part #3 mouse

I caught the mouse today. i set the trap last night and the mouse got in and this morning I could hear the mouse in the trap (which is in the cupboard) and I put the trap (with the mouse inside) inside a tuppaware tub and then let the mouse out of the trap and into the tub. I was worried the mouse would get hungry so I put some ryvita in the tub with the mouse. I was worried the mouse might get thirsty eating all the ryvita so I put some water in the tub. I was worried the mouse wouldn’t be able to breath so I made some air holes in the lid of the tub. then I went upstairs and phoned the Samaritans. when I got downstairs the again the mouse had escaped through one of the air holes.

part #6 a dream of leaking terror

continuing my research I have now been consulting extensively (although not exclusively) with some of the inanimate characters that haunt the walls and corridors (and sofa arms) of your empty dark house – namely the crocodile, the lonely tomato plant (who troubles me and whose future fruiting capacity concerns me) and the curtains that are made out of your coat (to camouflage you while you cook) and have been asking them to help me with the one (two) problem(s) remaining to which answers are still not forthcoming. The questions are 1. why there is no loo seat in the loo and 2. why there are at least three rooms who’s doors are closed and why should their contents prove such a mystery to me – and why should I therefore assume they are holding back the cold empty ruin which I believe may already be leaking out into the whole of the house, out of the door, down the moonlit sandy lane and permeating the whole of this silly square shaped village. it must be stopped. the whole of N W cornwall is under threat. am I the only one who can see the seepage of this dark oily vapour across the vacant streets and clenched grasslands and amber headlands and scraggily back gardens and idiot lawns and grey shops and terror moors and lonely black empty roads that lead everywhere and anywhere except somewhere and upon which I drive in hasty retreat, shine my headlights as bright as they go, and still see nothing except the emptiness again, only more of it, and more brightly.

part #17 on reaching out and not touching

peculiar that both by instinct and avarice a mention can be made not solely of the intangible benefits of a garrulous scream into the aching void of a pitch and squealing rural night but also of the friction that sparks fancies of half-remembered half-hopes. at this, what is now surely the threshold of another and forlornly anticipated stage of a life that has consisted so far of cold breaths condensing in an achingly brief and mournful plume, i choose to be pungently and forcefully unafraid. for where fear, and the fear of fear and the fear of fear’s fearful followers – indeed where the shadow of fear has been cast so inelegantly across my every move – I shall now take it upon myself to reach up to the shimmering gallery of beauty and excess that have hovered so tantalisingly out of reach for so so so long.

part #14 the intermittent behemoth

I don’t eat for 48 hours and then eat 8 sausages, 4 eggs and 18 kitkats. it’s all bothering me this whole strangeness.

part #31 outgrowing the interminable silence

lunging around in this purple number, squirling and whirling like devils on an under-couch. innocently I could but try and quell the din, for it had woken several of them already and all but one were now standing here, under the neon glare, 28 angry eyeballs plunging into my flesh until I felt naked, dead, lonely and dead and dead. and dead. Thereafter I resolved. resolved only that I could not furthermore transpire to elucidate reason in this guise but would be forthright in relegating all that arose into tiny boxes made only for that purpose and for that purpose alone.

part #9 poisoning the electric flame

idly calculating the outcome of another trial, eliminating the very incredulity that has so far cloaked my every movement. calling across this emblematic landscape I do not see you and we do not recover ourselves just gently get lost among its folds and harsh stone clunking dissonant clang. our hearts, so full, will be emptied at last by the reckoning of things. my desperate heart so pure in its every venture my desperate mind, so fraught in baffled stagnation states none of this will reach you and the power which had been circulating, surging, bounding reeling through my face and fingertips and legs and eyes has been shut off with a static clack leaving nothing except the dying hum of could have beens and not quites and regretful loss of … and then acceptance prepares disillusionment and I sit back astounded and renewed.

part #18 the poison breath of hundred starlit fires

where now the aching bodies lay gathering time and courage to prepare themselves for the next bout of cataclysmic pleasure that offers, also, opportunities for gazing blankly into dark depths beyond the marauding behemoth where she rattled soullessly through the mild underlit dawn, crying only at the excited happiness of her glowing departure

part #21 notes on the irresistible deathly clutch

once again I underwrite your behavioural lapses, that I recognise so well from my own decadent and twirling afternoon full of boredom and danger, danger and boredom but no excitement not now for our deleterious liaisons are mute, sterile and reproachfully morbid. yet still incited in me is this peculiar and unique fascination, troubling me, stoking an endless fire of pallid, sickening curiosity – I am no voyeur of car crashes and public hangings but you are my foetid fascination, luring me with your stench like a fly to an arum, closing me in your spongy prison before freeing me, dazed and sputtering to my gravelly demise

part #15 the echoing noise of sub-contractors

and now I know that I am the most romantic haunted and empty man and now you know it too and now too we see the protective veil that enshrouds this delicate entanglement. no don’t touch, it awaits its unveiling at the ministers' reception and there the entwined elements shall be laid bare to await investigation by frosty tactitioners and elaborately staged actors. his irascibility the echoing void that struck most forcefully within the tired outfits that, thus assembled, were nevertheless recoiled in horror due to the lack of any refinement that could be considered in any way appropriate to the occasion and whereby each that were present presented not only raucous applause but also derision hitherto withheld due to the sheer bleeding alacrity, of its bruised and pulpy visceral putrefaction billowing so elegantly, with a resounding slunch, across all of the essential gathered figures, eliminating their very vital attributes until they at least could also see the human frailty, the broken death that awaits even the most daring of fools and the floodlit path that drags each and every toad to its slimy aftermath.

part #2 the byzantine labyrinth

and in this I see that you are playing me for a fool and the old dark house does not contain you but is simply a stage for your elaborate and deranged hoax for when I next try to find you there I find not you but an indolent bearded fellow who claims this is not your house but his. I know you are here somewhere under these dark olive porticoed archways, lured by familiarity into bronze statuesque council apartment blocks where the scent of you hangs senselessly around each empty corner. and I know you are in danger and I must reach you before you leave this