincy Adams and Theodore Roosevelt are perhaps the best-known skinny-dippers.

"If we swam the Potomac, we usually took off our clothes."

This dance is called: You hurt your back.

It's all about the time when you hurt your back and you were being such a pussy, a big, fat, smelly pussy, breaking up with me in the middle of the street, in the middle of this big, fat, smelly street, just because you hurt your back. Look out for the pelvis turning around. It describes you being a pussy. I request that the camera zooms into my pussy in this particular bit. It's likely that this dance will make you feel like a big, fat, smelly pussy.

(written in a Gob Squad workshop)

Under specific circumstances passion can grow fast, faster than parsley or courgette, faster than light. It can be forceful, persistent, and in some cases it might eventually win. The person in love cannot or will not think rationally, in a coherent or consistent manner. The person in love might even consider putting one's life in danger without hesitation. The person in love might consider killing, poisoning or shooting oneself in order to avoid disappointment. Why bother, the person in love will say, leading a life in which your beloved writes letters, makes the bed and cooks aubergine curry for someone else?

Why so much noise? Why all this effort, these outbursts, these worries and torture?

I love you, the person in love will say, because you have green eyes, because you cook well, because you know when to shut up, because you play scrabble with me, because you cycle miles to come and see me; because you never get to the point, because you always kiss my friends, because you don't mind when I buy you drinks - you don't feel threatened or intimidated or all that shit.

I love you, because you have the most amazing ass I have ever seen, because you get naked with every chance, because you don't mind when I am grumpy, or not shaved, or when I am overly emotional or not at all; or when I say, by mistake of course, that I love you.

It is always about your ass, you must know that by now. It is always about your beautiful tender ass, which comes and visits me from time to time. I know you are busy, I know you have your voluntary job, your paintings, but could you please, please let your ass come and visit? I will make tea and bake a cake, I will hoover the carpet and change the cat littler. Please, I will be good and polite and proper. Like you want me to be. Just let me see your ass for one last time.

Then we'll call it a day. I will write to you from time to time. You will receive my letters, you will contemplate writing back, but you will not. That's ok. I will think about you during the weekends.The rest of the days I will be good, polite and proper, like you wanted me to be. And I will hoover the carpet and change the cat littler, just in case.

all crap

I am tired. I am tired of my nostrils. I am tired of being worried and checking my nostrils ALL THE TIME when I am with you. I am happy we are spending some time apart. I need some rest.

I dreamt of being in a class last night. As always, the time run out and I had only run one exercise. How pathetic.

shit shitty shitty again once again shitty shit you full of shit I full of shit so shitty shit just shut the shitty shit mouth you just shut and shut off you shitty shit you shitty shit so scared and shit so shitty shitty shit thirty is shitty shit

shit shit shit

shit shit shit

shit shit shit

shittier oh my shittier

shit shit shit

shit shit

shit

turning shit

turning thirty

turning thirty shitty shit and no love to hold on to

shit shit shit

shit shit shit

shit shit shit

shittier oh my shittier

shit shit shit

shit shit

shit

turning shit

turning thirty

turning thirty shitty shit and no love to hold on to

You have accused me before. And I cannot take it any longer. You have accused me for being vulgar. For lacking sophistication, for being unrefined. You have accused be for making explicit or offensive references to sex, for using inappropriate vocabulary, for saying cunt instead of good morning. Not sure what you mean. Not sure what you mean when you say cunt is vulgar. Have you thought about it like this: cunt is cunt and good morning good morning. Good morning cunt, good cunt good morning. Good cunt good cunt good cunt good morning.

Have you thought about it like this:good cunt good, morning, good good good cunt, good cunt good cunt, morning morning. Good morning, good cunt good cunt good morning good good oh goo cunt god cunt good morning.

Have you thought about it like this: good cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt morning cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt good morning.

