Hogg, the name was, I believe. Couldn't try doing any more fills, got to clean the dream. And all the gas was spilling into the tank by the river. Clouds closing in, deep blue they were, and then black. Saw a cyclist, reading a crow on another bike. Harvester of sorrow. They played that one late into the morning, surrounded by grapes. Keeled over near Stoke on Trent, found an empty pack of recycled paper and did a dance. Shaved both armpits, grew a beard and walked to Walthamstow. Long way from Stokey. More bitten fingernails than I could throw my dice at. Florida next. What? No, not walking, kites is what they use nowadays. If I took half a pint of kite and threw petrol at it, I'd get 'ghite'. Know what that means? 'Trower'. Gilded like a stolen hand, flaing in the breeze, I walk down the lane. Little circuit, down the pasture, over the hill, through the canal and into the pond. Five pounds please. Can I pay later? No sorry we haven't got any more guidebooks so we're only profiting from ticket sales.
And then he walked off, into the night.
Showing posts with label by Rev. Hatmagic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label by Rev. Hatmagic. Show all posts
аўторак, 28 ліпеня 2009 г.
пятніца, 14 снежня 2007 г.
Jeremy Jexxytone
by Rev. Hatmagic
On October 23rd, 1964, Jeremy Jexxytone began his analysis of straw hats. Feeling that they had previously been over-analysed, he stuck to the original critical method of measuring out five jars of pink straw, five of blue, and five of yellow. Finding that only the yellow straw was useful, and that his years of straw-dyeing had been wasted, he threw away these once beautiful but now outrageous pieces of useless material.
Like an Aardvark in the cold, he reflected upon this years experiments; he concluded that his love life had gone down, his chimpanzees had escaped, and he had aquired a large mole on the edge of his penis. Rhythmically tapping out "So lonely" by the police on his dad's stereo, he reminded himself that it was the stereo he was waging war with, not himself. National values were decreasing, national security in his country was being lost, and he couldn't control it, never had been able to. What was the point of cooking, when he could make microwave dinners which poisoned his mind, his life, and his potential children.
His wife was an oversized, hippopotamus of a woman who had graduated from night school to work as a dental hygienist. Jeremy had stumbled across this infathomable creature when drunk in the morning crossing the road. She had been as plump and as rotten then as she was now. He had met her on the way to his home, after staying with some friends. She had been the lollipop lady. They hadn't made love for six years.
Jeremy was losing his hair. He combed it as gently as he could, so as not to remove the only sign of youth left. He was always preoccupied with the threat, or hope, that cancer might one day overtake his mistake of a wife.
On October 23rd, 1964, Jeremy Jexxytone began his analysis of straw hats. Feeling that they had previously been over-analysed, he stuck to the original critical method of measuring out five jars of pink straw, five of blue, and five of yellow. Finding that only the yellow straw was useful, and that his years of straw-dyeing had been wasted, he threw away these once beautiful but now outrageous pieces of useless material.
Like an Aardvark in the cold, he reflected upon this years experiments; he concluded that his love life had gone down, his chimpanzees had escaped, and he had aquired a large mole on the edge of his penis. Rhythmically tapping out "So lonely" by the police on his dad's stereo, he reminded himself that it was the stereo he was waging war with, not himself. National values were decreasing, national security in his country was being lost, and he couldn't control it, never had been able to. What was the point of cooking, when he could make microwave dinners which poisoned his mind, his life, and his potential children.
His wife was an oversized, hippopotamus of a woman who had graduated from night school to work as a dental hygienist. Jeremy had stumbled across this infathomable creature when drunk in the morning crossing the road. She had been as plump and as rotten then as she was now. He had met her on the way to his home, after staying with some friends. She had been the lollipop lady. They hadn't made love for six years.
Jeremy was losing his hair. He combed it as gently as he could, so as not to remove the only sign of youth left. He was always preoccupied with the threat, or hope, that cancer might one day overtake his mistake of a wife.
Willie the Bear
by Rev. Hatmagic
Willie the bear had been walking approximately six months, when all of a sudden his gee gee trousers fell down. He had to remember that he was merely a publicity stunt for the children of Disney World, and that all the happiness and glory he brought forth was all for the corporation. A man in a blue suit who had a faint odour of diarrhoea had told him so.
The diary willie had been writing had been in a 3D collage form, hitherto unknown by 6th western film players in the area. They themselves preferred to project pictures of psychological experiments on poor unwary students, including the isolation tank. The bar codes branded onto their foreheads was the first step, who knows what came later......
He awaoke from this tragicomedy with his trousers still round his ankles, and little children were peering at him. How the hell had these little blisters got behind the hut of hell? Where were their parents? Or was this merely a cult of children in the Disney Underworld? He had heard rumours of such things, and proceeded to bellow ferociously at the kids.
Willie the bear had been walking approximately six months, when all of a sudden his gee gee trousers fell down. He had to remember that he was merely a publicity stunt for the children of Disney World, and that all the happiness and glory he brought forth was all for the corporation. A man in a blue suit who had a faint odour of diarrhoea had told him so.
The diary willie had been writing had been in a 3D collage form, hitherto unknown by 6th western film players in the area. They themselves preferred to project pictures of psychological experiments on poor unwary students, including the isolation tank. The bar codes branded onto their foreheads was the first step, who knows what came later......
He awaoke from this tragicomedy with his trousers still round his ankles, and little children were peering at him. How the hell had these little blisters got behind the hut of hell? Where were their parents? Or was this merely a cult of children in the Disney Underworld? He had heard rumours of such things, and proceeded to bellow ferociously at the kids.
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