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

Just cut me in two, one, two, this is the number, just cut my waist, oh such a waste, such a wonderful, dearsome waste, darling. You enter the room, semi naked, like a semi detached house, like the waste you never had or never will have again. What are you drinking darling, what are you drinking, without looking back, just in case you might turn into a pillar of salt for the sweet and sour soup and water. Youyouyou just need to cut me in two and take the two and stick it back together. You are there, one two three you are somehow there, wanting more. Although bloody and boring, you always want more. I thought that would be scary, this number of yours with the hooks on your forehead, the bloody hooks.

You have something inside your eye, you say, or this is so that we come closer.

one, two, three, that is a number, that is a numbery number to count, that is my fucking circus number, ladies and gentlemen, that is ME DOING IT for you, darling. One, two, three, that is the fucking opening number, where I fuck my pillow case until it burns, until you can cook oat on it and baked beans and green peas. I wonder how long that might take, should I add some salt.

You wanted this, you wanted this baby. You wanted a fucking opening number, here it is, then, here it is: ONE TWO THREE, one two, three or four or five or fibre, or fire, fire, yes, baby, that's it, that's where I AM, as you say, I am here, talking to you, talking to your first and foremost fucking number.

I wonder whether you mind this. Whether you mind me sharing your curls with the world. But THERE IS NO WORLD without your curls darling, there is no fucking world to sleep in or dream of. I forgot to say this: I forgot to say: Voila, ladies and gentlemen, my little parcel, my tiny tiny parcel, which hops and parades, looking for you, longing for you, burning for you. Shall I open it, shall I open it, ladies and gentlemen. NO, no, better at home.

This is this now, the number with the flames, as you wanted it to. I will be careful not to burn your golden curls though, not to look at my phone all the time, till I hear from you. I will try to stay still, turn the flame love on and hope for the best. Don't you worry, I have grown familiar to what this is. To the way I should not get attached to you. To you holding me and me pretending it never happened. But please, don't take those curls away.

You know the aubergine soup is too soupy, too watery, and of course you know why this is. Because, of course, if your curls catch fire, I will call the police, the emergency hospital, the NHS direct, I will call them to come and tear your burnt curls and give them to me, as a memento, a gift for me, for when you are gone.

But of course, I do not wish for all this to happen. I wish for your curls to remain intact. So, I will just train hard and perform my number when I know exactly what is going on, when I know that you may stay.

so this is it, I have to do it now, I have to tell you where it all comes from, why my hair is constantly falling inside the aubergine soup, why I cannot make any sounds any more. But you know already, I 've tried so not to give in. Inside my ears there is a small ball of hair waiting for you, have you touched part of my sweet little hair, my summer drop, have you even looked at it properly yet. This is the night of the cockring master, the amazing cockring master. I will draw you on the cockbook and keep you forever.

holy ass or a valediction to your asshole

this is a miracle 2000000 euros and 3000000euros this is a miracle, no wonder I am 94 and still here investing in your ass your eyes your tale your beautiful fingertips, you take off your socks because you do not think they are sexy. Let me tell you something, there is NOTHING about you that is NOT sexy, not even your shit, your farting, your dirty fingernails touching my big oh so big birthday present

I have to brush my hair now I urgently need to brush my hair and I speak and speak on my own in this beautiful voice of mine and I hurt everywhere because I cannot touch your round ass anymore because you are miles away and you are untouchable dear, you are sacred your holy ass will never say goodbye I cannot say anything like this now I am just drinking touching the postcard you gave me clearing my throat for my big speech, my valediction to your asshole dear sweet miracle

it is late now I am drinking slowly the free water you are full on fire I am brushing my hair and I am ready to take myself an order I will order something that costs too little, I have to listen to myself first you say noone noone will take that from me

this is a miracle 2000000 euros and 3000000euros this is a miracle, no wonder I am 94 and still here investing in your ass your eyes your tale your beautiful fingertips, you take off your socks because you do not think they are sexy. Let me tell you something, there is NOTHING about you that is NOT sexy, not even your shit, your farting, your dirty fingernails touching my big oh so big birthday present

