The Mondegreen.

That angsty teen.

Plates March 31, 2009

Filed under: 1 — theamazingfruitsalad @ 12:40 pm

Over the lattice gate, onto the roof – he knew where I slept.

I keep my window open, and the cat’s scratched the flywire so much recently it’s become fairly useless. Tonight’s featured three returns of the cat to my window, the man next door screaming and beating his dog before packing it into his car and driving off like he does every night.

HEY. COME HERE. I said come HERE!

Lights on. Lights off. Singlet. No singlet.

In through the window. Fights like this come once in a blue moon, the part of your mind that takes over comes with it. Look for something hard. The typewriter. Could I electrocute him with the-

No, don’t be an idiot.

He’s got a knife.

“Fuck off kid, you better fuck off or I’ll fucking-”

Never once have I been more happy to own a screwdriver set. No. The kitchen.

Downstairs. He falls down the stairs in the dark, swearing the whole way. I’ve reached the the knives. His buttery neck wide open laying there on the tiles, his arm broken. He stumbles into the kitchen, I kill him.

Knife on the floor.

I look at him now. He’s no-one I know. He’s not the man from next door, he’s just a tracksuit with Asics trainers. I can afford him a few towels, and while I’m halfway finished with the blood on the kichen tiles, I realise I’m hungry.

So I cook dinner. I cook dinner with him there, I look at him while drinking the wine I’ve decided to use in my garlic-ridden pasta-sauce. I rather like him there.

I muse maybe I’ll prop him up and be a hospitable host.

 

AAAAHHHHH March 29, 2009

Filed under: 1 — theamazingfruitsalad @ 10:44 pm

My cat leaves me dead rats on the outside windowsill above my bed!

.

This morbid form of gratitude!

 

Gosh Lots This Week March 29, 2009

Filed under: 1 — theamazingfruitsalad @ 8:42 pm

Sailing away

Straight away maybe

So tired

Maybe be blunt

Not really that smart

Done something wrong now

Again

 

Tighten The Mechanical Chest March 27, 2009

Filed under: 1 — theamazingfruitsalad @ 9:55 pm

Harkoff woke with a jolt, everything coming into focus instantly, rudely, the back of his head throbbing in pain, his neck feeling swollen and jarred. His legs were sprawled, not touching the ground, he was in a very small, dark, moving metal room.

Harkoff groaned, the two opposite swung their heads around.

“Wakey wakey,” said one, before beginning to laugh.

“Yeah rise and shine princess,” the other one shook it’s head. “I’d be prancing about if I’d just come out of ward E.”

As he tried to speak, Harkoff realised he was uniformed. Desert boots, leggings, his mouth full with an air filter, eyes jammed half-shut with goggles, head throbbing from the enthusiastically tight wrapping of his head-cloths.

The two others waited.

“Jou?” Harkoff’s voice buzzed musically from his filter.

“Where else, comrade?”

“It’s not what you think, though.”

“I see.”

“Should we tell him his bed-time story now, because the poor baby missed it before he went to sleep?”

The other laughed. “Oh yes, he’s going to ask for this one again and again when we have to put him to bed.”

Harkoff said nothing, half-cradling his head in his hands.

“Once upon a week ago, two little Jousen boys strapped up their little faces and kissed their Mummy and Daddy goodbye in the morning and climbed a big long rope up into their stupid little hot-air balloon, and sailed off into the hot, hot desert.

They looked out over their stupid crops of grain and ate their disgusting little lunches, having a grand old time fucking around with whatever Jousen farmers do growing shit out of the hard, dry cracked earth.

But this little day was unlike any other, for, the two little brothers accidently took a wrong turn all the way up there in the high, high clouds-”

“I resent this, you know.”

“Oh! Little feller’s got some fight in him today it seems!” The other jeered. “Better give the big, strong man his manly story, comrade!”

“Suffice to say, Harkoff – who thinks it’s all tea and cake telling a certain Ministerial Aide little secrets about how we run things around here, who causes said Ministerial Aide to resume the Malasrionese parliament and freedom of the press, causing mass public hysteria and utter chaos back home in good old Nela – we’ve got the next Jousen Proskut to deal with.

