tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11216530925624893352024-03-13T08:24:05.206-07:00Collected BitesI'm sorry sir I'll try to make it quickGMGrebhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11466296494098892461noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1121653092562489335.post-19036021917117839772010-09-02T11:45:00.001-07:002010-09-02T11:55:59.629-07:00K-TLately I have been ignoring linebreaks. I don't have any particular defence or reason for that but I've never really been sure where the line between poetry and prose actually is, and sticking everything in one paragraph is easier anyway. <br />
This is mostly a mashup of a few ideas that'd been floating around for a while and decided to get born messily (I spilled some coffee on the page) on a train to Wales.<br />
<br />
You could be tracing lines in the dust caked on the inside of a years-old deep city window, eye following your finger then out through smudged glimpses into a cheap sun and your skin breathing “wind” you shrug loose your nettling terror step wide and out and never glancing back know the image of yourself filtered through smudged dust like blinking; still walking come to the bridge, stare into the river engorged with snowmelt and in that moment of wind and skin you see the world by homeopathy, the eternal memory of water murmuring and how the water in the river beneath you cascading unlocked from frozen was once in your blood sealed to bursting with life, was once still on a Mexican hilltop reflecting the meteor burning like a trapped ant and hurtling, and the memory of water murmured to you so you knew the meteor was in your blood, the fire of it plated iridium and hurtling and you could be looking out at the ghost of extinction, kisses from space, all of it through dusted glimpses squinting, you could be staring in interruptions through the tired glass, you could be still sweating fire, you could be watching your gravity shake loose the earth, you could be smoke.GMGrebhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11466296494098892461noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1121653092562489335.post-65312929218499297302010-02-17T10:57:00.001-08:002010-02-17T10:57:45.710-08:00All the basaltThis was when you’d just got home from work. You were understandably tired and a little stressed and were looking to unwind but unfortunately it was raining in every room and obviously that didn’t help matters. So you took out some plastic sheets to cover your sofa and your bed and your waterlogged electronics which took some time and afterwards you weren’t in the mood to deal with any of this. That’s when he stepped into your living room. The carpet, which was drenched, tore a little under his feet. You looked up and sighed.<br />
“What do you want?”<br />
“I was just wondering if you wanted to visit Paris.”<br />
“I need to find someone to dry my house.”<br />
“That, I’m sure, will take care of itself.”<br />
And you shrugged because why not? So he led the way to your front door and you looked back at your soaking wet house then stepped out through. The ground beneath you was dry and dark and cold and under your feet pebbles stirred which didn’t happen often here. You looked around then stared at him.<br />
“This isn’t Paris.”<br />
He gestured to the blank basalt landscape then up to see the earth in the sky and nodded. “This isn’t Paris.”<br />
You sighed as frustration started to surface. “You never said anything about taking me to the sea of tranquillity.”<br />
He nodded. “It’s true, this isn’t what you expected. Then again,” he said as he started to walk up a slight mound, “if I’d followed convention wouldn’t it have taken you days to get to Paris? And the likelihood of you ever coming here would, I think, have been significantly diminished. Look, can you see the Atlantic?”<br />
You shook your head, turned away and held your shoulders. “But this isn’t what I asked for.” You started to walk towards a little depression in the surface. “There’s not much chance of a brief but emotionally significant romance with a sensitive and strong young French man here, is there?”<br />
He considered for a moment then shook his head. “It’s possible but unlikely, I’ll admit.” He shrugged. “Still, if I only ever took you where you wanted to go, how would you find anything new?” He clambered further up the mound. “Oh, the icebergs are twitching. Do you see?”<br />
You threw up a dismissive hand and started the long trek down the depression. “I’m really not willing to commit to this,” you said.<br />
He sighed. “Alright but I think you’d like it here. If you gave it a chance.” He reached the top of the mound and shielded his eyes with one hand. “I think that’s Africa. And the desert! The burning desert, look!”<br />
But you’d already walked back into your house which, it’s true, had started to dry. It relieved you and you sat on your sofa and rolled a joint. I took a toke then passed it to you and looked you right in the eye, I said I think you made a mistake. You blew a smoke ring straight up and shrugged, I looked away from your eye which soon enough would be red.GMGrebhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11466296494098892461noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1121653092562489335.post-69712463047832984182010-01-04T08:50:00.001-08:002010-01-04T08:50:56.668-08:00o the forest the foresti sort of like this one <br />
<br />