βαζεις το χερι σου εκει που ξερεις ναι ναι εκει που ξερεις μμμμ μμμμ το χερι σου κανει μμμμ μμμμ
μου χαιδευεις τα μαλλια για αποπροσανατολισμο αχχααα αχαααα
με ξεβρακωνεις παραπαμ
μου χαιδευεις τα μαλλια αχααα αχααα
με ξεβρακωνεισ παραπαμ
βαζεις το χερι σου εκει που ξερεις μμμμ μμμμ
με ξεβρακωνεις παραπαμ
μου χαιδευεις τα μαλλια αχχαα

με αποσπας με ξεπερνας με προδιαθετεις
παραμαουντ παραμαουντ

με ξεψιριζεις με πονας
αουτς αουτς

how to do this now how to surrender to the unknown hands of yours how to admit my defeat without surrendering. I will do it in my own time in my own language. thank you.

doggy

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.

tomorrow I will be the same again, the same mouth, the same empty stomach, the same lonely hips.

I haven't been here for a while and I have missed you. I am writing elsewhere, mind you. I am writing about you, about the times apart, the times together. It has been so long till I last saw you. And words, of course, are dull. Again, thinking of you, I am leaning towards the right. My only consolation your skinny body. I will count to three. And then I will come to find you.

I write to YOU to you you asshole to YOU you do not know how to read or how to read the signs you do not know what happens inside my big fat plumping system inside my wardrobe full of clothes inside my corridor my fucking windowsill inside the whole of the hell of me I write to you you illiterate person however small i might be i still recognise the signs of love

my little pussy is always kinda thirsty. it does not like coke and all that shit it prefers healthy drinking multivitamin drinks and stuff or jasmin tea and whatever comes with it. From time to time a straw might be necessary, I wonder why the hell you haven't called for so long why you lie

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.

i think of you as in a hill in a hill with holes this is how you breath. You have your laptop in there your mouse and all in the hole of the hill I think of you. The mud is dark and the earth covers you and you do not want to come out, because then you will have to write to me and explain it all. That is your excuse. Your hole in the hill and I only wait.

in the dark of course in the dark you fucker you see nothing you see nothing but nothing you see nothing me crying because I do not I nothing you see how soft this whole thing might be how soft and steady. i have taken so much of it i suffocate and i am scared in case you go in case you and me no stay the same you say don't cry don't write cliches, but I love cliches and I cry.

you are turning around all night long and going nowhere you are tired and don't want to see me but I will make stuffed vegetables for you and little raki I will care and cry only when you do not see me I will whisper midnight songs and wear your clothes and hope that it will be ok. and i do not want any children, No more children for me, no more.

so sad and lonely without you this afternoon or evening you are going away and I have to stay and deal with myself I will deal with myself so hard that it will hurt until you come back and bandage my scars and help

so you'd better get ready. Because this is it for you. You are not going anywhere. Nothing more for you. This is the hand that takes.

I am on all four looking for something, from my ass there is a whole world coming out and I am just looking for something on the floor and from my ass a whole world is coming out

I am going round and round and round your leg to find the spot where we first met. I think it's near the ankle, but then again I am not sure. Your tights are stubborn and I am tired. I think I will only inspect your toes today, in case of a leakage; they tend to be precarious, your toes, they come and go all the time.

this chord, long and red and ready to explode, begins from my ass and reaches your bottom. And in between it traverses the calves of beautiful young women, it's part of their sandals, and then it arrives to you fed up and exhausted. It has no home to rest, no table to lean on its arm and drink coffee. It has nowhere to go, your bottom being the sole destination. Will you open the door, I wonder.

not you, of course, it is never you. It is the hole I have for a heart, the crack, the fissure, the rupture.

in my little seat in this huge space in the middle of this vast city, which does not know its own contours, I read you. I read you and I understand how sad I am and how lonely. Tired and exhausted I sit in the middle of this vastness, thinking of you. I do not want to wait or struggle. I just want to be you.

