Opinions have a gang mentality. They gather on corners, spitting, mocking, chanting, singing. Piss on the other side of the street is my best advice, mind your own business, go on your own sweet way with no visible blemishes on your velvet speedo ego. So was this Friday: frayed, fragmented, sate but not satisfied with my noble, brain-deadening efforts. , I have been up since six this dark morning. That is that for today. I will to the cabin to self-nut and recreate.
A Misconception Misconstrued
Was it rape, or was it forced? It was windy for sure. He burst through the door, drunk. At least I wasn’t alone and cowed now, there was a clear and present threat to cope with, a challenge. He clinked of bottles, bottles they all hid in their big, thick, smelly coats.
Today had been market day. They all got together then: plotting, bragging, drinking, playing. Sometimes there were fights, but mostly it was just raucous silly buggers. She had watched them fascinated, wanting to be part of it knowing that she couldn’t without ruining it. Then wanting to ruin it. What danger? What a memory. But it was different now she was a quasi-woman.
-Old enough to bleed, old enough to Butcher, her old man used to wiseacre with his gobshite muckers. There wasn’t a man worth his salt amongst them. Gas and air like little farts in a trance. He was not like them. He was a cut under.
-D’yuz wanna drop, Kate? Old Tommy sold the mare. He pulled a stoppered cider bottle from inside his vast coat. Far too big for him.
-Sure, why not.
She went over to the dresser and got a couple of teacups. He reached out like a big, silly ape for a grope.
-Give us a cuddle.
Kate swerved with grace and allure and the experience of fetching the jugs at the fair.
-Mind out, you great lump and keep your hands to yourself. Did he think of her when he was wanking, where was it, what happened. If only she knew.
– I can’t help it. I find you irresistible, sensational, come on, let’s live a little.
She poured the drinks as he played the part, taking a bit more for herself than him. She passed him the cup and raised hers. When their eyes met, they could not help but laugh at themselves, playing out the same old larks as ever.
~
The morning starts with a misconceived conception (above), a cheroot and some fizzies (below), no doggy call, too many fags (bad cough), and a bleak outlook, warmed and wettened by the tail of a Caribbean hurricane. There will be a man wearing white shorts, with a cockatoo plumed pith helmet, ringing a triangle in the back garden. Another alien blow in. Other than him no visitors. Just me and the gadgets and contraptions. There is food, there is tobacco. That is it.
Depressing truth about only 5% of the population being actively political activity on the streets, one in five. These people are the voices of the ruling class, whoever that may be at any given time. A line is drawn, a curse is cast. Now the frogs…
11:15
Coffee & soggy crackers swam, swam, swam over the jam, the teleport, the badinage, the turning of the shrew.
‘Staliad, staliad…eyeieioeoeu!
Grunties –
The Teddy Bear’s Picnic ended a bloodbath
~
Pressed, compress the flower in an inflammatory chapbook, fat for you man consumption. Tiddle-tid-tiddle: blew indigo. Suave as Suez, suede as shoe. Winklepicking molluscs. Seed cake in embers, seed cake in embers. Shut yer hole! I can’t hear myself shrink in disgust. Sleazy, sleaze…
Ding ding! Found my trolley amidst the trams. Hey Mister Stiffneck, swivel to my drivel. Suck this melon, Omagh. Polly body lick, sweet slurp of myrtle, maple juice.
Comes a crooner with a tuner, joined at the ear, nose, and throat.
Lozenges, keep them handy. Posies too, don’t forget your posies.
Triumphant, honeysuckle rose to the occasion. Sleepy down mouth, puffy lids and lashes. Whips the cream into submission, like the Ibex inside.
The Avocado 