16/02/17

Box up that bullshit.
wrap it up in cellophane.
sell it in a magazine on a plane.
Ask the attendants to litter sentences with that products name.
Sit back, push the set back into the knees of your rival
look out with perfect perspective, so the window and your drink and the window and your drink and the window are set into the horizon. Fresh to death.




somewhere over the clouds, out past the past and round into the future, looking through the window on the starboard side, boring into the back of your head. The wet ice doesn't taste of whisky any more.

15/02/17 or near enough.

Helicopter clicks away, over the flat top building,
there is more life in the smoke from your fag
fuck you and your cigarette. The day is bright.
bright and clean and dusty, sharper lights and sounds
pointlessly clear acoustics.
 there is more life in the smoke.
fuck you and your cigarette.
I feel like I am dipping in and out of wifi range,
playing that game on Google
with the dinosaur
              jumping over the cactuses,
and then writing a long Facebook message
and then it won't send,
and then I'm jumping over cactuses.

to think it could all be torn up in an instant

The bordering might not hold
I don't understand how to format a document
what if the line ran on
 unbeknownst to me in my blind ramblings
so that most of the meaning lay there off to the right
somewhere missing the concrete certainty of the block text
where everything is neat and comprehensible
oh what a surprising flounce of behaviour

it is a stupid paranoia
to worry about a tangent
an arc dying out in the dark
like a firework
I don't know which type of firework
I don't care

but there
is the real paranoia
what if I follow the wrong decision
what if I get lost in the dark
far past the border
that contains our shared memory
our shared minds
where we agree/ talk
all neat and comprehensible
and tangents are still beautiful

Бездельник

We would have to make an enormous effort
to make our paths intersect even a little
I would have to book a ticket every month
I don't earn enough money...
and the time difference is hard
I can't even keep track of getting enough sleep
let alone know when you would or might want to be sleeping
I used to know when you were eating
I usually ate the same thing
I used to sleep better when you were sleeping
I used to sleep late so that you would get enough sleep
because you really don't sleep all that well in general

this isn't going to work like this.
with you lighting cigarettes without me
falling in love without me seeing it
I can't just hear about it from you
you don't fucking know whats going on

don't

keep talking about the times
before i got here,
before i exist
thinking about that...
its like, i mean
pfft
I'm balling my head up in a fist

friend

I hope you'll give me one more chance,
to picture the storms in glasses.
the wood grain is more than enough,
to feel or to taste.
for a night or a week.
with you beside me
we can be only
    ignore the great uncertainty
that rages beyond the door

life is a landslide

pure imagination, this could be the sunset you wanted pasted on your patience
sweet hallucinations of a fence bent around a world
such much mystery neatly solved and folded by the door
hot intoxication, could make the machinations stand for more
make believe things stand for something
then make you throw up on the floor

what a bore
what a fucking bore