One by one the chocolate bowling balls are coming out of my ear

Dear Sir/Madam

I am indeed very disappointed that I have to pay for postage to send this item back to you. In previous occassions, I was not required to do so. Just a note to say that I was trying to assemble this for about one hour. This is a whole hour of my life. I hope you appreciate that.

I woke up dreaming of Dehli. Finish my book, quit my job and go. 

This is the best sensation ever, the very best thing: a nut, an almond and a walnut stuck together in the opening of the body of an orange, having grown together and not been able to exit into the world, pushing each other in the opening and knowing they go nowhere. 

Let's just pretend this is not the sound of phlegm, it is actually a really advanced way of cleaning the throat.

This dog reminds me of myself. He doubts that I like him, even when I offer him my heart on a plate.

I bet you won't have a huge pregnant belly, but you'll have a huge bum. Is that really ok to say? Even after I have admitted to secretly place my hand on my belly some days in the office and pretend I'm pregnant.

Darling, sitting down at Carluccio's having coffee and cake and listening to Love is a losing game and thinking of the weekend. Even if I never see you again or you decide you like boys more or you somehow fall out of my radar and never speak to me again, I know this: you have made me feel alive and loved and given me the hope of love. This I cannot compare with nothing else in the world (I bet there is some syntactical error in this sentence). I want to see you again, of course, and I want to be part of your life, but this moment in time, I want to stop and consider this (what I already said).

Inside my tummy I can feel the old people with the long skirts going up and down all morning. My tummy is expanding on the rhythm of quinoa and I realise I have to stop accusing people for the way the pronounce their lives. Olives, sweet potatoes and some left-over humous.

My teeth have fallen today and there is no excuse not to visit the doctor. He will say all ses fine, but I know that my teeth have fallen today. I can feel the gaps on my gums, swollen and distracted. Swaying from side to side looking for my teeth that have fallen today. 

take me out from this black hole - its edges suspended from the ceiling. I have no teeth, only a canine that has to do all the job - chewing and crashing the stones and the grass. My mouth is distorted and the rest of my head disappears into the abyss. Two strings are holding my ears in place and my unknown back is hurting.

Four bullets and you have to push. I have not felt this way in ages. So shit and going down. Like there is a big massive unchewed lunch in my tummy and I have to carry it from here to the library and back home. I want it to go away. Or to remember to chew next time. I'm made of glass and my fingers are melting. I cannot type, I cannot sit down. I can only feel the hole in my tummy, the weight of the hole. and press my arm inside it to see if it hurts more.

A small eel lives at the back of my tongue. I pull it out and it has the face of a baby pig. My neighbour is taking drugs and all of my furs are stolen. We want to do a photography shoot, but someone is sawing wood.

I am done. Done done. I could not find my pencil case, but I am done. Almost unpacked and thinking of puppy. My breath does not come from my lungs, it is mostly developed through the outside layer of my skin - I have forgotten how to breathe deeply. Here, there is not deep breath, not allowed, no such thing, just keep going with shallow ones, for as long as you can. But in an exciting way of course, I feel I am suffocating. New things, new all, new everything. Almost like a dream, I do not recognise my life. And when I do, it is already so far away, I have to say goodbye. That is ok. I can look from afar and wave. I will fold the boxes carefully into the green bag and knock on your door. I will make rare steak and avocado salad and chat about nothing. You know, that man in the tent with the mosquitoes that wanted to have sex with you. And I will wake up not knowing what to do again and wondering where I am going. In a straight line, I guess, like you said.

I met my old ex boyfriend with diabetes, he was still smoking, still nice to talk to him. Then I was punished for some sort of crime, I had to stand all day not sit with my neck inside an iron thing with a chain. 

So I fucked the taxi driver who looked like an old Matt le Blanc. I was in an island, my sister was busy. We ended up in a university accommodation eating strawberries. He suffered from a rare condition of hunching. As we were fucking, he got older and older and at the end he looked like my grandfather. My sister was looking for me, preparing a workshop on group dynamics. Good, because I didn't like the sex that much.

