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stretching my long toes downward to fit in any gap they left between their bodies, occasionally catching a flick of a tongue or a swish of a tail on my ancle or toemaking sure to keep my legs straight so they could not snap at the fleshy part of my stomach and body. The best way to survive the day was to aviod conversation, but I was caught by a frillneck lizard leaving the supermarket running bolt upright with bags clutched in its two little arms. It wanted to know how I was and how the streets (continued 02/03)
were, if there was anything it should know before leaving the perfectly controled shopping environment. I said 'no' because no matter how hard I tried I could not get the propper hissing s when I said yes, and I didn't want to give myself away. But the frillneck lizard was not happy with the answer. It was reptile day, and most of the reptiles never missed an opportunity to say yesssssssss, they would lie to their lawyer just for another reason to say it. I had stumbled. Already my costume for the day (I had run to (continues on 03/03)
the shore where thankfully there had been a crude spill and I managed to bathe in thick viscous crude oil to give myself a glossy black coat) was starting to leave black traces where I had been, thankfully only marking the occasional shoulder or leg of a dozing lizard or gecco. But frillnecks being what they are cared only for itself and ran on upright and pompous into the crowd of reptiles stepping lightly on anything that was in its path.
I remember life. Do you want to hear about it? I can only tell you what I remember, and that mostly is like a movie in fast forward: unnaturally jerky, full of suppositions, and generally without any sound from any of the characters. There are parts that stick out strongly, like I can still touch you as you walked away that time, or when he was born, or when those things moved in, or anything that was unusual. Otherwise everything is just the same stacato shuttering of going to and fro to work and home and holidays to this now.
How do authors approach characters without making everything about themselves or reproductions of themselves? One way is to know interesting and unusual people - to go around stealing from everyone they meet, a train of thought here, an insight there, a walking style, a philosophy there. Essentially writers then become nothing more than cultural scavengers taking from everything and only leaving behind a distillation, little droppings of a greater life out there somewhere. The other way is to be interesting or have a way to grasp the basics of humanity and be able to twist and alter them at will.
At an intersection through the shade of a tree two lovers found their performance infront of others. Dancing and laughing they crossed infront of Sunday afternoon traffic, crawling to a stop and a smile for they ----------------------------- (only a couple) had light feet and a quick step and all the time in the world on a calm Sunday afternoon where they were the only lovers on street moving between leaves and wind and the shadows waiting (a low growl) to move from the intersection after lovers had gone with nothing more than a gentle press of their foot on the accelerator
It is great this place. What's so great? It's hard to get around and everything's expensive. But the variety. Imagine that you could have one person a day to talk to. There's more than a lifetime's worth. Why would you want to do that? Surely most of them will say the same thing. That is the problem with the interviewer. Ok, how are you? Good. Oi, over there, how are you? I've just come up with a new way to represent time as a fluid element in four dimensional space that should allow for a real world presentation. I think...
How to make the perfect At any time take a long walk and smile to no one along the way. Hold those inflections of the mouth for private times alone in a giant house with the echos of footsteps made by sharp stillettos on tiles. Cut little grooves in gums by brushing hard at any opportunity. Scrub away the plaque before there's a chance to build up and make bigger problems and potentially a need to replace all your pearly white teeth. Sleep in so that dreams become rose tinted in a room lit by sunrise through thin curtains.
They march around saturday afternoon as if each leisurely step grows heavier, infront of windows where their reflections shadow what should be anything but dreams draped over manequins and signs that say mothing but 'sale, sale,' into the breeze cutting and jibing through the heavy breaths of the heavy footed crowds all going and opposing in the same way seeing the same things. over coffee there is a slight pause and lightlylaced a breath with the cup settling upon a vaneered table, trying not to make a sound outside of the crowded cafe and crowded streets, for just some peace.
The city as some sort of garbage disposal or the way things move if you choose Sitting on the steps I thought of you simply walking and simply being the best you could, or thought to be, moving through the streets with slight steps in a sort of trance past endless windows all displaying the perfect outfit the perfect house the perfect library the perfect school all the things you past on your way to the place where the walls always seems too short like the ceiling was made to keep a reverence or knowlegde that your heights are touchable.
