Fruit and Flesh

A thin, veined hand, knuckles and joints sprouting black hair like grass from the cracks in a path reaches into a box of Pink Ladies carefully removing a soft brown individual. It is half seven. Peter Butterbun, the owner of the hand, has been here since seven, packing out the fruit and veg, removing blackening... Continue Reading →

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Give it up

I'm not sure I can do this anymore. I'm too obsessive and the structure of blogging, particularly the 'likes' and 'followers' part gets into my head. I post. I check back then, again and again to see how many views it has. I'm pleased by likes and delighted when someone chooses to follow me. I... Continue Reading →

Get back on

I have to get back on the bike, to cycle to work. If I cycle in it means I also have to cycle home. It is like a jigsaw piece, shaping the day changing the picture. One thing leads to another, you see. Or one thing suggests another. If not the bike the bus. The... Continue Reading →

The walls

The walls are a different colour now. They were one colour, purple bedroom, blue sitting-room, (you sit in that one), white kitchen, peach small room, (it is small) and orange big room, (kids sleep there). There were places were the paint was coming off, little scrapes, bits we're stuck up pictures fell off taking bits... Continue Reading →

The Liar, (an odd add)

I'm putting the price of The Liar up. Yes up. It was $.99 cent to buy as an e-book but now it is $2.99. I thought to myself. Fuck this. $.99 what the fuck. I worked on this thing for 4 years. It gestated in my swirly head for years before that. If you want... Continue Reading →

Get out

You'd get stuck in this shit, this pretend real, this it must be important because you do it so therefore it must be important self full-filling cycle. Why do I care about the budget and about what might happen if I don't fill in the right bits in right fucking spreadsheet cells. It's a load... Continue Reading →

City of Cows

The mooing gets to me. The Artist is returned to work. To the grind. The cows are out in force this morning. Coffee cups in hoofs. Ear buds. Neat and tidy. The Artist recoils. It won't end until it ends. The brief interlude of holidays spent. It's over now, baby. I could look elsewhere. Yes,... Continue Reading →

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