I feel now nearer and nearer my place, where I belong. Stupid reasons really. Stockings worn with high heel sandals, five-year old child marvelling at a foreign language, someone taking a nap in the tube. I'm here, now. I won't read 'how to stand out', fuck it. I'll just stand. In the middle of everything. 

Go to the kitchen, lazy. All the answers are there, waiting for you.

My very first meal in London consisted of a half-cooked noodle-soup poorly soaked into a half-bottle of semi-hot water in my tiny kitchen in Mile End. Once again, my very first meal, for the second time round, 11 years later, cabbage out of a plastic cup in my little kitchen in Hackney. So delighted to be back. 

I'm back in the gloom of the summer, you are not here to hold my hand and my tummy hurts. These people in the plane were nice: he was kissing her hand until his breath was finished until he suffocated himself. Can we convince you to come face for graduation? NO!!! 

So rude. I have been so rude, I know. But then I cried. So much and with everyone. Rembering stuff. And I tried to figure them out. One of them said: I tried to piss you off and you kept going. And I said: I was trying to figure you out. And now I know: what you wanted was just to play. 

My dad is on his way and I can't wait to tell him about my discovery: what she wanted was just to play. He will be proud of me, like he always has. 

I will get up, make my first coffee of the winter and get ready for the cold. I'm at home here. But I can still be sad at home. Back to old habits, movies and coffee in bed, watering the plants just before they die.

I have people coming today. I will buy flowers and decorate the house. And a cake on a cake stand. I may even get some cherries on top. I'm thinking of you, puppy. 

I've got all the pears. I've got all the pears I want. All the pears of the world. One, two, three, four. I've got all the pears. They are both round and rectangular and like a small arse. A small purple round arse, the arse of Roy Orbison. Very round and purple, the arse of Roy Orbison. Very very round and purple, just like a pear. 

Here is what I need: an imaginative, spectacular hairdresser that will tell me how to wear my hair now I have new glasses. That will sit me down and comb it patiently with no remorse and make suggestions. Certain, certain suggestions, easy, easy suggestions that I can do in front of a big mirror in my new London room. Then puppy will walk in and say: I prefer your hair down. 

Instead of ears I have two long rectangular pieces of wood that keep my head in its place. They move sometimes and I'm dizzy. I'm also wearing a hat.

I didn't know I did that. I didn't know I still got angry when mother asked for confirmation of being a good mother. I didn't know I still felt pressure when they both said there is clean peach on the side of the kitchen, when they put more spaghetti in my plate than I wanted. When they reminded me that they did not let me be on my own or with other people or myself. When they admitted to think of their life as just us. I didn't know I did that. I still got so upset when I knew, once again, that their life was just us. I do not want to be anyone's life, I do not want to give confirmation, because that itself is pressure, I do not want to eat the clean peach or the spaghetti. I only want to lie down, under the air conditioning in my underwear and think of the bright days to come.

Yeah yeah king size Yeah yeah king size Yeah yeah king size not large king size Yeah yeah king size Yeah yeah king size

Yeah yeah king size not large king size

Yeah yeah king size Yeah yeah king size 

Yeah yeah king size Yeah yeah king size 

Yeah yeah king size Yeah yeah king size 

Yeah yeah king size not large king size

Yeah yeah king size Yeah yeah king size 

Yeah yeah king size 

So this thing happens in my mind: I experience things taking place right now as if they are already gone. Kind of experiencing the nostalgia of having lived these things while living them right now. But, I'm living them right now and yet I'm sad, as if I look back in the past and I see these things in a time which is not now. A time that is already gone,  although these things are happening right now and that makes me sad. Like when you sent your text the teenage volcano last night. I replied and then looked at my inbox again and saw your message and felt as if this is not now; it is a time in the future when now is already gone and your message has been sent in a different time that is not now, and now is already gone and a time when you are not part of my life anymore and I live this as if I'm in the future and I remember how happy I used to be, how happy your text made me, in a time that is now gone. I received your text then, when indeed you were part of my life. But then is now and I'm thinking of now as then and experience the sadness of not having you in my life. And yet, you are here, right now, sending me this text. ( eirini, wake up and get a grip).