Two little Jousen boys sail off into a dust-storm, and are found weeks later in an ancient ruined Jousen city, one claiming to be Proskut, the other Unskol.”

“Is that it?”

‘Is that it?’ Why don’t you shut your trap next time nosy bastards come and poke around in business that isn’t theirs, Harkoff.”

“That’s none of your damned business.”

“I’m not going to have this argument with you, fool. Neither of us give a shit about what you say to your little girlfriend, we’re just telling you that when the pomps get red-faced and belt threats, we cop it just as hard as old bowler-hat, got that?”

“I didn’t know you had such broad shoulders, Shrendig.”

“Shut up, Harkoff, you’re sitting next to a dead man.”

There jolted and lolled the large frame of a man in the same uniform as the other three, his fat neck pushing on the head-cloths.

“Is that-?”

“Might be. Want to find out?”

“I think it’s a bit less worrying than taking each other’s pills.”

“Did it ever cross your mind that we might’ve done it deliberately?”

“That’s quite beautiful, knowing someone even better than yourself.”

The dark iron cage spluttered to a stop, a hot wind catching sand and forcing it through the vents beside the occupant’s heads.

“Last stop, the hot, hot desert, Harkoff, want to chuck up your dinner after this one too?”

Harkoff said nothing.

“Ohh! Oh is that right? Not worried, I hope! Well. When we get through this one tomorrow we’ll all see how your gut burns and wrenches!”

The entire side of the cage was removed and rattled loudly onto the ground. The fat man beside Harkoff fell head-first with it, the gloved driver watching with mild interest, hand still on the latch.

“On your feet, big boy!” Foolio’s body laughed the Shrendig’s squeal, launching out of the truck.

 

Bursting Sausages and Runny Eggiweggs March 25, 2009

Filed under: 1 — theamazingfruitsalad @ 9:10 pm

I remember having tantrums at the age of twelve, looking at the prices of these things. Maybe it’s the music.

I remember all my muscles locking up, arms contorted, legs dove-toed. Knees helping me do this funny dance. It’s serious. Everyone can hear, everyone’s looking, this is being told to my grandparents. I’m a nancy boy, that’s what this is. This is because I’m spoilt.

All the blood I owned going to my head, water in my nose, water in my eyes, running into my mouth. I’m now panting and screaming, face wet and ruddy.

BUT. BUT. BUT. BUT. I WANT IT.YOU SAID. PLEASE. I JUST. I. I. I. I. W-W-WAN – MA-MA-MUM

How old am I now? I don’t know how old I am. All this is in my head now, I just stop talking and start running when something’s not what I want.

.

I wrote these during the week. They’re about different things. I feel like I have to introduce them a bit now, I won’t be doing this again, introducing things is stupid. Introducing people is important. Because once you’ve been introduced they can rip you off.

.

You Sound Like

.

What do you think

What is inside there

.

This is what I have to know

.

Square pegs in round holes, everyone.

.

Because I’m out of my depth,

again,

When you’re like me

And you can only pick up the kitchen-scraps

And wade through deep fogs, your voice echoing

And smell what could just be a hallucination

You’d be pleased to know what the secret is.

.

I’m only responsible for me,

and the emotions of a million other people

.

And when I said no,

I did it with the least emotion and care I’d ever used in my life

There’s a control panel somewhere

.

Famous last words

.

For Z

.

The liars

The liars are the ones who smile so

And become different people

I’ll be me

I left a beer bottle on your stairs

If your mother came home

that night and killed herself walking up them

I’d turn myself in

.

A lady on the mobile phone, as I left the train, my face in a book:

.

FUCKING HELL JOEL
THE FOOD ISN’T FOR ME

I’M NOT GOING TO BE EATING

IT’S FOR YOU!

GO AND GET THE FUCKING FOOD JOEL.

FUCKING HELL JOEL.

.

You know I’m starting to miss a lot of people I still talk to a lot.

 

The Night-Time One, Thanks. March 20, 2009

Filed under: 1 — theamazingfruitsalad @ 9:51 pm

The clouds and the bricks

And the bag-strap

Table moving

Dancing words on the pages

.

Coming back

Pins in the roof

Printed bags,

perhaps my socks,

I could wear them

with your invisible words

.

