most recent to least recent. please don't laugh at me.

the banality is arid sordid dreams smear me death blows lazy and hot in the wind diamonds of desire shine i trudge through bloody petals and smooth my baby's hair shots fly through our rusty eyes they shine on my moon face and your gilded vision love leaves me weak and shaking treacle-tongued and burning with temerity.

i am a machine merely beaming running like water look to him if you need some blackness some pink trips and watchful magic ask his snowy gaze your pictures and see my two tiny TV petals moonlike and loving drive days away.

the clock ticked words were said that didn't mean much. we were in room nine it was nine minutes past nine on the ninth of the ninth ninety-nine. cold droplets on our fingers from our last drink coca-cola memories. the future was irrelevant but that didn't stop the clock and neither did our prophecies of doom.

why haven't you called? spoken to me, somehow. why don't you even pretend to love me anymore? is it me is it my on-again, off-again fickle personality, my... infrequent contacts? the fact that i've never responded? response? responses are enemies pulling me down into mirk and mire harrowing my soul. 'but i do love thee and when i love thee not chaos is come again.'

i couldn't hear the gauze of sound was too thick impenetrable. i looked around the faces blurred into one another i took another can out of the fridge fingers grasping thin air searching for the ringpull. i announced my arrival to the room they said things to me but I couldn’t hear them the music was too loud out in the garden they gave me some cones i sat there and listened to the conversation quiet now but soon they were offering smokes again saying something again I couldn’t hear. i stood on the chair. they all laughed i said something i can’t quite recall and then i fell but i never hit the ground. that’s all I remember.

our house is cold all the time even in summertime it’s cold. i used to lie on the patio in the sun soaking up the light to bring into the darkness of the house. there are ten clocks and three televisions six computers and five phones. two bathrooms and four bedrooms two lounge rooms, a kitchen and a computer room. all in this cold square box if a house.

reflections flicker in the cold water and I like looking at the mirror mirror, mirror the fairy lights. a dog prowls round the perimeter barking at bats as I hiss him on. smoke curls up from my mouth ashing with a flick tastes like I’ve licked a chimney. the stars are the same every night and the bats are the same and the smoke is the same and the dog is the same every time I come here.

i love people who aren't real. they leave me empty and confused. i've built a little empire here, for myself. so many people don't understand that i'm not having a good time in the one they've given me. i want to stay in my place where everything loves.

prisms my mind is full of prisms circling refracting the sabres absorbing the hurts lights and words a million books of words thrown at me in bursts of light.