Darling, I had a dream about you last night. You made out with my sister, because I had a girlfriend, and then decided to sleep with me in the big corner bed. Under the covers you found a little bag of white powder and we took some, thinking it was mdma. But then discovered that it was pot-pouri.

I made out with the building porter so that he lets me in the flat. He wanted me to cook pasta but I said let's make out in the dark. I had a fight with M. Because she didn't want to wear what I proposed: a blue tulle net skirt with a pink and green top which looked great. On her way out I shouted: that's what's pissing me off, the float that you are trying to be invisible.

I wanted to throw my hand into the gutter and wondered whether I'd be able to retrieve it afterwards. Think of the good things, the good things, I thought as I was waking up.

You had a shower during Labor Day and woke me up. If I get married my wedding dress will be bigger than the party hall, bigger than the priest. It will cover my long legs with lots and lots of layers of candy and I will move all around in a whirlwind of love. No shoes, or perhaps, no shoes.

I went to a kidney exhibition to check which kidney I liked in order to replace it with mine. I woke up and had three cups of coffee and fifteen cherries. All afternoon in the toilet, in other words.

Drank a lot last night kind of hoping I'll be funnier and more lovable. I exchanged my chicken leg for two cigarettes: one factory one rollie. I smoked one after another without thinking. The air was warm and then cold. We had a table cloth with orange and blue sunflowers and then an offer was on top of me in the tarot cards. Fell asleep on the table, supporting my head with my weak arm. And then jumped into the sofa bed under the dirty blanket, no sheets or anything. Best sleep ever. Faded into obscurity, like you would say. 

So, it's your birthday soon and I call you puppy. Can't remember how that came up, maybe I said something, you said something and I called you puppy. And then it stuck. For your birthday, here is what I want to give you: us waking up in a deserted mansion house in a big deserted mansion bedroom with a massive big bed somewhere in Italy. The bedroom windows face the garden which faces the sea (a bit cliche, but I'm an island girl, the sea has to feature). There are rocks, white chiffon curtains and a breeze. And I have all the ingredients for your favourite breakfast: strawberry mousse and waffles and hot coffee. We have breakfast and lie in bed for a while. And make up interview questions for imaginary job posts in exotic places and count the cracks and dribble all over each other and we are best friends. 

Some good changes recently, well done, well done. The FB thing, very well done, the reading thing, very well done. I manage to find a corner amongst the crowd just for myself. I manage to keep it for a while, to trust that that is my corner just for a while. I decided to do the FB thing while I was taking a bath and feeling overwhelmed with everything. I thought I wouldn't be able to follow through, but it's going well. I'm doing it. Ah, yes, and the computer thing, well done. Leaving it behind for a day or two or three. How nice. And just being with myself in the corner, making sense of the world.

Ok, I know it's time to move from a place when I am having a combination of crisps  and chocolate for dinner and enjoying it (which I have not done for a while, trying to be good). This is what happened with B. and C., this is what is going to happen with A. 

I never told you my little story

I never told you

A-i-w-a

I never told you my little story

I never told you

A-i-w-a

I never told you my little story

I never told you

I can bark at night

I can bark at night

I can bark at

A-i-w-a

I never told you my little story

I never told you

A-i-w-a

I can bark at night

I can bark at night (woof woof)

I can bark at night

A-i-w-a

Three times at night I wake

Three times at night I wake

myself barking

Three times at night I wake

Three times at night I wake

myself barking

Three times at night I wake

myself barking

Stay with me, stay with me

I'll make omelette and eggs

Stay with me, stay with me

I'll make omelette and eggs

Stay with me, stay with me

I'll make omelette and eggs

(and I will love you)

Stay with me, stay with me

I'll make omelette and eggs

I'll make lunch, lunch, lunch

And I'll buy you waffles

Stay with me, stay with me

I'll make omelette and eggs

Stay with me, stay with me

I'll make omelette and eggs

(and I will love you)

I'll make lunch, lunch, lunch

And I'll buy waffles

Be silent

all your life, all your life

Be silent

all your life, all your life

you have to shut up and

Be silent

all your life, all your life

Shut up and

Be silent

all your life, all your life

(ok, I am tired).

