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.