his feet creaked on the platform he sighed and said o the forest the forest i said what dyou mean he said look at it just look its a forever spectrum mine i said yeah it looks nice but what if you get eaten or catch something its too far too empty to get help he said no he said all the help you need is there and he said its not empty not ever empty he said there are people yeah not many ill grant you but that doesnt matter every poison you find there somewhere near theres a cure every jaguar every harpy somewhere near theres a rock or a sharp stick he said more than that it will heal you in spirit in mind and in spirit he said think of a vine longest youve ever seen strung with turquoise with feathers with wind chimes think of running your finger down it for days the music youd make thats the forest thats what it does plus as homo sapiens he said its been given to us to have a transformative intellect we have that capacity to look at the world then change it the world new where a snake sees trees we see an infinite procession of possibilities going backwards forever you couldnt count them all like i said a forever spectrum mine and i said well yeah but could you live there and he sort of turned away and i guessed he wanted me to leave and i walked back off the platform onto the boat then when i got back to my hotel i called up my ex i said i just wanted to say hi she said im really glad you made it out there i said yeah i said thanks then we talked and i hung up and i went to the bar and drank mescal which i dont know where he got it and i watched the band they werent great they played standards i was drunk it was hard getting upstairs to bedGMGrebhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11466296494098892461noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1121653092562489335.post-51420905990097021462009-12-27T06:40:00.000-08:002009-12-27T06:41:33.532-08:00Annotations on a series of firsthand accountsI wrote this with a quill. A <i>quill</i> motherfuckers. Sometimes I love christmas.<br />
<br />
I was or<br />
will choose to believe I was<br />
on some lonely road outside Tokyo<br />
watching snowmelt rise and sink<br />
along paths cut in/I was or<br />
want to believe I was<br />
watching from some gilded window<br />
as below me Paris in awe<br />
began to chew away its own/I was or<br />
would like to pretend I was<br />
restless on waves holding<br />
a candle over my page marking<br />
tracks I'd/I was or<br />
remember being told I was<br />
sweating out nausea in deep trees<br />
listening to a staring match<br />
between/I was or<br />
I know at least someone was<br />
bending back a raven's wingbone<br />
watching someone far away<br />
sucking the end of the feather<br />
waiting for inkGMGrebhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11466296494098892461noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1121653092562489335.post-65134160915677845662009-12-02T10:56:00.000-08:002009-12-02T11:01:27.105-08:00Another poemWhere does it say<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"> or did you just decide<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">that you alone of all those whose<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> hearts too may seize and<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> stutter<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> can taste that that air filtered free that<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> hair clinging in tufts with the effort of<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> knowing you alone<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> can taste that then call it love?<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Will you ever stop<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> or will you scream till your neck’s paper and straw<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">without dropping your guard to<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> let in even in<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> tatters<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> the hope that one day there’ll<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> be time for you too to lean in open<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> your starved lips to those perfect so unlike your own<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;">because without them you’re less everything that is you<br />
</div>GMGrebhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11466296494098892461noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1121653092562489335.post-36102677888229411392009-11-19T14:04:00.001-08:002009-11-19T14:04:38.583-08:00I was putting this offYeah I have been working for some time on a longer piece, 'scalled Hunts. I've been putting off posting any of it for a while but then I decided not to just because I felt like it. This is sort of the introduction.<br />
<br />
Hunts<br />
<br />
His mouth hurts. <br />
Call it toothache, for the moment. He presses at a molar with his tongue, gets nowhere. Realises he doesn’t know the date which annoys him for a second but then again they’ll probably mention it at some point. Reassured.<br />
Day’s fairly bright. Hints in the cloud cover that later might be overcast, maybe some rain. He decided a while ago that symbolically speaking this would be perfect.<br />
Cars honk, people shout, he’s exhaling. Smooth lids he blinks and turns roughly ninety degrees, lifts his eyes, face, starts walking. All this concrete. Now he’s halfway up the steps and it’s all pretty quiet but maybe tense. Betting tense. Thick dry shoes gripping flat dry stone it’s all just like it should be he is not slipping. Top of the steps now and is that door – what?<br />
Moving. Steps quick brisk inside just to the side. It’s so full, these people shouting these people practically wrestling these people with problems – hate queues. Lucky though they’re all yelling and being dragged back from the desk, one receptionist free. Looks about ready to break someone’s spine. <br />
He’s inhaling. Still quiet and tenses his leg to step. Not hard. Just a desk.<br />
He steps forward, gives it his best winning smile and says “Hi, my name’s Stephen Jones. I’d like to confess to a murder.”<br />
Receptionist glances up, sighs “Do I look like a priest?” for a second then shakes head, “Wait over there, someone’ll be right with you.”<br />
“Thanks so much,” he says. Takes the space and wow, inside he’s smiling too. Call it a win, then. This time goes for an incisor.<br />
