I can’t believe today was a Sunday.
Walking On The Moon November 28, 2009
Back to cryptic
Stiff upper lip;
Playground power.
Who won this time?
.
I walked a cratery moon-face,
I spied nothing but a flag from 1969 flapping unemotionally in a celestial breeze.
Who is everyone?
Why do they exist?
While walking on, walking on the moon?
.
The Police – Walking on the Moon
.
Giant steps are what you take
Walking on the moon
I hope my legs don’t break
Walking on the moon
We could walk forever
Walking on the moon
We could live together
Walking on, walking on the moonWalking back from your house
Walking on the moon
Walking back from your house
Walking on the moon
Feet they hardly touch the ground
Walking on the moon
My feet don’t hardly make no sound
Walking on, walking on the moonSome may say
I’m wishing my days away
No way
And if it’s the price I pay
Some say
Tomorrow’s another day
You stay
I may as well playGiant steps are what you take
Walking on the moon
I hope my legs don’t break
Walking on the moon
We could walk forever
Walking on the moon
We could be together
Walking on, walking on the moonSome may say
I’m wishing my days away
No way
And if it’s the price I pay
Some say
Tomorrow’s another day
You stay
I may as well playKeep it up, keep it up
Mars 2 November 25, 2009
I suppose this continues my brief break from being cryptic! (edited, gotta stop writing things in the middle of the night)
I Want More Work November 21, 2009
“Where’s your namebadge?”
“I don’t have one.”
“How long have you been working here?”
“A year.”
“So you’ve been working here for a whole year without a namebadge. Tell me, is it our responsibility or your responsibility?”
“I.. I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
“Mine?”
“What’s your name?
“Blair.”
“Is LMNOP your line-manager?”
“Yes.”
“Right. Thanks.”
That’s right. Make an enemy out of me. I don’t even know your name, Mr. Head-honcho, I had to get someone else to tell me that you were the Regional Manager. I have so little respect for you for belittling me that I’m almost compelled to leave your stupid company. You know, I’ve even heard XYZ is a big social retard, running away from everyone, disdainful of his fame. I’m tempted to say that it’s not just this company that treats young workers like crap – it’ really hard for young people to get jobs, let alone like them. I’m fairly certain we get the dregs of what’s offered; I’m absolutely filled with frustration every time I open up the paper and read what some ageist has said about young people being slovenly drunkards with no brain-matter.
Let me get this straight: Everyone is a totally different person, everyone is a totally different citizen of the world, and the very second you deny them manners, you’ve created a social caste. Justice is fairness, I feel like you’re the reason why people start wars. I saw you bossing LMNOP as you walked down my aisle, and then stare at that woman’s arse.
.
The Chinese Room
.
1950: the food was mushy
A crooner serenaded my exhaustion with a wailing string section.
The peeling interior roof-tiles
and the talking fish
symbolise your dementia.
.
Everyone stare at me when talking about that kid who got expelled.
Actually,
let’s never leave the subject of newspaper articles.
.
When I said no-one’s ever accepted me into your family, I was dead right.
.
That wasn’t even a damn poem but you kind of get the point.
When Life Is Too Tough November 19, 2009
Just remember you’re not this guy:
Sweet baby taoism help us all.
Chest And Haunches November 19, 2009
The three exited the pressurised decontamination chamber and entered the operating theatre.
“What’s on the table?”
“Dead guy.” Foolio crossed his arms and leant on the sterilised wall.
“I really want some fruit.” Shrendig rubbed her stomach while making strange eye-contact with Foolio, they both sniggered and witheld the laughter.
“I think I think I know that guy,” Harkoff started to edge closer to the table, but was prevented by a gloved hand. Foolio shook his head. “I was right before, you know.”
“You’re right once, and now you’re always right?”
“But -”
“You know being attached to us is a privelidge.”
“How many times have you said that?”
“Not enough, it seems.”
“You know I’ve always wondered what both your faces look like.”
Shrendig and Foolio failed to react to this.
“So you want to find out who the lucky lad is?”
.
The men mercilessly hacking at the corpse on the table weren’t just doctors – they had read every page of natural science, they knew everything. So they didn’t care. Every inch of skin was severed, every bone was moved, replaced, disregarded with total intention. That blood vessel irritates me. Eyeballs were replaced with a new invention, iris-less steel balls that shone with cool brilliance. So then sever it. Harkoff saw what they did with the brain, little bits removed and others fattened with a pungent liquid – only Foolio saw what they did to its sex.
