Friday, October 19, 2018

'38 Rue Utopia ~ Ep.29

There’s a splinter in your eye and it reads, “React”
~ R.E.M. ‘Harbourcoat’ 1984


“Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts”
Joe’s killing has kept the kids’ attention focussed on the warehouse, as if to seek other ghosts there, all that remains at the fence is the echo of their chant in Daniels head. The zombie remains have degenerated to a putrid wall of fat, gristle and discoloured bone; the smell a wall in itself.
Even though it is common belief that Guy’s Plague cannot be transmitted other than genetically, most folk are reticent to get too close to the remains. The flies and worms and consuming microorganisms involved with decay have no such qualms; for them this is a feast, the earth welcomes her goodness returned.
Daniel lowers the fence voltage to just enough to deter the packs of dogs that roam outside; their night calls often the backdrop to tales told in the commons; and locks the switchgear room.
Next, he removes two battered shotguns from the vault where things of little value but their hazardous nature are kept; the weapons, such as they are, a ragged capture of old shotguns long ago looted from some hunting and shooting club, cold crypto-wallets, assorted pieces of even colder gold, silver and aluminium kept for those moments when hard old-fashioned currency is the only negotiating option. He removes a number of 100g ingots and a couple of wallets and secures them in the inner linings of his coat.


R.E.M.
Harbourcoat

Wednesday, October 17, 2018

Smartphone Strut


I am the strut, the mince, the waddle,
phone held up to film my progress down the boulevard
cos a boulevard is where I’m at
all around look on in admiration and envy
Love me love me love like I do
Watch me watch me passing thru
I am buff, I am fit, I am the man you want to be
follow me in Instagrim/Farcebook
Love me love me love like I do.
Watch me watch me better than you.
Check my hair check my biceps
check my fashion jeans
Check your envy check your mirror
check my solo scene

Monday, October 15, 2018

Aye


Friday, October 12, 2018

'38 Rue Utopia ~ Ep.28

And you measure for wealth by the things you can hold
And you measure for love by the sweet things you're told
~ Rodriguez ‘Like Janis’ 1970

Jordan Ebbit

“How should I know who she travelled with or why?”
“You the one intro’d her to Giles”
“Look Farmie, she’s just some freak that I owed a favour to, so yes, she wanted to deal with Giles, I intro’d her direct, now we’re even”
The room smells of floral perfume and tantrums - an activity Peye’s well known for amongst the servicers. Nikos pulls an appropriately inappropriate face, looks around the room as if he might find the answers there, sniffs.
“Did she come in with anyone?”
“Didn’t I just tell you I didn’t see her come in”
Nikos takes the weight of this lack of intel and rattles it around his head for a while before losing it to the knot of disquiet in his solar plexus.
“Let me know if you hear anything on the floor”
He turns slowly to leave.
“I’m not part of your team, so fuck off and leave me alone”
He stops, turns back slower now.
“Just for the record Ms Peye, don’t ever call me a Farmie again”
He leaves the door open and heads downstairs.
Peye closes it quietly, distracted, turns to sit at the illuminated mirror, where tears assist the removal of her white stage face.


Rodriguez
Like Janis

Wednesday, October 10, 2018

And The Monster Was Me


It’s the clarity that comes with the current that flows in the river of melancholia; transports me to the core of my insecurities, my misdemeanours and misanthropy.
Chameleon.
Fight-picker.
Enraged and disappointed.
But who am I to say I’m right, to declare my vision clear?
Am I the man you see here in this garden of earthly delights?
Am I the man who etches his virus on the virtual world?
Where is my morality when at my core there is a seed of hate?
Where my ethics when all I see is stupidity?
Where is hope when the destination is so clear and so inevitable?
I see my face reflected in the windows of passing trains filled with commuters self-medicating on glowing screens and I wonder who I am?
I hear my voice in the echo chambers of my own medication and I wonder who I am?
Down the years of unforgiving, of moving on, of becoming something new, I retain but one thing: the book of judgement whose pages are strewn with the names of almost everyone I know and millions that I don’t.
A list of names to which I must now add my own.

Then I ran across a monster
who was sleeping by a tree
And I looked and frowned
And the monster was me
~ The Width of a Circle