Another Day.


He wakes up. He is Lost. No, he is mistaken. He is watching Lost. It is good. He is in the kitchen. He is barefoot. He drops a glass and it bounces between his naked feet one time. Please don’t break. Two times. Please don’t break. Three times it breaks and smashes into a thousand pieces a mist of glass wafting down onto his bare feet so tiny the pieces of glass so light and then their weight is enough to cut the skin and there are a thousand cuts and blood flows and the mess he cannot moved but luckily he has help and he has ruined a beautiful heirloom glass that cannot be replaced because he is clumsy and now he has blood feet. Gwyneth Paltrow sets up a food bank challenge. She is sad that she cannot buy enough kale for the week on food stamps. The internet makes fun of her. It is compulsory to make fun of her. There is no mention that it should be possible for even the poor to eat kale. Let them eat kale. They cannot eat kale. They can eat kale flavoured twinkies.
Hillary announces run for presidency. A man commits suicide by the Capitol. His head gets red. He is mentally ill. He has a sign that no one in the media can read. He cannot even get his protest correct. Marco Rubio announces his run for president. These events are not connected. There is a war somewhere. Commercials everywhere. Medications to curb appetite, stop heartburn, no need to change behaviour that would be against the American dream. Music plays. Drones hover. Get knocked out the sky by chimpanzees with sticks. There is a metaphor there. The chimpanzees will win in the end. The dark side of child fame. There is no light side to child fame. Another man another black man is shot is killed by a gun not a tazer not a tazer by a man playing dress up as a policeman a tax executive playing dress up like Mr. Benn and now a man is dead but the tax executive is the victim because he is rich and white and was policeman of the year in the past. There are cancer hotels in China. Gunter Grass dies. He was a nazi and then he wrote some books. A year has passed since the Chibok school girls were kidnapped. No one has been found. There are rumours. The news interview a girl who escaped on the night. To disguise her they give her sunglasses. This is no disguise. Anyone who knows her will recognise her. How do they think sunglasses will hide her face. Do they think all black people look alike? The probably think that all black people look alike and even the sunglasses are too much. Everyone on the train is sleeping. Everyone is tired. Tired of this. Tired of life.Dead fish are floating in bay off the coast of Brazil. A military guard falls over on duty a calf is born with two heads animals speak in human language. There are signs but there is no meaning to them. He goes to sleep.

Another Day.


He wakes up. The massacre at the school in Kenya has been forgotten about. The pilot that crashed his plane into a mountain full of people has been forgotten about. The apple watch is the talk of the day. It is popular. A man has been shot by a policeman for running away from a policeman whilst black. The policeman is being hung out to dry by the police force and turned into a bad apple so that…

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Another Day.


He wakes up. The massacre at the school in Kenya has been forgotten about. The pilot that crashed his plane into a mountain full of people has been forgotten about. The apple watch is the talk of the day. It is popular. A man has been shot by a policeman for running away from a policeman whilst black. The policeman is being hung out to dry by the police force and turned into a bad apple so that…

View On WordPress

Another Day.


He wakes up. The massacre at the school in Kenya has been forgotten about. The pilot that crashed his plane into a mountain full of people has been forgotten about. The apple watch is the talk of the day. It is popular. A man has been shot by a policeman for running away from a policeman whilst black. The policeman is being hung out to dry by the police force and turned into a bad apple so that we can ignore the rotten barrel and the rotten tree that grew the wood for the barrel and the rotten tree that grew the rotten apples from the rotten ground. Everything is rotten. He has a coffee and he draws some pictures and he things about cuddling. Cuddling makes the rottenness of the world more palatable. He then learns about periscope and meerkat and live streaming from phones and everyone is live streaming everything and soon hovering drones will livestream our lives hovering with us by law and social convention filming and recording when we sleep and shit and die. Then he has another coffee and imagines a glass of wine and Octavia’s Brood arrives in his postbox and he is excited about reading short stories that he helped fund and the quality of the book is good and the quality of the writing is great and he is happy. Then he reads more about the 100 years war and it seems that it was a war that was initially fought in the courts by lawyers but then this interpretation is no doubt because the writer is a British Judge and then he eats some food and then he hope there is a future for children but then he sees robots and genetically modified creatures roaming a post-apocalyptic desert not sure what their purpose is or why they are there or what they are doing and then he eats some chocolate eggs and then he goes to sleep.

Another Day.


He wakes up on platform to station. Busy children playing. Daring each other. Bravado. Pretending to jump. Laughter. One slips. Paste. Regret. Tears. Recriminations. Youthful bragadoccio. He is weeping eyes wide on horror. He can do nothing. He can do nothing. He can do nothing. He is dying. He is dying. He is dying. He drifts off into sleep but is it sleep it may be sleep or something more…

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Another Day.