He woke up blind, not as a bat or a badger, or as one of those fish that swin deep in the ocean, but more like rage or mass hysteria, at least that is what his neighbour thought as the sounds of smashing glass and falling books ,pots, pans and pillows could be heard through the walls. She thought about knocking, walking up to his door and forming her frail hand into a fist and tapping three or four times on the aluminium screen, waiting wondering if he could hear her through the noise of destruction coming from the apartment.
How to dismantle a human being Being nothing more than flesh bones, fat, electrical impulses and collections of time, memory and promises, it's easy to say 'You are. There. You are there. There you are.' And nothing more is needed. No touch to spark a flash of something that might have happened while awake - eyes dry - trying to focus clearly on the entire world pulsing. With connections made through almost infinite parties on screens reversed like mirrors but only there when the world is lighter than all those pixels and sites. Words not shared - stolen and given.
We found them lying asleep in the morning's sunshine drying off, steaming piles of cloth, skin and hair. For a second they looked like fields of the dead letting off their spirits for some ritual that we were interrupting. It was only when one let out a clouded sigh and stretched their arms that we realized that they were alive, just resting. We decided to givethem some spaceand set up our camp a little way away so as not to disturb them when we woke, as ---------- liked to do before the sun rose and the birds started making noise.
And then I found myself floating down the same river that many have gone before, pouring water into a bath, shaving in the basin while whiping away the steam and getting ready to go out to see you, as you were once before there just ahead up the aisle amongst all the otherthings calling out for me to lookand to touch ans to feel more than what was displayed on the glossy wrappings. You were more than a percentage of salt and sugar and water and fats Flowing through machenery to combine and become more than a compination of parts.
Have you read... No You don't even know what I am going to say. If you are going to ask if I have read anything the answer is always going to be 'no' How about a birthday card? Have you read the birthday card I gave you? What did I just say? Surely you read the card. I'm calling bullshit. Nope didn't read it. What is it going to say? Anything new? No, well maybe, how do you it didn't? The only reason that it might say something new is because I haven't read it. Hasn't anyone killed schrodingers cat?
They met at the usual time (just before sunrise) at the usual place (the carpark nearest the esplanade). He was usually the last one to arrive. It was their routine and it made everything just go smoother, maintain the routine and the world will right and anomalies, but this morning as the sun rose and he pulled into the carpark there was nobody else there, and there were no cars. He parked and got out and decided to wait for the others to arrive before getting ready. So he waited kicking used syringes around the tarmac. He waited for days.
Let me lick from your fingers the syrup from the flesh of peeled grapes. Let me roll my toungue over each knuckle and under each nail to get all the sticky juice and all the grit and dirt hidden in every crease and every wrinkle. Then with the soft fleshy centre held in your cupped hand let me bite softly and lift it to show how delicate I can be. Take it from me with yours and bite hard share with me this one grape - this ball of sickly sweet juicy purple flesh, and feel the pulse of my heart.
Where was this street yesterday when we walked, guided by the hair fine strands of the morning sun through avenues made by falling leaves, and rolling rubbish, and the never ending breeze carrying the smells of of the suburbs waking up (bad breath, shit, sweat, semen, cats piss, rotting, perfume, blossoms) and the sounds of sheets, and the last whispers of dreams creeping out open windows? Where did we stretch our arms from the nights stiffness, where there was enough space and our elbows didn't scrape the coarse face of red bricked walls, and tarmac roads? Where were we then?
Hello, I don't think we have met before, at least I don't recognise your composition. Let me introduce myself. I am a third of a story and two pieces of a human. I was given all the necessary parts to operate. I can work and I can add. I can read and write. Like you I can do most things, but will never excel. I know this and I doesn't bother me, because, like we say, 'everyone can't excel. After all.' But you, I have a feeling around you, like you mean something more. I've never felt this way before.
I think we should be dancing. At least that is what the song is saying. We should be giving ourselves up to something above that is making the rhythm say these things to us on the side of the dance floor, us stuck with our leaded feet, not scared nor hesitant unable to find what it is that the words are saying between 'I think we should be dancing.' I think this place is made for more than dancing it is an aviary of the night, lights and lazers flashing and shining as if every beat the sun is risen.
He traveled to places that were just on the edge of his comfort zone, backpack on his back and wearing a pair of sturdy shoes he marched through fields and over mountains in coutries where the languages were unfamiliar, but the buildings and traditions were just like home. When he returned he told stories about being lost in foriegn places and relying on the generosity that was missing in his own country, never forgetting to mention how hard it is to communicate with someone in a different language. When they left he flew over places he would never dare tread.
