story
1. we emerge from sunroom seeing bathroom door closed, assume it’s a
flatmate doing business done behind doors. but – no! – emerging is a ups
delivery human who’s used our bathroom for its purposes. it greets us
enthusiastically, thanks us politely, leaves scents and a parcel and a story
2. opening compost bin other day to empty our kitchen scraps – evening
is musky, softly delirious – a corpulent naked human female clambers from
rotting mulch, tells a turnip priest to marry us (which it does on a garden of
decay, rooting forgotten liturgies into nuptial buddings), and we pitch our
conjugal tent in a hidden african kingdom, untouched by slavery, europe’s
christian talons, to grow, sing turnips, roll unperturbed in primordial muds
3.
some of you my friends have been
peering deep into indifferent wiles of internet and from that immeasurable well
has appeared to you, in truculent night, saprophytic night, oh molestuous night
apparitions of time, saying (in part or obscurity) human. we have not seen you as we might. your soul is upturned out,
covered in paraphernalia of gadget and culture, superciliousnesses of control
stamping your brain whilst alien unilaterali puppeteer you
4. today sun rises like oslo or coleslaw on trolling belles, humming
and hamming on ways to seas of bullets. squirrels, mice seek cats for death,
amusement, and also crash our souls on fallen forests
5. reason opens its backless wardrobe to see what it’ll wear. nothing to wear. i can’t go out naked. it
stares at infinite selection, scans panoplies of everything to wear. new tailors! new designers! new
technologies! new runways! new new! nothing. reason stares, does not
venture into day, withholds its secrets from light and canopy
dialogue
these are stories to wake up to
says rev mangetout
i’m still sleeping
all you do is flit between hypnopomp and hypnagog
a butterfly of liminoidality
a lepidopteran of thresholds
what do they mean though?
mean?
mean
you know better than to ask that
not really – without a best how can i know
better?
best is just the mean of meaning without a limen
i don’t get it
then you get the meaning
can we have normal stories please?
once upon a slime will and jacki are bumbling through a trill
hacking love and puking when a lipid turbid adder wallops from a nest lighting
their orbitals. jacki goes awol, willi a’walking, adder with wellies to lunch
normal’s so elusive
haven’t found it yet
only misnomered tyrannies
value
when a mind’s configured to dream in words
and live dreaming (a role in society that once was honoured, placed [and now even
anticolonialists for whom dreaming is a subsidiary of will live against]),
language – that cheap utility for instrumental humans – becomes a texture and
movement in oneiric landscapes
we show not reason dressed and diplomatic, clear in social
compromise, but at home and doubtful, and language, reason’s silent soul,
lounging in a bath, meaning steaming, artifacts quite blurred, ends misplaced
these are dialogues of our plays,
conversations of lost soils, voiced by ears in night’s mulch