<br />
Let me tell you a story-<br />
That little phrase. That fucking- it’s like a code. Not a secret verbal shorthand no it’s like the just-right sequence of zero one zero zero one one that turns people into shadows, splits them at their very core and leaves a smoking radioactive crater. It’s exactly that deadly. It swims and floats through voices and language and sooner or later it gets punched into the right synapse then suddenly someone is dead. Don’t tell tales. Why? Because it is absolutely fucking murderous. (Yeah and nobody believes that.)<br />
Oh, you poor bastard. Look what they do to us all. <br />
I’m sorry sir I’ll try to make it quick.<br />
<br />
“The thing is, sir, of all the people who come in here, confess to a murder or an abduction, whatever, maybe five percent of those even know anything about the crime in question. Maybe five.”<br />
Ramon glanced sideways from his slouch. “What month we in?”<br />
“May.”<br />
Ramon nodded then settled back. His position in the seat was like this kind of perfect physical apathy except there were these sort of overtones to it so it wasn’t just like I truly don’t care it was more along the lines of look there are so many things I’d rather be doing right now and there are so many reasons for me to go and do any of those instead of sitting here listening to you talk so what could possibly keep me sitting here? What, about you, could even in the slightest interest me?<br />
“I understand that, officer but I promise you I’m not wasting your time. I was the one who killed her. Am the one, I mean. It’s me.”<br />
Cormac nodded. “Alright. How?”<br />
“I strangled her. Threw her body in a dumpster. It was all, I was behind a Japanese restaurant, I’m not sure of the name, it was dark but I think there was a picture of a flower on the sign. I might be on the surveillance tapes, I’m not sure.”<br />
“Yeah like only someone who killed her could possibly know these intimate details. This guy’s an asshole,” said Ramon mostly to himself, partly to Cormac.<br />
“There’s probably a wound on her neck, I think her necklace might have stabbed in a little when I was strangling her. It got my hand too, you see? Just here.”<br />
“Oh, you got a cut on your hand? Shit. Guess he must be the guy after all. Knocked that one out the park, huh?” Cormac glanced at Ramon then back away.<br />
“Look, I – I don’t really know what you want to hear. I killed her. Okay? Isn’t that enough? I mean, surely – there’ll be some evidence on the body, right? Something, or at the scene, I don’t know. Shouldn’t it-”<br />
“What, you mean like skin cells? DNA? Microfibres? All that kind of thing, yeah?” Ramon leaned forward but slow, kind of like toppling from one position to the other. Would almost be grudging but there was no energy in it, not enough to feel something like that. No room to care. “Fuck you. Forensics, the fuck you think this is?” Shook his head, sat back, looked at Cormac. <br />
“The thing about that kind of, uh, physical evidence is that it’s a little more complicated than a lot of people think,” said Cormac. “There are a lot more factors involved than – well, essentially what it comes to in the end is that no, even if you did kill that girl there’s no guarantee that any evidence we can find will prove it. It may even disprove it.” <br />
“Okay.”<br />
“So I think,” said Cormac, “I think the best thing for everyone right now would be for you to tell us – tell us everything you can and we’ll-”<br />
“Come on, man. He’s got shit,” said Ramon. Quiet but no kind of whisper. Cormac looked over and he shook his head. “Waste my fucking time.” Muttered.<br />
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll try to make it quick.” Now he blinks. “Okay, so basically – I guess my, uh – I guess for everything you have to start, well, quite a way back. There’s – okay, when I was younger-”<br />
<br />
Yeah and they never even had a chance. However masked it was the sequence has locked itself right in, the input has been received and there’s nothing left but the getaway. Honest: anyone not running right now anyone not already out of the room and if at all possible on their way out of the country is well not to put too fine a point on it fucked. If only – they knew.<br />
But he’ll try. With branches, with slips he’ll try. He will do everything he can to keep hidden beneath the waves and beneath his running tongue to keep hidden down there his story. Which, yes, they are letting him tell.GMGrebhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11466296494098892461noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1121653092562489335.post-84816386729148561512009-11-18T12:41:00.000-08:002009-11-25T08:27:58.987-08:00Two Poems<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">These poems are two different poems.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Diet<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">One day I’ll give myself to you</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">muscle and mouth but</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">not yet.</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"> (you’re already half holding on anyway)</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">Every time I should tell you I</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">get this urge to lean into the</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">rushing and shake your hands and clasped fingers</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"> but I’d be pulled</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"> off balance; my fault.