Is it the cauliflower or the despair? Is it the cucumber I ate or the years apart? The crappy walnuts and the boiled lentils or the cinnamon thoughts about you, that camp in my stomach and make me cringe and whistle and writhe in the little sofa I have for a bed? I will be ready very soon, ready for new visits, I will lay the bed, make the table and wait. I have cooked cauliflower and boiled eggs.

what is it, I ask. A pair of slippers, you say, but you do not mean it. You know these are not your slippers. They are your kind of thoughts for me, who I was and who I will be. The colours I stole from you when you rushed to leave the other day. No breakfast. No porridge. No banana bits, no trace of tear.

unsure how to begin this, or how to end it, I simply say: two or three times is enough, more than enough, and we both know it. Unless of course you want to take it to the next level, but we don't. One time , one stroke, one brush, and we will be done with it. Done and dusted. Then, of course, there are always complications, you know, like when we open the windows, or the door, unavoidably, to exit, or enter, or to let the cat out. But, then we have to deal with that too. We either never open them again, and slightly suffocate, or we live with the dust. Knowing that it will always be there, part of it. Part of whichever part comes first. Hard to find a solution, we give up. And live with the strokes and brushes and combs and never talk about it again.

all that one can do, you say, is proceed inside this tear, vibrate at the borders of memory. Not sure what you mean, but I like it. And I tear tears long and far away from you. 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.

It has been a year since I met you. we had our goods and bads and mediums, the music the same, me the same and a little different. I am trying to think; how have I changed. My hair is longer, my armpits smell. I wash my pants twice before wearing, especially the new ones and I think of you. You know, the shape is familiar, up, up, up, up, down, down, up, down, down, down. I know now. I recognise it. I despair and I smoke. What am I left with. A title, a piece of hair, a fairy girl. Holding hands in your parents' sofa, sharing a bed, and a ship, and a flat. This is what I live for; the first time, the excitement, the wanting to see you again and again and to know you better and better, to enter you, to never exit. Somehow though, alone again, in this small room full of fragments of phrases and forgotten objects, I hear this song, which has never found its place. Still, without hope, I walk towards you to know you again, better and better, to enter, to never exit, until it is over again and new and over.

Are you serious? Can you really produce butter shortbread from your asshole? What about Danish Cookies and Mille Feille?

of course you are not a scamp - or an asshole. But sometimes the object of desire is uncontained by desire's longings.

I just LOVE your citrus squeezer, baby, its metal frame, its delicate form, how functional it seems to be, how wonderful and elegant. I love it when it lies on your kitchen sink full of lemon stones and juices.

This is a birthday, a festival. What is the worst that can happen. The worst is this: I shout so hard in a different language and everyone knows what I am talking about. I shout hard and forget about the translator in the corner who is doing his job - no one told him he will have to swear in this meeting.

This is a party, because I made it. I made it through this and I still have ten fingers and ten toes. I made it through the dark paths of exhaustion and now, new again, I embark on a different journey.

On the side of the port you are having your wedding party. YOu still have a beard and two warm hands and you are getting married to a man in pyjamas; old style grey pyjamas, not nice ones. Since he is asleep, I offer to fuck you - on top of the clothes as always, like when we were young. You admit to my skills and you look impressed. I am thinking I should have become a man. Then my students forget the lines, there is a stranger in the class and I have not prepared surveillance - such a boring subject anyway. Outside of the toilet there is a bunch of hats. I wear one and I make an offer:if I kiss you, can I have the hat? I jump on you, your mouth smells, you say, but you can have the hat.

now now i am now so sad and thirsty my nipples show so small and without a voice I am falling a sleep, a long heavy sleep with you falling in whatever might come in a whirlwind of sorts without a parachute without anything to save me from the cold wind and the rain we might have an umbrella we might not we might feel however we feel so often oh so tired of this and that now, so very tired. Could you please stop talking now I am tired of my voice, I am tired of all the voices of the world. My scarf is my tent, my house, it protects me from the sun and the light, from the cold. I fold in two, I do not take up much space, I am economical and ecological sometimes I wish I could remember your name I wish I could remember

on the top of my ring fingernail I have a white mark. It is a wish. I am a wishing well, and this is my only chance. But, I have all I need. So, I blow it away, so that it goes and sticks on someone else's fingernail ring. Years after, I meet a man. He has an identical mark on his fingernail. I ask him about it and he says, it is a wish. He is a wishing well. And he wished to meet me.