Nestled amongst the whispers of suburbia we hid our bicycles and set off on foot. The curbs and potholed roads had made it too difficult to ride so we decided that it would be easier to explore on foot. --------- suggested leaving everything with the bicycles because we could move quicker and more quietly if we moved without things on our backs. From the top of the hill streets and blocks stretched as far as the crest of the next hills, taking in all that we could see, so we decided that it would be unwise to head off without any supplies into the world as far as we could see it.
What would you like to see? How much have you got? Oh, that isn't much... how about a glimpse of a first kiss, or a pinch of graduation? Sorry a wedding is out of the question. They are more than you can ever afford. What do you mean yesterday? Who wants to see that? Yesterday's worthless. You can almost have that for free. Almost. I can tell you, looking here, that nothing happened yesterday. I'll tell you what. I can give you yesterday and tomorrow for everything you have got. How does that sound? They will be yours eternally. Well?
The city of construction Nothing is quite ready, please forgive us. There was nothing before just hills and trees and grass. Over there was water as pure as from the highest mountain spring, or a creek that never runs dry. This road follows wild animal tracks as we have never seen. They walked this way to get a drink or migrate we're not sure, none of us've seen them, and by the hoof prints we had to cover up nobody has. But don't worry it'll be over soon that it will be like nothing else. It will all be new.
At the beginning the performers felt their way by the warmth of the lights and the cold shade to the place on the stage where the audience hidden amongst empty seats and coughs could see the thick lining of their make-up and the glisten of sweat. They yelled into the darkness where they expected someone was listening or paying attention, as expected. They yelled their lines and whispered little hisses to the others on stage biting reminders between themselves and the others hidden in the wings. Reminding always that the show must go on the show is always going on.
Wait for the next to come around swooping and majectic it calls to anyokne and to you with spread wings and open sky wait for the next to arrive welcome in the arms of the clouds and the fingers of the sun stretched across the prostrate nudity of the hills too high for trees to reach the top. Wait for the next to come around in a never ending twinkle of the stars singing all the songs never to be composed or heard amongst the grass and in the ears of you or of me Wait as it goes past.
Just another lonely man Somewhere out there is a place where the woods meet the ocean and the trees dip their roots into the brine for the fish to swim amongst hiding from the harshness of the groping sun. And on the shore there are tents and cars and families camped to throw a line out into the deeper parts of the water hoping for something larger for dinner or just something to nibble and make the children laugh and dance and point and call to thier parents. And alone a man sits apart just waiting for exactly the same.
---------- was the first to recognise the tune, the words were coming from her mouth as if for the first time, like they did the night before around the camp fire, when fresh as flames they poured out into the night. But -------- when asked said that she was the first to recognise it. We decided that it could only be coming from where we had come from and not to follow it beck to the old camp. But ------- wanted to make a note of it for the records so that we would be able to reproduce it again
The restless wind from the north It brings with it a time to remember which Way is which and where we came from and the honey sweet shit smell of death unstuck like rubbish and all those early autumn leaves. Reflections on screens and panes hold solid images that never fault of branches thrown in every direction while the water remains choppy and broken. A man sails a small boat against the gusts while others watch him pass against the wind from the north full of whispers resting on the shore and shattered memories of what you would have done.
Close all the doors and all the windows let nothing enter or leave these old buildings of brick and mortar. Trap inside all those caught unaware and leave them to breathe their last hyperventilating on what is caught inside with them. Streamline the city so that there are no more still days and the slightest breeze rips all the little pieces of humanity away and to the open countryside to be slapped and bent around the trunks of older trees and cut to finer pieces amongst razor grass. Let us pass through from all sides unobstructed to leave the city.
They danced through sunrise and sunset, not noticing that anything changed. And through more they danced and saw not that around them mountains and valleys rose and fell, that rivers washed past their feet and left the ground muddy and soft. They didn't see the skyscrapers grow and crumble as great civilisations crumbled and were razed while they danced. There was only the music that passed around and around each time it played itself on through slight variations of what they heard before constantly dragging them onwards. Onwards to the promised resolution just beyond the reach of the next note.
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