Today could’ve been a bad day

But it was a very good one

Everyone proves me wrong

And I’m so glad.

.

Everything happens around

The buses I catch.

 

Small Rooms (And Little Tunes) March 20, 2009

Filed under: 1 — theamazingfruitsalad @ 8:56 am

You’ve
.
A
.
Coke-can.

 

OHHHHHH D’JYEEEAH. March 11, 2009

Filed under: 1 — theamazingfruitsalad @ 9:46 pm

PHASE #3

Songs that have changed my life.

Now I’m All Over the Shop – Maximo Park

(Maximo: I think this is when I first started liking music, properly. Rather than just shit you hear on the radio. It’s pretty angry, but I feel like I’m in love when I listen to it…)

No Surpises – Radiohead

Love Your Way – Powderfinger (Actually the whole album, Vulture Street)

Whole second side to Abbey Road

Deja Vu – Something for Kate

That’s Good – Devo

(Devo: Uh, let’s just say there’s a lot more, but this will suffice, hahahah)

Country Gentlemen – Ambulance LTD

Anecdote – Ambulance LTD

(Not that LTD is my favourite band or anything, they kind of complement each other, even though they’re in different releases.)

Message to My Girl – Split Enz

PHASE #4 – I DIG A PIGMY BY .. *mumbles* PHASE #1 IN WHICH DORIS GETS HER OATS:

.

Christian and I often sit out the front of the house. It’s not like there’s nothing on TV, or that there isn’t the fucking Water Temple to memorise.

Wait, the water level is too low, how the fuck do we get up there?

Use the hookshot!

Blair, there’s nothing to targe-

Use the hookshot!

And it’s not like we haven’t got any work we should be doing.

Ahhhhh! Morning everyone!

Holy shit!

What? Can’t a man just appreciate a wonderful morning before going to Uni?

You’ve been appreciating the bottom of your gin bottle for the past month. Oh. Yeah you kind of also missed exams.Where’re you going?

To a fucking gin bottle!

It’s just that tonight is a special night. Christian and I are memorising our exact positions, the fact I’m not wearing shoes and I’ve stolen a pillow from David’s bed and I’m sitting on it on the railing of the veranda, Christian just as comfortably reclining on the sofa we moved out through the front window. We’re discussing how long we have until Lee Leeington, possibly our favourite person in the world shows up, and destroys this beautiful air of excitement.

I was just about to formally bet Christian three packets of cashews (if you know me well, you’d understand how serious this was) that we had at most three hours before the public spectacle of a lifetime had begun.

“OOOhhhhh!! OHHahhahahhhh!!!! OOOoooOOoooOo00Oo000Ooo00H!”

“Jesus Christ.”

“This is gold.”

“OHHHH OHH JEAN LUC PICARD! OH WON’T THE TRIPLE GODDESS DESCEND…”

Devon. Devon Whatshisname. Neither Christian or I enquired about his full name, let alone his real name when we took him on when we had room to let. His total lack of emotion when he served us at Clark Rubber Cannington appealed to us, he seemed like the perfect balance between a mentally deranged manic obsessive who found life impossible to live without pens, and David Byrne, possibly the universe’s greatest egoist.

“OH WOULD THE LORD GOAT OF WICCA PLEASE CREATE THE LIKENESS OF JEAN LUC PICARD!”

Suffice to say, within a week we found Devon spanking off to a well-played Star Trek tape in the livingroom. How we collected our other.. ‘friends’ is something you will just have to learn as we go.

“I think he’s fucked up the pentacle hey.”

“Shit you’re right, it’s not touching the circle – HEY D-”

“Shut up! This is too good to interrupt!”

To be continued.


 

Everything I Can Clearly See March 10, 2009

Filed under: 1 — theamazingfruitsalad @ 10:26 pm

When I look up at the stars

I can feel the earth is very heavy

And that it moves slowly

And I can feel the rumbling it makes

And that is says nothing.

.

When I look up at the stars

I can sometimes feel nothing.

 

Everything March 4, 2009

Filed under: 1 — theamazingfruitsalad @ 10:58 pm

The fences

Are coming down.

And the swirling nothing

I hope

Will settle.

.

Here are my hands.