I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

(I know how not to burn other fruit and vegetables too)

I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

(while having a shower at the same time)

I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

(I know how to take a shower)

I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

(I never told you other things too, I know)

I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

(sitting in the patio and dreaming of you)

I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

(wanting to be there, with you, in the patio)

I never told you this
but I know how not to burn the beans

(I think I may have actually burnt the beans)

Drunk last night and thinking of you. I wrote a little song: I never told you this, but I know how not to burn the beans. I know there is an extra syllable in the second line there, but I just say it a little more quickly than the first. Struggled a bit to make it fit in, but I managed. It is a version of 'And if you stay', but culinary, you know, with food and cutlery. And I also played an instrument yesterday, before all the drinking. Kind of happy about that. I got up 8am with the screaming and shouting of a 6 year old outside of my door, who is staying here for a few days. Then I went to be again till 1pm and woke up feeling still drunk but happier.

I am so stressed again, but no diarrhoea this time. Just a bloated tummy - had some german vegetable that looks like a round potato, only green. I am taking it easy, did two sun salutations this morning, I am keeping warm. And yet, I am feeling so stressed and unsettled and far from home. But my home is not where my home is, it is probably further than that. Not sure exactly where, probably next to a green checked woollen blanket that is left by the piano on top of a red plastic box full of books for donation.

Thank you for our chat last night. You are so nice; of course I knew that, but now I know it more. More than before, more than before before, you know. I am terrified talking about stuff like that. Like being honest and talking about stuff like that. I am now wearing a woollen pullover I found in the free bookshelves. It is raining today, but I am going to see a show later on and then say goodbye to my students.

I dreamt I threw a birthday party for a slug. It was sticky and very very fun.

I have a fireman in my house installing a fire alarm upstairs. I think he is eating crisps. I wonder whether he has tried my new mattress too.

I was stroking you and I knew this is not right but I did not know why - perhaps because you were my dad - but that did not seem to be a problem then - there was something else the matter - perhaps that you were indifferent towards me and did not seem to care.

I was recruiting and one of them slashed my wrist and I texted N. 'I think he is a loser' and N. replied 'What makes you think that'? The sister of the slasher saw me writing the message and wanted to read it and my heart was beating because I was scared of my own life and tried to delete it inside the taxi cab.

so fucking tired of these numbers, yeah yeah, subtraction, percentage, maths. I do not know how to calculate percentage, I do not understand the difference between a DVD reader and writer, I have no clue why my fringe is going sideways. I am full of questions, questions coming out of my entire orifice, mouth, nostrils, nostrils especially. I am going to thread my moustache and shut up.

if no stupid children are in the map for me, I should abandon suburbia straightaway in 3, 2, 1 and go back to the magnificent city (with its lights blah blah) and enjoy gentrification to its max.

OR up and down

Up and down OR

Love my OR I've always have. 

No, not true. First OR today. Kind of got cocky and wrote OR. Just that. 

I do love the details. Like the detail of that wedding planning and the different colours of the lamp fans, and the flowers on the porcelain plate and the birds on the china cups. And leaving your postcard on the side, but not hidden, placed but not abandoned, near other stuff but nor out of site. I am making a forest. A large one, in which I can wonder around and place under each tree my square tears. This is how the forest will grow and blossom and be able to accommodate both of us.

so many times I have waited for something I am tired and my stomach hurts. I had some quinoa with basil and tomato (ready made) and I have to replant the hanging basket. I watered the window pot this morning, in my new thick socks and shabby trousers - I filled the blue vase and went out. This is always one of my favourite moments; it is a moment of ownership, complete have-ness. I have a blue vase, a window and a window pot. The flowers inside, which I have planted myself. And I have my socks, of course, and the water that dribbles down the pavement and this white door.

something is stirring, something inside my soup is stirring, it is a little fish that did not die during the transportation, a little fish which is still swimming in my soup, all the way around, past the wheat noodles and the chilli flakes.