</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">My name’s not yet been dipped </span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">in your fat not dipped not coaled and </span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">as a result it’s uninsulated </span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">though I think</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"> by some adopted. </span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">Will probably never really get the</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">rolling and the green right in my</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">joints</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"> but you keep</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"> november out okay.</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">I can see where I’d’ve looked for</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">treasure in your pebbled beds</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">and monsters in your darks</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"> and I could have</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"> raised (snapped) armies</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">No but it’s okay because I</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">first screamed I think in clean walls</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">but I know where</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"> I was made, wasted</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"> drenched, tripping, tumbling</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"> down slope (to damp) to road to</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"> get helped up</span><br />
</div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> <br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Messenger</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">then when you broke the window</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">when you smashed the window</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">when you shattered into sand the high window</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 6pt 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> we flinched</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">then when you dropped the plate</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> when you threw the plate down</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> when you hammered the china plate straight down onto the marble</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 6pt 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"> we blinked</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-top: 6pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"> We made ships from the</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">splinters you seeded.</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> We glued mug rags into</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">statuettes of Buddha Ganesha and Set.</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> We tickled into stacks the</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">dripped off corn sheets.</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> We rubbed the scum of</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">work hours off your knuckles and lips.</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> We wouldn’t</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">bother you because it wouldn’t have been</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">fair instead we</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">learned to sew</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">every day again we learned to sew</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">quiet fast so you couldn’t see the stitching we learned to sew</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-top: 6pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">then when you broke the lock</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> when you couldn’t find your keys and broke the lock</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> when you half tore down the door the time you had to break the lock</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 6pt 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> we jumped</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">then when you woke up</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> when you got woken up late on night</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> when she woke you up hungry late and pitch black on night</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 6pt 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> we looked down and</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">it was in nights like those that we</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">learned to sew those dry split sweating nights that we</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">really and truly learned to sew hands clasped to every toga then</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">quiet fast so you never knew there’d been a stitch we</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">learned to sew</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">then when you couldn’t eat</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> when you couldn’t force it down</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> when you gagged</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 6pt 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> we ducked</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">then when you just needed to think</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> when you just needed room to think</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> when you just needed some quiet room to think</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 6pt 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"> we shut up</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-top: 6pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"> We coloured the lines in with</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">chalk from the bricks.