Have you thought about it like this (now you will say I am pushing it too far or that I am angry; but I am not mister, just trying to prove a point): cunt morning more morning more morning more cunt more cunt more cunt more cunt more morning.

You too have a good day.

in your ass in your wonderful anus in your dream of my asshole I want to stay for ever I want to reveal what is there all the parsnips and cucumbers and rewards and desperate goodbyes. I love your ass. I love your ass more than anything. More than my own anus. More than the thing that has been stuck inside my front tooth for the last five months and I feel like I have a relationship with it. More than the white sheets, the white embroidered sheets my grandmother made for me for the first night of married life. I love your ass more than my job, more than every single first course on this arrogant dinner table.

I will walk until I find you. I will walk alone in the morning in this giant small city full of cardboard and blueberries. And I will have you in mind. Far away from everything I love and puke and smash and dare, I will walk alone in the fucking emptiness of a new city. And I will puke and cry.

Now I am here being so young again for a last time. Can I keep you? Just write to me and tell me, can I keep you? I will not be obsessive or think of your butt 10000000000 thousand times a day. I will just keep you; warm and soft, like you are.

I have to run very fast to get there, to get where I want to get, to get to you. I have been here before. I have walked through this street up and down up and down and down and down and down and up and down and down and down and down and up up up up for many many years, before I met you.

I am leaving. I am leaving. I am leaving this city this bathroom this corridor. I am leaving never to look back. I will go away for a while. I will work in the coal mines and buy you a house. It will be big and handsome and it will never lie. It will only say one word: your name. And I will shout: you cannot reveal it, you cannot reveal the name, because if you do, I will be hurt and you might never talk to me again.

it is always the same question coming back to me time after time, what do you do afterwards? What the hell do you do after? After you have finished drinking the cherry juice BANG BANG BANG after you are done with sewing, sleeping, cooking, BANG BANG after you have finished writing up, playing games, drawing your penis on the wall, when you are done with all the passé perceptions of things, when you are done solving the problem, the fucking problem, what's wrong with you BANG BANG that is the only problem, what do you do after you are done loving, done fucking loving the one person you love

come on George, just say it, just admit the fucking thing, admit it, you are not who you say you are, you are a phoney, just a translation of something else, you are a fraudulent, dishonest, cheating man. Just admit to it, the origin of your fucking name and then come back and report to me.

Lying down in the sight of your painting, touching the face of someone I have never met, I wonder: Is this time now, when I know where to park my bicycle, which roads to avoid, when I walk and I know where I am going, when I know where to buy red tomatoes, radicchio and vine leaves.

How long could you stay away from my round genitals, my perfectly shaped like a circle fallopian tubes my hairy scurry disgusting labium; a slight sigh hanging from your collar. You take off your socks because you want to, because you have eaten too much and I fall asleep in the middle of the night. How dare you, how dare you hang your excrement from your ass, how dare you fall asleep in the same way that I did, in the same way that my dad inserted a scarf inside his pants in the summer time.

Your beautiful round bottom is full of nonsense tonight. Yesterday I was someone else yes you know that you have seen it before I have seen it before so many times. An afternoon and then BAM BAM BAM I am dead I have shot my self without noticing while taking breakfast in the seaside. Somewhere between you and me I will find the truth. I will walk, it won't take long. And I will let you know, because I am not selfish, I will let you know how it all happened in a BAM BAM BAM and I am dead I shot my self without noticing while having lunch in the seaside. Somewhere between you and me I will walk or take a taxi. Once I know for sure I will text or maybe call (always an excuse to listen to your beautiful voice) and let you know, because, you know already, I hope, I am not a selfish person, just slightly scared in case I get there first.

βρέθηκα ξανά στο λιβάδι με τους αχαλίνωτους έρωτες, όπου οι κότες δεν πονούν όταν τις σφάζεις και η καρδιά μου θα είναι η τελευταία στιγμή που ονειροβατώ χωρίς εσένα προς τα εσένα με αγάπη