oh yes, bind it baby, bind it, bind it soft, bind it hard, just bind it. I just love it so much when you do, when you bind it, one copy, two copies, oh, yes, baby

It’s been so long since I had a close look at your arse, since I leaned forward to caress your orchids, since I had my mouth so full of you, my blissful anus, my asshole, I have always been, my awesome, gruesome something, my since it’s been so long, I wonder, my assul, my assul, my assul so willingly will from dawn till dust it it just me then is it inside the ckeeks and trees inside the fairy bushes, inside the wonder bras and masters, I am all alone.

oh, look at me, how pretty I am, look at my big fat moustache, my big fan, oh how big my fun is, how weird, my mouth is round like a round about, a round dance, a round table, I lean towards you, I fan the fan, I am a fan of you, dear, a great, big, round fan of you

So, you said I am too tall for you and too short for you and too big for you and too small for you and too something something and I said you are perfect perfect not too tall not too short not too big not too small not too something something you are perfect you have perfect feet perfect arms perfect something something and I love you short I love you small I love you something something and you have blue eyes and red eyes and purple eyes.

And I said I am purple and red and blue eyes for you, dear.

No, you shtop it now, you shtop jumping, you shtop shouting, you just shtop shtexting

I can make it through this while you are reading, if you are reading, when you are reading. When you are reading and thinking of this and that: thinking how strange this is - how delightfully unfamiliar, to feel so familiar around you -

I come near, nearer sometimes, I know I do not know how to say 'detrimentous' or 'deforestation', but I still hope I can make it through this.

in your shleep you shout in your shleep you dream of me shleeping in your dream you dream of me dreaming in your dream and I dream of you shleeping while you're shleeping if you are shleeping, when you are shleeping.

however long it might take, I will stay and say: however long it might take , I will stay and say: however long it might take, I will stay and say: however long it might take, I will stay and say: however long it might take, I will stay and wait and say however long I will say however long I will stay and say however long I stay and wave however long.

however long it might take, I will stay and say: however long it might take , I will stay and say: however long it might take, I will stay and say: however long it might take, I will stay and say: however long it might take, I will stay and wait and say however long I will say however long I will stay and say however long I stay and wave however long.

little little crumbs on the side of the table, the table cloth whispers, you eat them you eat the crumbs, you eat the little little crumbs and cry.

Have we been kissed? Have we been kissed, I shouted. What do you mean, what do you mean, she said, have we kissed? Oh, yes, yes, Have we been kissed. I wash my sheets, so that your ass is clean enough to hold the rhythm of our lovemaking. And I kiss you hard until the morning. And I love it when you say: I am enchanted, or It just dawned on me.

new

I am writing this in case you have come all the way here to find something new. I am saying this to you: I remember very clearly you hating toast on the way back home. I am fairly certain. And then, in the morning, you had toast with me and coffee. And I wonder if you also like new things, new songs, places and people someone new to keep you company, to sit with you in an empty space. As good as poulaki, you say, I can be as good as that. I can sing a better song, in fact, one for you, that you will only understand, like this one.

1. Write your name on a brown envelope.
2. Promise that you will love me forever.
3. Attach a stamp to the envelope.
4. Send it to me.
5. Come to find me before the envelope arrives

Task

1. wear something little
2. drink something little
3. apply some lipstick peach colour
4. do not worry if you are a man
5. do not worry if you are a man and you like it, this is normal
6. spell the first word that comes to your mind
7. find a place for each letter you have just spelled
8. make a map
9. go to the nearest of the places
10. blow a kiss to the third person that comes towards your way
11. show your knickers to the fifth
12. your naked breast to the eight
13. your bum crack to someone over sixty
14. wish you had never done all of the above
15. wish you do all of the above again
16. with or without an excuse

let's just say that I love you. Let's just say that my back is my head is my back is my muscles. So achey and strong that I want to die.

my back is my back is my back is my asshole.

I should have never let you go away. But now I would have to live in Oregon.

My back takes the shape of you. It is used to being you or next to you or alongside the long tale of you. I push it down further and further, I push and push so that my tale has again the shape of me.