</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> We carved your meals with</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">scissors you dropped.</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> We blackened the mirrors with</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">blowtorches in circles and squares.</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> We scrubbed the hulls the</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">doors with water and wax.</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> We were</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">always grateful we knew we</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">owed you all we had we didn’t</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">ever want you to think we</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">didn’t know so to</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">show we were so grateful we</span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">learned to sew</span><br />
</div>GMGrebhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11466296494098892461noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1121653092562489335.post-76071703100033563402009-11-01T09:08:00.000-08:002009-11-01T10:44:42.260-08:00RevelationThis story is a story. <br />
I enjoy the refrain but I think the piece either needs fleshing out or condensing or shooting maybe.<br />
<br />
Too fucking right the earth will shake.<br />
<br />
Cold day shaded into warm night. Weird how it sometimes does that, or at least it strikes Mike as weird but also lucky since he’s brought Emma up to the reservoir for well you can guess for what and the temperature factors into his chances, as it were. So it’s with not so much a sense as a kind of twinge of relief somewhere above the libido that he notices the night air’s warm but the breeze swooping down onto the water is cool enough to make it something better than just comfortable. Get in. Takes a rug from the boot and – because the details matter – a bottle of something a driver really shouldn’t be drinking as well and the two of them walk a little distance down the slope, get closer to the water.<br />
<br />
Twenty minutes on and Mike has drunk, well, a little more than Emma but she’s a lightweight so it’s okay and they are both having a fucking fantastic time of it, she’s laughing at everything he says and he’s feeling all sort of content (yeah he’s not all flickers of want) and they haven’t even mentioned clothes yet. Not bad. <br />
<br />
Too fucking right the earth will shake.<br />
<br />
Skid over to the other side and in a little hut Nick who tends the area as much as realistically possible is well aware that with his nerves and his back and his general sort of vague sense of horror every time he sees his old skin in a mirror that it’s probably not the best idea to drop acid but, well, when it was good it was good and it’s his birthday anyway and Jim and Harry and Vic all chipped in and seriously, this place is more home than home these days so if he’s going to get good vibes anywhere it’s here. He’s maybe a little worried about forgetting how to swim or thinking the reservoir’s like clear glass with a city of mermaids at the bottom or something – don’t laugh, he’s seen it happen – but life is, well, what is life without a little risk? And it’s not like he’d be missing much anyway. So – bottoms up, as it were.<br />
<br />
Too fucking right the earth will shake.<br />
<br />
Further down on Nick’s side Peter is, as ever, pretty unclear on the specific, you know, point of exactly why he’s still taking pictures. They’re shit, they always are and as soon as he gets back to his studio he’s going to have to accept this but still try and get something decent from the screen to the canvas. Good luck. What is actually going to happen, as he knows, is that he’s going to mix painkillers with red wine and knock himself out for the night, twisted up in self-loathing and a little satisfaction down somewhere he’s not entirely willing to admit exists that he is, in fact, a tortured romantic soul killing himself to achieve art. What a hero. At this point, however, he’s still adjusting shutter speed, shifting position slightly, trying to synch the ripples up with the tree or the road or something, looking for a line of some sort. Boy’s got to have a hobby.<br />
<br />
And – of all the fucking luck. Of all the possible times to come up here (and for none of them is it the first time) they had to pick the one time that, it just so happens, to the minute two thousand years ago, at this very spot, a murderer who carried a second sun in his eyes was chained down in the natural basin, covered in the soil he came from, the waters of the surrounding rivers sent crashing down on his head to keep him forever silenced even, this is the thing, even as he was screaming at the top of his lungs – in fact more like laughing – that when the sons of the sons of the sons of his killers were forgotten, their dust mingled with chalk and mould, when their names were cast onto winds that carried them far beyond graves and when, finally when the stars had swung onto their fatal line with the second sun dimmed but still burning in his eyes – he, archfiend, prophet, he would return. Carve his path out through whatever tombs they had built upon him and return. And yes; the names are forgotten, the bodies have long crumbled, the stars have lined up and he is making his way – out. <br />
<br />
