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Monday, August 26, 2002

 

Sunflower Wallpaper Wind



Crashing, bashings, dashings, lashings of ham on rye as the belly dancers scream their
dreams into a window that does not allow them to think or dream and that's why they all
wonder about the wonderings and wanderings and the melting ice cream that melts in
the corner of the room.

"Of course" asked Mr X. as he put on his hat, why didn't I think of that?"

He didn't think of it because the fish didn't tell him. The fish didn't tell him. Had he
finally gone mad? Show don't tell. Katie showed her breasts to the boys behind
the shed. Theypromised that they wouln't tell--but they did, and it all got back to
her father and he was veryangry with her. He smashed her head open with a claw
hammer. Her blood flowed out of her head and covered the whole suburb, city,
country, planet, universe. Whales, Wales, wails.

Katie came back as a wailing whale wailing about the waters of Wales. She had a
really big tail. She had told the fish but the fish hadn't told Mr X. This was always
the way.

Still. No movement. The belly dancers aren't screaming any more and the ice cream
is gone and Mr X is playing darts in a pub in the middle of Dartmour, England.Not
the England that you know but the England of this story. Sorry, 'story' .

Long, not short and the fixtures are not right. Not right in the sense that they are
wrong. The electric lights emit a deadly radiation that makes the skin peel from
your bones like a nun who is riding a kangaroo while taking photos of the wind
with a camera made out of the grass that whines like a weeping, wailing, whale
that swims around the waters of Wales and who once was a girl who was
murdered by her father for showing her breasts to the boys behind the shed.

Go On,Swim On, Run on.

Run on sentence like a pig that has lost its way and wants to join pariliament as a
senator or donate its body to the Ham in the Ham and Rye sandwiches.

The Belly dancers are dancing now.

Mr X is walking with Ms Y. They are walking down the road. It is sunny. They are
happy. All is good. They are holding hands. They are happy holding hands. All is sunny
and happy and good for them.

And then suddenly,
A car drives past.
A car drives past.

past, past,past, past, past, past,past, past, past, past, past, past, past, past, past,
past,Car fast past drives fast past shot head Ms Y dead dead Ms Y head past fast
drives past fastcar dead everything nothing fuck oh fast dead shot headdead blood
siliencenoise fast fast fastshoot Ms Y deaddeaddeadeadead.ohohoh fuckmeohdead
blood deadhead shotdeadfast carcar window out shooter Ms Y dead dead Ms Y oh
dead carspast fast car dead where dead head dead who Ms Y oh hea dead concrete
cementtraffic lights cars people everywhere nothing fuck you fuck you oh spin swim
deadstrange past past car shoot dead deaddead dead dead dead oh oh dead my Ms
Y dead shot dead in head in head shot dead nowdeadnow dead now dead

dead dead.

dead.

Amanda her name was Amanda.

"That wasn't her", said the driver.

"Yes, it was, that was the bitch, that was the cunt, alright", said the passenger/shooter.


The bellydancers are sad. They want to swim with the whales and the mermaids. They
wantto find solace in a universe that affords them only the pain of knowing what they
know and what they know is grass. But what is it to know grass in a world filled with
sand and molass and three toed women with mops of discontent and file clerkboys
who wish they were on steam trains. And the sun is too high to be of any use to
them.

To be of any use at all.

Mr X, lit his pipe, looked at me and said,

"Get over yourself,you self-indulgent wanker, everybody has problems".

"Fuck you Mr X", I said.

No, he said, pointing his pipe at me, fuck you!

Then we laughed and the world became once more all sunny, happy and good.

At least for a while, and that's all you really need.






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