Something smells good - some kind of vanilla muffin smell. Three boys have entered in their football gear and open toe slippers with white socks. Is this a thing? I have 6 lei left and the water is 8. Maybe I will wait till the airplane and pay with pounds.

All good for now. Heart is fine, fire extinguisher not too heavy and I can walk. Only drank a very small amount of that wine you left for me, but it was good. Kind of sweet and it was quite late. I was reading about Richard and Kate and Sarah and the love triangle. And then about Marc. What a prick. Breaking up over a text message: 'I am not ready to be 50. I am not even ready to be 42.' What a prick.

Still here waiting for my taxi on the side of the pavement typing into my phone. I'm still touched, from earlier. Not sure how to describe this, it's a sort of sensibility I love and love to know that I share. Almost a permission to do this, to make you part of this and me and this world of mine. I'll stop obsessing now. But I have taken a screen shot of your post and I will look at it in the airplane. 

Yesterday was good. It was kind of sort of good and nice. I had a walk around, still carrying a heavy thing inside. It has the shape of a fire extinguisher but does not quite do the job. Smoked some shisha (my dictionary never recognises the word) and then walked back, taking my fire extinguisher with me. This morning, things seemed brighter, almost like that had never happened. It was a good meeting. I was getting pretty desperate, waiting for people to sign in and clicking on participants again and again. For an hour and a half I thought I would have to chair my own meeting, be my own host and read the steps on me own. But finally two people arrived. The sister of the famous football player and someone else. And it was nice. First time I talked to women. So nice.

This really touched me. It touched me in all the right ways. Softly and abruptly and without warning. In a simple, yet earnest way. No bullshit. And I am so scared and crying. Still here, under the romanian sun, just had some doritos with salsa (a bit too spicy for my taste and felt bad because I did not have any more money for tip, I decided to leave 20 lei for the cleaners - you can buy a sandwich and a beer with 20 lei here, so I thought this would be an ok tip). I said it. I said it. And it was fine. It was more than fine. In a kind and simple way. And we were fine. And then for the first time, I felt I could perhaps place my feet on the ground and stand on my own, no support needed, no one to hold my hand. Not because I do not want you to hold my hand, but because I want to be able to stand without it. I know you are there. I am here too.

Sitting under the Romanian sun doing some work - my bowel is not complaining for once. More coffee to come and I am chairing a panel. I hope I do not have any bowel movement before, during or after.

I wake up and nothing really matters. I am all alone, diarrhoea again, and black coffee. Bad combination. Bad, bad combination. Just stay away from facebook. No matter what, stay away from facebook.

I am freaking out; I am fucking freaking out. I am on the verge of a panic attach, my belly is tight, I have had half pizza, a potato bake and three tomato skewers. I am fucking freaking out. I have had a beer (draft), some wine and a biscotti, I have palpitations, I give in, I give in, I surrender. I will not be able to just be, just lie on the bed and rest. I am so sad and lonely, in this big bed with the chandelier hanging on top, the silvery brown flowery patter on the wall and the fake pink orchids. The curtain is turquoise and the bed stool lilac. I am freaking out. I cannot even reach out and write to you out of fear you may not reply.

What does it mean to have five minutes to live- five more minutes alive. Do I call anyone? Who do I call first? And what do I say. And is everyone else dying too or is it just me? Because of course that changes things. It changing things completely. Like, if it is just me dying, I will say I will love you forever, or for the little I have left and I will thin of you, if I still have that capacity when dead, and I will send you some thoughts signals, or kisses, you will probably see them blowing in the air; blowing in the middle of the shy sky and doing a sort of backflip, you know. And I will be doing a backflip with them, I will be there, in the middle of the night, the shy night, doing a backflip, after I die.

Now, if we are all dying, then that's a different story. I think I will call you again and just wish that I could speak to you until the end, just chatting really, nothing heavy or important, just random stuff. Like wanting to have an allotment this spring and hoping to be able to grow some spring onions. Or, let's visit grandma and see if we can find that box of photos in the wardrobe. They will probably smell of mould, but we can scan them and keep them forever, that is until we die, eventually, at the end of this phone call.