.
“Field-Marshal Harkoff will now view upon the identity of the mutilated stranger!” Shrendig announced in a low voice, channelling a sick vitriol towards the soldier.
Foolio winded Harkoff in wonder, and grasped the back on his head with an enormous hand. The head was then perched directly over the paced methods of the polymaths, aligned with brutish humour with that of the corpse.
Harkoff’s head was barely clear of the white shoulders before he realised it was Mallow.
Harkoff was then gently placed between the doctors and made to watch the rest of the procedure, his mind slowly dissolving its prior convictions about the levity of his comrade’s jokes.
A doctor looked up in a moment’s rest, and took an interest in the clothed and goggled face of Harkoff inexplicably standing amongst them.
“Do you know how we bring him back?”
“You ca-”
“Yes, but do you know how?”
Harkoff shook his head slowly, his goggles filling up with tears.
“I’ll show you.”
Mallow’s radically-skinnier body was resealed in seconds, suddenly bloodless, and a pair of silver irons were wheeled over from no-where. A high-whistle carried over the enormous machine they were connected to, before the irons were pressed firmly on to the chest and haunches of the corpse.
The doctor engaged Harkoff only once more, grinning, revealing three gold teeth and yellow gums, “It’s like a tamed lightning-bolt.” Suddenly the corpse lurched and Harkoff’s mind left his body. For second the corpse lay unchanged, but then the body began to twitch, before violently arching its back. Harkoff suddenly felt as if he were the whole room, as if all the air had left his ribcage and entered the steely-eyed corpse reanimated on the table. All the heat left the room, and it was cold before.
Harkoff’s kneecaps ceased existing.
Not A Solipsist; Scared November 19, 2009
Dusty, who lives in a dog-house
Dusty doo
(Dusty do doo-doo)
Scritch-a-scratch around midnight
Past midnight, asleep by early morn.
.
Dusty is a possession,
social welfare is what he is fed when I don’t forget.
What is in your mind, dog?
Who are you,
and why do you love tennis-balls so much?
Galatians 5:4 November 10, 2009
The sun had beat down on them for little over a month now, their headclothes had dissolved, what remained on their bodies was bleached and threadbare – the smell of the earth permeated through the core of their very minds, Harkoff, Shredig and Foolio trudged blindly into the southern Nelen suburbs of Lesser Jou.
*
“Mister Minister?”
The old man put down some yellowing typewritten papers before grasping the secretary at his office door with a firm gaze. “Yes?”
“I’ve been authorised to inform you that dispatch team -”
“Contact Field-Marshall Sherpie and tell him to contact Ragzin.”
“Field-Marshall Sherpie? And… and… Ragzin?”
The Minister squinted at the woman standing in the threshold of his tiny, wall-papered room.
“Sherpie has been promoted, Miss, and he must talk to Ragzin about this matter.”
The woman lingered in the doorway and seemed to study the hunched man, and his single black bowler, unmoving on a hatstand to his left. Does this man really command the future of eighty million people?
“Is there something wrong, Miss? Miss Kost, is it?”
“Sorry sir, nothing’s wrong,” Kost turned away and moved to the nearest speaker tube to fulfil her instructions.
**
For about a century, before the Nelen discovered masses of marble in the deep south of Lesser Jou, architects and engineers were fixated on creating structures with concrete. Concrete was more than just the most functional building component ever developed, it was a tradition, a social expression of progress – for a very long time, it seemed to encapsulate what it meant to be Nelen.
Great square structures issued from the ground in Nela’s east, while it spread closer, and ever more jealously towards Jou. Concrete formed simple prisms that housed people closer and more numerously that ever before. It was both dually and simultaneously speedily dirty, and saturated with new Nelen culture. A new movement carried this espousal of functionalism forward, prioritising not a direct expression of wealth, but the pursual and possession of as much of it as physically possible.
Installation four was a relic of this era. Concrete lift-shafts, concrete access-shafts, concerete hallways. Totally underground, it was another secret government facility that had been converted from office-space to a site for scientific experiements.
[continued, was not going to post but it became enough]
O RH Positive November 2, 2009
Karvezide – 12.5mg
Slow K – 600mg
Mobic – 15mg
Zoton – 30 mg
Lipitor – 10 mg
Lovan – 20 mg
Frusemide – 20 mg
Marvevan – 3 mg
Zandip – 9.4 mg
