10 September 2012
Would you come back and lie about the times and the fun you left behind? If we could fly, in this town at least we could escape I think and watch the kids waving underneath us as we swooped across the acid gusts. How much easier it would be? But how the fuck would we clutch the books we love? I don’t think we would leave any legacy here. The days are done and we’ve lost the sun totally. Tumbling and twisting, even the birds would turn their faces away I suspect.
I stood and waited for her but she was busy falling, air frigid again, the light falling instead of us and our days I think are numbered from one to twenty three as everything we touch turns to sunrises, always beginning and never ending. We never seem to get a grasp on it. The Syrian customer argues at the checkout as I watch but his words are new and unformed in his mouth and they come out unexpected. It’s ‘slow time’ in the dry beams of the Sodium spotlights outside and the falling rain, light, is slow. She comes out of the shop in a huff. She is angry about something and she tells me but her words are garbled like the Syrian and she struggles to collect the needed grammar and syntax but the feeling, the emotion is there. She isn’t done, isn’t quite ready to lapse into the lover time and her violence is in the way her lips move and she is in a fighting stance although she doesn’t know it.
But the atmosphere is disjointed and wrong…probably because she is far from Earth at this time and her existence is dilated.
“Fuck off you cunt..seriously fuck off, you total fucking liar, how could you?” She says to me and it is whispered and each word a gunshot. Her rages are cataclysmic of course and I can see the parts of her where the maps are worn at the creases and the roads, tracks and borders become faded and mushed. She whispers threats and they are broken hearted gestures at me, I’m blameless, I don’t ask to start any simple thing and I’m abstracted from it all.
We disagree of course, on the origins of our sadness. But I grab her throat gently and push her up the side of the van which is slick. I put my hand down the front of her jeans and she stops. Everything stops and i’m not close to her body at all. I’m ‘apart’. She releases herself mentally and the anger drips out of her in quick bursts as my fingers work and I tighten my grip on her throat. Closing my eyes for a second I can see the lines she draws and the fractured blurred and broken images of the environment. She was stuck in her own personality like a stuck CD of rainforest sounds and the soothing voice of a media hypnotist. The lives of great men all remind me this is not the world ‘that is’. My fingers in her cunt is the only truth. Do you remember? Do you see?
She does for a moment see the anatomy of the illusion but her errant thoughts scatter like lost rabbits under the glare of the sodium and our footprints on the map are swept away in the glory of her orgasm, here on the car park of the Tesco One Stop. Her mind is electric and each circuit follows it’s intended route one circuit at a time A to Z throughout the network of her world experience. Mine shatter each circuit at once and the world is laid out into monads of sense emotions and dreams are the resistance of the network.
I put my lips closer to hers as I finger fuck her and she drops a plastic bag full of something and her leg shakes as she knows the corridors have all locked doors for moments such as this.
“You know it doesn’t make sense to get annoyed at anything at all. they will see you, you are not camouflaged” I whisper and my tongue touches her lips gently.
Behind me somebody is saying something and his words are bottomless and meaningless but as she spoke softly horrible words I sense the emotion in his. My fingers out of her cunt I turn and look at him. In the light he is grey and his eyes shadowed nothing. His lips moved but didn’t match the words I heard at all. As he was close I headbutted him fast and he stepped back. I neatly slipped my foot behind his ankle and he fell onto the tarmac, I moved to his side and saw the bone sticking from the bridge of his nose. The blood black under the sodium, black on his grey Nike tracksuit his hands fluttering. Minor character he snuffles through the blood as I squat and watch, she is saying something and I don’t know what it means but I pull his hands away from his face to see clearer and his fear is apparent, he flinches and I don’t see where he could possibly go from here. The way is there for him to find and the flashing of the lights from inside the shop are empty phrases.
‘I’m tired now and ready to go no more songs of regret and sorrow
just one foot in front of the other just point the way and I’ll be off’
If it was only that simple Darling. He was bleeding heavily and I contemplated finishing the job of emptying him. His hair was cut short and his blood streamed through it. Now other people had come outside and were standing around talking asking and the solid smash of the van door closing was loud as she got inside and I was bold and ready to castigate and judge them all, here and now. A total reign of light and the darkness wouldn’t enter me now as I was just a vapid space where someone should be.
I stood and walked around the rear of the van and got in, drove slowly away and left them all behind as I joined the flow of traffic. The fear for him left behind. She was breathing heavily and looking at me as I drove. Her breath short, disgusted probably, fearful, excited all abstract all meaningless. But my hands on the steering wheel had blood on them and it shined like stars and then became black as oil under each streetlight we passed. It was a litany of effect, a nothingness.
‘When we get back, fuck me’ she said.
But I am foul and there is no residue of lust, just a toy of interests and the rampant thing in me trembles at the very thought of her flesh on mine. Fucking hell Darlin’ Jesus fucking Christ. But as we drive…
I’m settled for a minute
Who knows why they have
these quiet moments
but soon the slam of a door
and the dogs will bark