Ok, you will say. Let's do that.

I received the toner you sent me, you will say, I used it, I did the test, it was good, lots of dirt came out on the cotton pad, the kind of dirt that makes your day. I know you'd like it, I will say. I was upset after you spilled half of the bottle in the train in Athens, I will say. You are nice, you will say. You think of me under any circumstances. You know, when I need stuff like that for my personal hygiene, no that sounds more like my personal hygiene, you know. I didn't mean that, you will say. I know what you mean, your personal hygiene, I will say.

So the phone call will continue like that until we die. We will talk about all possible veg we can plant this spring and whether we should book accommodation for the summer. Yes, of course we want to see the parents, but this is our holiday too.

The two girls left and they left us the sofa. So grateful. That woman with the carrot cake didn't really fancy our company. I think she didn't really like that we were kissing every millisecond of every milliminute of every millihour. You know what I mean. She didn't like how I made no effort to wipe the danish cramps off my mouth and just left them there hanging. It is not a fashion choice, the danish cramps, it's just practical. A practical joke. Like removing all tags from the tins in the cupboard and ending up making leeks and potatoes with chopped caramelised pear rather than tomatoes or date slice with carrot extract.

Shout at me. Make me cry. Shout at my weirdly shaped eyebrows. I do not want to think of a place without you. You know why. You know that I am four times the weight of my tears, all alone and no matter what, all yours.

So glad we settled this. So glad you know the lager is mine. It isn't yours for three reasons: 1. Your pigeon hole smells of poo, 2, You are really really handsome and 3. You know when I'm about to cry and you place your arm around my shoulder.

4. I really like that.
5. I really really like that.
6. Your pigeon hole doesn't really smell of poo.
7. I smell of poo.
8. Not all the time.
9. Only when I'm in the toilet.
10. You know, pooing.
11. Only then do I smell of poo.
12. Promise.

I am kinda starving now but I have washed my mouth with mouth wash. What to do, not sure. Have maybe some cereal with almond milk and then brush my teeth again. Or pretend that almond has some medical attributes and I do not need to brush my teeth again. Or just go to sleep. Or ask my flatmate to brush my teeth. He will probably say no.

how do I say this, in simple words, three days are somehow over. Very very quickly, but did so much. Laid in the sun, sang a song or two, shared a chelsea bun and did some yoga. All good, I say, all good, for three days. I will now go under the duvet and think all about it. And maybe text you later on.

wash well, under the armpits. do it better. you know how to do it. better than this. scrub it. scrub it. remove your skin. the first layer of your skin only. make it pink. make it really pink. scrub it. scrub it. ya ya ya ya, scrub it. it is pink now. purple pink. no, it needs to be fuchsia pink, fuchsia pink, scrub it.

You suck my jugular, which is located in front of my pectoral fin, you touch my clavicle, which is palpable in all people. You find my lateral end and comment on its flatness. You refuse to acknowledge the lateral lip of my bicipital groove and you reject my thoracoacromial trunk. Oh well, you say.

in my birthday party no one comes. only Victoria Beckham who sits on a hay stack and cries uncontrollably because her husband is arrested for weed possession.

We are doing a showing off, all done with carrots now, and we will project a live spider on the wall; in her cage she kills a bird or a cat that carries another animal on its head. And then, for the projector, we have a rabbit. I feel so sorry for the rabbit, I convince my colleague to let it live and put the bird or cat in there fore her instead. I grap the rabbit and set it free.

It is carrot next to carrot next to carrot next to carrot on the white page in a square.

Carrot next to carrot next to carrot next to carrot on the white page.

Carrot stick next to carrot stick next to carrot stick on the white page.

Next page: another square: carrot next to carrot stick next to carrot stick next to carrot.

Yeah yeah yea bring it on, yeah yeah, I am ready. I am ready, I am telling you. I walk slowly and take notice and put my phone in the kitchen on the shelf before I go to sleep and I hide my vibrator in such obscure places I cannot find it again for days and I promise I will not flirt too much or hope too much or do too much of anything at all. I walk slowly. I do my exercise. I take psyllium husks to help my bowel movement. I try to squat in the toilet and not rush. I shave my legs once a week and I use mouth wash. All good and well. I am being good. I remember my BL and look forward to changing it when the time comes. Ok. Good and perfect. I am telling you.

