Thursday, 30 September 2010


In the dream we are making tea

We are trying to make tea, I mean, but the pots are all inadequate. They melt, or move,or crumple or something. You're covering your face with your hands and I have a lot of tea pooling in the t-shirt hammock between my thighs. I am kneeling like a Geisha .

You've given up, I think.

I wake myself up because I'm worried the spilt tea means I've pissed in your bed and I don't know you that well.

Lying face down between you and your lover, the bed beneath me seems dry enough. This is pretty good.


Something we did last night prised open the insect-leg stitches that walk from behind your ear to your adam's apple, smeared blood on your pillow and stained your hair. I lift your lover's hand and place it carefully on my ass.

Thursday, 16 September 2010

Regent Square

About 25 minutes to 12 I was in Regents Park last night and I saw the prisoner and a young lad standing up against the railings of the square. I stood looking at them for about 5 minutes, about 18 yards off. A female (?) and they moved away. They came back to the same place again where they stood before and I got within 10 yards off. The prisoner had a black leather bag in his hand and he put that down and unbuttoned his trousers and I saw his person (?) He caught hold of the lad and he got the (?) him. I went ?across? but I could not get quite close to them, they went away. I caught the boy afterwards. I took the prisoner. I told him it was for indecent behaviour in the square. He said nothing then on the way to the station "I am sorry for it". He was there with his person exposed quite 5 minutes and during that time he was (?) the young man. There was light enough to see what I have stated.

Prisoner got hold of me last night down (?) St and asked me if I would take a note into Regent's Square for him. He showed me the note and asked if I would take it for him. I said "no" but he took me by the arm and took me to Regent's Square against the railings.. He undid his coat then he undid his trousers and asked me if I would do it for him. I said "no". He asked me to put my hand on his cock penis. I did not do so. He wanted to undo my trousers. He tried to undo them but I would not let him. He did not say that he wanted to undo them. He tried to put his hand inside my trousers behind. he did not say why. I asked him what he wanted to do but he would not tell me. He (?) me twice and put his arm 'round me and would not let go of me. The Constable caught me and I told him what had happened. I never saw the prisoner before. It was against my wish that he tried to undo my trousers.

"What are you doing?"

"Wha - oh  I'm - uh - pizza? My friend is - [flaps right hand at something, appears confused]
Can I have a cigarette?"

"I don't smoke"

"Oh - wh- ?[frowns]"

"So - I'm looking for business, that hotel there.[points] How much?"

"I don ... [asks passing woman for a cigarette, smiles]

"How old are you?"

"18 [frowns] 19? ... 15? you want? - uh - I'm waiting for something like - give me 10 minutes OK - then I could - uh ?"

"I'm taking you in [grasps hold of left elbow]"

"You can't - I'm - uh - allowed to be here, my friend is (?) - shit. I'm not on your fucking list you know"

Tuesday, 14 September 2010


there's a noise from the books - rasp rasp
sweep everything from the desk
and it clatters or thuds or whatever to the floor
rasp - these claws of rodents blunted from too much
too - something - running circles on the roughened surface
sit on the desk, lie on it, or the other way round

you think you're fucking invincible
look, i fell for you. splinters

whispers something in my ear during dancing
or not dancing and not the words
but the movement, the act - moving the hair from the neck
this insertion of hand, the ear, the breath against the ear
rasp rasp - my ear on your crotch

I can hear the sea

Wednesday, 8 September 2010


M_ finds that if he tilts his head back like this - a further 90° or so - and moves some stray piece of hair out of his right eye, like this  - he can see through the narrow gap beneath the blind in the bottom left-hand corner of the window. A bright wedge of light  coalescing into something like form if he squints determinedly at it for long enough . His brow folds in on itself, these little creases of concentration. Look: a hard edge, something dark and solid, a splash of red, a blur of movement.

A game - like a mental exercise or something - forgetting everything he already knows about what lies immediately outside that window, then piecing together a new view based entirely on this very limited information now available.

The corner of a balcony wall, a flower - don't know - bright - a geranium maybe. A cat? No - shit - wait. That's what he knows it is - he's trying to clear his stored memories again but it's too difficult and pointless.So he close his eyes and focuses on some scratch of small pain - the metal spike of an earring as it presses into this tender place behind here, where the jawbone attaches to the rest of the skull. When he tries to imagine what this place looks like, without the flesh and skin and hair that it's buried beneath, it fades out into this crude, cartoon approximation of a skull.  It doesn't even have a jawbone - just a row of kind of goofy front teeth. He knocks his own skull gently, three times against the windowsill, to dislodge the image.

This movement reverberates through the rest of the body. The razor skitters a little, carves out this miniature pocket of skin. The man exhales sharp through his nose - like a horse - M_ thinks looking intently at a patch of exposed scalp on the top of the man's head. A beam of light from the lamp directly illuminates the place, it's like a pool of spotlight on some tiny stage - any moment now some scaled-down singer might step out into it and start performing. M_ smirks and shifts his hips some, the movement causes the man to make his horse-snort again.

"Keep still - damn - "

and the blade slices out another insignificant chunk of flesh - the man rubs at it brusquely, with his thumb. A smear of blood in a streak of foam - like some kind of Masai-ish blood and milk supper. Ugh thinks M_, mildly.

"Sorry" he whispers.

The man returns to his task. He's frowning intently at this small patch just to the right of M_'s pubic bone. The tip of his tongue protrudes just there, from the corner of his mouth, very pink. The blade itches, it makes a noise similar to this scratch of pen across paper. That other noise is a second man positioned a little behind the first, masturbating.

M_ falls asleep, sort of.