He wakes up on platform to station. Busy children playing. Daring each other. Bravado. Pretending to jump. Laughter. One slips. Paste. Regret. Tears. Recriminations. Youthful bragadoccio. He is weeping eyes wide on horror. He can do nothing. He can do nothing. He can do nothing. He is dying. He is dying. He is dying. He drifts off into sleep but is it sleep it may be sleep or something more…

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Another Day.


He wakes up. There it is. There is the sun. Hanging in the sky again. There is cat vomit sat in a little pile – a little welcoming pile by the bookcase. The cat doesn’t point it out and it does not smell bad. It is dark and he nearly steps in it with his bare feet but he notices it just in time and he doesn’t step in it with his wet feet. He does not feel cold cat vomit rise up between his toes…

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Another Day.


He wakes up. There it is. There is the sun. Hanging in the sky again. There is cat vomit sat in a little pile – a little welcoming pile by the bookcase. The cat doesn’t point it out and it does not smell bad. It is dark and he nearly steps in it with his bare feet but he notices it just in time and he doesn’t step in it with his wet feet. He does not feel cold cat vomit rise up between his toes…

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Another Day.


He wakes up on platform to station. Busy children playing. Daring each other. Bravado. Pretending to jump. Laughter. One slips. Paste. Regret. Tears. Recriminations. Youthful bragadoccio. He is weeping eyes wide on horror. He can do nothing. He can do nothing. He can do nothing. He is dying. He is dying. He is dying. He drifts off into sleep but is it sleep it may be sleep or something more permanent. There are children singing out of key. He is sleeping.

Another Day.


He wakes up. There it is. There is the sun. Hanging in the sky again. There is cat vomit sat in a little pile – a little welcoming pile by the bookcase. The cat doesn’t point it out and it does not smell bad. It is dark and he nearly steps in it with his bare feet but he notices it just in time and he doesn’t step in it with his wet feet. He does not feel cold cat vomit rise up between his toes because he notices it in time. He writes he draws he drinks coffee he cuddles he breakfasts he lunches he naps. It is a fine Sunday nap that begins as fifteen minutes and stretches out into three and a half beautiful hours of nap. He wakes up. He runs on the spot for his health he is getting old he can feel his bones creak and his muscles tear and his body is tortured for an hour as his wii character runs round a little island and he watches Mad Men in preparation for the end of the show when it starts next week and he wonders why everyone is so upbeat about the show when it appears to be about the self destructive collapse of a middle age man with a terrible secret. Then he eats lovely food. Then he reads. They he talks and laughs. There are demons out in the desert. There are demons waiting and licking the air. They are waiting for the door to be opened but for now they will have to go hungry. There will be time enough for them later. He goes to sleep.

Another Day.


He wakes at 0400. He wakes at 0415. He wakes at 0430. He wakes at 0500. He gets up. He reads excerpts of books about social work and revolution. He makes a coffee. He writes for an hour. He goes back to bed. He gets up from bed. He watches the sun rise. He hears the trash being picked up. He hears the school bus arrive and the tired children leave. He bathes the cat poo in more litter covering it…

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Another Day.


He wakes at 0400. He wakes at 0415. He wakes at 0430. He wakes at 0500. He gets up. He reads excerpts of books about social work and revolution. He makes a coffee. He writes for an hour. He goes back to bed. He gets up from bed. He watches the sun rise. He hears the trash being picked up. He hears the school bus arrive and the tired children leave. He bathes the cat poo in more litter covering it…

View On WordPress

Another Day.


He wakes at 0400. He wakes at 0415. He wakes at 0430. He wakes at 0500. He gets up. He reads excerpts of books about social work and revolution. He makes a coffee. He writes for an hour. He goes back to bed. He gets up from bed. He watches the sun rise. He hears the trash being picked up. He hears the school bus arrive and the tired children leave. He bathes the cat poo in more litter covering it for later archaeologists to find and interpret the remains. Soothsayers from the future will poke with their implements and predict fine harvests for their Chief Architect because that is what their bio-luminescent leader will be titled. He makes breakfast. He reads about the 100years war. It’s complicated and he is not sure what is happening. Apparently the Scottish are to blame or the French but definitely not the English not them they are never to blame. The Jeremy Clarkson is fired and then someone from one direction retires and jokes are made about jobs was and then black boxes are found and audio is found and mysteries deepen and speculation lengthens and there are so many fascinating faces and combinations of features fractured features frowning on the morning commute hiding laughter and joy and pain and murderous thoughts and forgiveness and shame and pity and pettiness and rage and relocations. There are suicide bombings that are mentioned in passing and CNN is excited because it gets to use all of its plane crash graphics and virtual speculation machines. Then it is raining but not very much. There is a desert somewhere in California wishing it had this rain. Then he draws. Then he commutes. Then he showers because he did not shower in the morning and he smells like a homeless man he is sure this didn’t happen when he was younger when he was younger his musk was fragrant. He lies down. The desert approaches. He goes to sleep.