I forgot about this; I forgot about writing. I forgot I can do this. I can sit down somewhere, and write. How lovely. I am not sitting down next to two men talking about his own five granary cabbages maybe in Chesterton I do not know where they are but it is a nightmare there. I think he just wants to get out of there. Lots of money. Ok. Done.

My dream bedroom looks like you. Spacious and bright with lots of art either hanging from the ceiling or leaning on the floor. With some white cushions and some plants that I do not have to water.

I organised a party and two classes of Chinese students came. Initially the blocked the door, but eventually settled down in the living and had some ice cream. They did not want pizza so I was not sure what to do with them. My sister had a boy in her room and the bed broke and  my muscle was too tense. I waited up to tell my mum what had happened, out of guilt that I had not been a very good daughter.

I am not meeting anyone - the parents, the grandparents. I am not meeting anyone. I will only give you a vintage pushchair to sleep in and snore and I will place it next to the coblestreet  near the crossroad.

change the lamp, yes, change the lamp, little cuts on my fingers, first, third, fifth, seventh, little cuts, spreading, change the lamp. I can see the map of my skin around the cuts, spreading, the red borders ready to lead action.

I hope this is not a treacherous path. Just a dark and slippery one.

Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

GO

Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

No, no,

Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

Repeat

Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

No, NO

Stance one
Stance two
Stance three

Come on, go

Stance one
and two
and three

Go, Go

Yes, yes, go, no, no, go, yes, yes.

Ok.

Inside, put it inside, further to the left, no, no it hurts, further to the right, to the right, please, please to the right. When am I going to be alone and with no limp to satisfy. No desire whatsoever to boil down to two. I am tired of playing the game for so many years and I long for some tireless sleep.

Poor, poor Malcolm. It is not enough he killed himself, his breath also smelled of poo.

τα κάναμε μαντάρα, φίλε μου

βρήκε η μαμά το χόρτο, διώξαμε το ψάρι από το σπίτι λόγω κακής διαγωγής, τα πήραμε στο κρανίο κι από πίσω κι από μπρος

Hi Bobby

Hi Bobby

dating

Really really red and white. No, not white. Really really really red and white. No, not white. Really red. Yes, really red. Yes, really red and white. NO! no white. Really red. Yes, really read (and white), NO, NO white. Ok.

The lower part of my liver hurts. Actually, I remember now. It has been a tough week. I have removed the skin of my finger, while trying to remove the paint. I scratched my mole and it bled. I burned my arm in the oven. And now this. My liver, which is located in between my thigh and my pubic bone, has decided to open. It is actually gaping open, really really red, like an ill mouth. A very ill mouth, trying to speak. There are two mouths in fact, one on top of the other. And they are both trying to speak. Not sure what they want to say; lips are red and as I open my leg, they open too. I try to walk, and they hurt. My liver has decided to move; it has decided to relocate and it is now in between my thigh and my pubic bone. What an awkward place.

I am counting the money. It is in £35 notes. I am counting the money. It is orange. It is a lot of money. I do not know why read has given me so much money for a 16 minute performance. It is in a strange boat and I worry that I will miss the plane. Haris is there under a blanket. His parents are worried about unscrewing the extractor fan. Noone cares about grandmother who has just arrived in a golden taxi. I am counting the money. It is a lot of money. Too batches. One is about £1000 and the other notes. G did the same piece but got paid less, so I am trying to hide the money in the drawer so that he does not see it. I am sure he will make an argument about gender equality or something.

Then something else happens. I make out with a toilet. No, I actually make out with the sign of the toilet. The toilet sign. The one stuck on the door. The door sign, yes, I make out with the toilet door sign. The sign is not of a man or a woman, is that of a baby! I make out with the toilet door sign of a baby! Then I feel embarrassed and I decide to cover the two signs with white photocopier paper, hug my pillow and fall back asleep.