Unable to sleep, I put some music on and just wrote down anything that came into my head. I know the stream of consciousness technique is quite old, but, I’m growing increasingly bored with my writing style and needed to do something to wake it up; so, I put aside my dissertation, my short story, and the novel I’ve been putting off writing, and just wrote….
Here is the result:
Dead on the doorstep, blocking the passage,
Now, just a doorstop.
Blood gushing down the stairs,
And out the front door, over flowing
Out- of- the-letterbox.
The welcome mat washed away
By the river that would not stop.
.
Soldiers lying in the street, sleeping
On the runaway children’s map.
Cheek over China, Leg over London,
Snoring, spitting, sucking — their thumbs.
Even the impotent wake up with morning wood.
Fantasies of flashing fire, eating up
That which we promised, to hold onto
Even when we had nothing left.
.
In the middle of the midterm madness
A middle-aged melancholic mushroom moved
Away melting Macbeth’s from their homes into houses.
Drunk on drinks we drank too fast.
Downing away into drowsiness we couldn’t understand.
Deconstructing the destruction we were able to decipher
That the dicks were definitely hard before
They fucked their asses into oblivion.
.
Vomiting out yesterday, and lubricating today in time for tomorrow,
Nothing is to stay. Nothing can make an impression,
Or, give or take, or break or mistake one thing,
For something for more meaningful.
.
Dancing on the disasters of yesterday,
Making even less of what was.
Taking everything literally or horizontally,
Or unilaterally, making decisions that disguise
The dead expressions we’ve become accustomed to.
.
Breaking away from the dear doctors,
Who nursed us into nothingness.
Caught between crying Christians, and
Cynically charged for the crap we’re likely
To experience in the midnight madness.
.
The rapture that releases those
From the ridiculous promises of the world.
The martyrdom which awaits me,
Is to be celebrated before it happens.
Before that happens.
.
The test laid out by God, Allah, the all-seeing-eye
That eyed up everything, especially you.
Taking it up the arse for the Taliban.
Trembling with terror and titillation, and
The only thing I can think of is you,
Standing there looking bored.
Change the channel.
Posted on April 13, 2010
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