Destroyed

Some would have called us cockroaches, and some the disintegration of floating lost dreams.

All I knew was that it was trinitite I was scrambling across, trying to read the text that was eerily printed on what was once sand. The only sandcastles that existed now were made of words, and they were being lapped up by the crazed nuclear tide.

The first words I read were "jodi@zepler.org". I guess that is where any fragments of trinitite can be mailed to.

Eclipse

The field is full of yellow, brown and ochre-coloured sheaths of edible but fairly tasteless morsels, although we strip them down and feast anyway. Attached to the prickly heads, is frondy material that stutters in the breeze. The heads droop down towards us, ready to cry their produce. And on the tip of each stalk, on a thread like spike, is a tiny eight-legged creature as black as the eclipse glasses, clinging to the upright structure. We flatten some down, showing that we are cruel beings, and lie side by side, between the ragged corn walls. We look up at the sky and the dark clouds that are between our eyes and the sun. Cars zooming occasionally interrupt our taciturnity, as does some awry bassed-up dance music. I curl up, clutching my can of diet coke and sipping the darkened mixture, waiting to be plunged into the world's shadowy womb. Looking up, there is a spider crawling across the sky. The black featureless images of birds cawing. A bee flying over my soiled body. We are stuck at twilight, looking at the windmills on the horizon, which are turning and turning.

And then. All of a sudden, although of course anticipatedly, the sky gets dark and the scene at the start of Generation X gets cold. I hold my breath..

drugs

Fresh Friend, you were the Frisco special.
Green leaves, Black sunshine, Cube icing.

yum

My tongue descends on the furry exterior, darts across and feels the soft delicate skin, our two planes meeting with their unique textures. My mouth encompasses it, the fruit trapped between my lips. I press my lips closer, firmly touching but not bruising my victim, they can't get any tighter. I am gagged with the object of my desires, and I feel the slight furriness, the furriness that always made Sarah wince, on the flesh inside my mouth behind my lips. I see no other way out, so I bite. Hard enough to break the skin, the juices flow inside me. Sweet and tender. I lick the inside. The texture is different, not just wetter. Softer, stringier, more flesh is exposed. A different colour. The wait is over, I just devour. All that is left is its deformed equivalent skeleton- carrying its unborn offspring - another wannabe peach.

Diet Coke

The can looked like a shiny nuclear missile with a ringpull on the top. The gulps were viscous, as if I was swallowing mucusy brown dragon-spit. I was beginning to worry- that harmonious taste and jangle of aluminium or steel had turned into something else. Of course, I didn't even stop when later I drank even more, began to shake, and felt rather sick.

Soap

Today I checked to see if the soap smelt of parsley sauce.

rain

I jumped over rivers, walked on higher ground as the tide swept the waves towards me, passed puddles of floating leaves, and then stopped. I stood on a wall, next to the pond, with my arms out, and I was flying, floating on every gust. I looked down on the pond, where there were watery fireworks and swirly patterns of lanterny luster moving along with the bushes that were tripping the light. I could see no rats. There were waterfalls flowing from the roofs, although it was too dark to see the colour cycles. There was a discarded flyer that said "vision funk," completely soaked. The puddles became like spinaceous soup, floating with debris. I was hurried along, pushed forwards by the wind, and it became harder to breathe.

metaphors

I was dissolving metaphors, I tell you.

The metaphorazine contorted and twined around my stomach, becoming so wet and flaccid that it became useless.
The metaphasia was ripped from my chest, and it quickly floated to my feet.
"All that exists is metaphor, and whoever controls our metaphors controls us" swam to its death, and all the metaphors were then dead.

Diet Coke

The first sip hitting my throat burns right through me, firey brown bubbles from a nuclear fridge. The second sip, a pleasure, a sweetened soup of caramel (E 150d) colour. The third sip, I hold it in my mouth for a while, unable to swallow, my teeth coated in acid, the caffeine beginning to infiltrate my mind. The fourth time, I'm not sipping, just pouring the crushed petrified wood straight down my throat, I can't stop.

Pavement

The pavement, as always, was pockmarked with gum and acned with leaves and bird droppings.

Break-ups, real and imaginary, random order

That I didn't know what I was doing, and you didn't speak to me again after a few days; That you wanted me to lie in the mud and screw you; That you shouted down the phone "you're dumped" and hung up; That we lived too far away and you were going to uni; That we agreed to before the end; That we were both too messed up; That you moved away and it wasn't the same; That it was too intense; That you never liked me more than anyone else; That when I liked you the most was at a different time to when you liked me the most.

The one inch drift

It was the time of year when winter was still creeping around and I could feel the chill even at my ankles, where it then wafted downwards through my shoes and encircled my feet with a criticising frostiness. Every breath I took appeared as a white cloud, and I tried not to breathe too much. I'd sit in my house, wrapped in duvet and eat marshmallows that I'd heat in the microwave.

It seemed so cold, that I knew the icicles would spore outside the windows. I looked forward to the possibility of snow, and this made it possible for me to endure winter, no matter how chilly it got. It hadn’t snowed for so long in this town where I resided. I could remember snow from my childhood, but I couldn’t actually remember it snowing here. I was sure there must have been plenty of snow, and I was just tangling up my memories of faraway snow-capped towns. I could remember gliding down large snow covered hills on the back of a sledge. I could remember when it snowed so much that my dog simply disappeared for a while, vanished beneath the snowdrift. I could remember densely packed snow, walking slowly along the top of it, as if it were a mountain, and then noticing an aerial sticking out from the ground, and realising that I was walking over a buried car.

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