The water ripples in the centre and the stars shivering on the surface are swallowed by a brighter light from below and as it happens Peter has his eyes on the moon and Mike has his eyes on Emma and Nick has his eyes on some very pretty colours and none of them are looking at the middle of the reservoir where shedding his chains he rises and stands. The years have barely changed a thing; the names are still there just under his skin rippling as he moves, his eyes are still white and thin where he has seen and taken the burning light, his teeth are still cracked and grinding he is still a knife of a man. One thing different: the horns, his goring bone corona, he’s not the only one who can see them now. Trembles in the air and growls something and if anybody in the vicinity spoke conversational Latin of the kind used exactly 2000 years ago then they would hear him say: too fucking right the earth will shake.GMGrebhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11466296494098892461noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1121653092562489335.post-88596758233681096232009-10-21T07:18:00.000-07:002009-10-24T10:06:05.998-07:00Jane DoeThis is a sort of prose-poetry piece based on the cover artwork for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jane_Doe_%28album%29">this album</a>. It's not my single favourite album, or for that matter even my single favourite "heavy" album but of the three Converge albums I've heard (the other two being <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/You_Fail_Me">You Fail Me</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/No_Heroes">No Heroes</a>) it definitely is, and comes very close to being complete. Apart from a couple of sly refs I couldn't quite avoid though this piece doesn't really have much to do with the music, just the front cover. Probably not finished.<br />
<br />
Jane Doe<br />
<br />
She looked empty to me but proud too with her head mounted on a sun staring down monochrome. Years after I first saw her realised she reminded me of a face I’d seen in the interim (not the person just one picture of her face) no other real comparisons to be drawn there though. I think she’s still alive stuck among spines reigning somewhere between different thoughts.<br />
<br />
<br />
1. There’s no peace here. Ruptures swirl the air with<br />
questions the clock yelps and however much we drizzle <br />
gold on our skins we’re still caught not knowing. Ever since <br />
she was first dredged from the unlettered deeps there’ve <br />
been no straight lines any more. Nothing’s flat now. Every <br />
surface I see is scored down with who is she (always the <br />
same answer even though we never once saw her burn)<br />
<br />
<br />
2. They say she’s going to make us pure like feathers we<br />
can’t see will flashburn the stare from our eyes and her<br />
curled-up tongue’ll sandpaper our teeth to white/they say <br />
she’ll destroy us from the very heart split the atom of our <br />
homes count our seconds down ruin us till we find our <br />
final solace only in her (I’m not sure how they plan to find <br />
her) Maybe she’ll bite through the cords let them spiral away.<br />
<br />
<br />
3. When we found her first (I lost the pictures) she <br />
couldn’t speak. Dust of clocks wormed in her mouth <br />
and the hands nodded in the milk of her eyes. Little <br />
by little though moments started to click off her tongue <br />
and she murmured how she’d run, and run. The dust <br />
tickled into shape she coughed out the last and the clock <br />
took its place sweating light behind her raised head.<br />
<br />
<br />
The shades trickling over her face looked tangled in sadness I thought but no remorse, I don’t think she’ll ever look backwards if she even knows how. Sometimes I wonder about sticking her up on my wall; thing is, I know she won’t smile.<br />
<br />
<br />
4. Every day now she types more earthquake lacerations <br />
into the floating streets (maps here change every hour get <br />
snatched from the air collected and bound) Paving stones <br />
ask their way to level with pedestrians’ eyes then split and <br />
grate dust and gravel onto their feet and they scream her<br />
name they grab and burn every watch that drifts past and<br />
specks of glass write away their skin and bone to clean.<br />
<br />
<br />
5. Whenever I look out my window I see someone else<br />
jumping out to try and touch her or just to show<br />
they care. Sometimes they throw her baubles with new<br />
names for her to try (mostly she doesn’t notice)<br />
Sometimes they throw her dark matter to clench her <br />
with them twinkling into a singularity. Either way they all<br />
end up sinking always struggling the whole way down.<br />
<br />
<br />
I can’t count the days/when she combs her eyes across my chest I know that soon, soon I’ll smash her into swallows and gulls (that’s all she is, you know, just a crunch of pinion feathers and beaks) because deep down that’s what she wants.<br />
<br />
<br />
6. I know she’s not the mouth of our end her skin’s no sea <br />
pure to drink but now when the clock hands wasp my ears <br />
I can’t help it I have to blame her (not like she’d even care <br />
if she knew) not for causing any of this that was us/just because <br />
she could have been more made her name love time the cold <br />
life the dream belief I/but she left it up to us weak lost in <br />
hours of thought and all we could think to call her was Jane DoeGMGrebhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11466296494098892461noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1121653092562489335.post-16864838739819102982009-09-30T05:28:00.000-07:002009-10-21T07:04:16.049-07:00I'm not good at titlesThis is called cool face because yeah<br />
<br />
was walking between trees <br />
hung with metrehigh thin canvas <br />
prints of leni and veidts the man <br />
who laughs a silent classic<br />
<br />
thoughts on the topic interrupted<br />
by mobile phone buzzing<br />
hornet in my pocket digging<br />
us both back into a world with<br />
sound the phone was shivering<br />
my time away aging me years in<br />
moments<br />
<br />
so turned it off stared into<br />
sideways eyes where was<br />
he smiling under the knife<br />
with his shades could easily<br />
find him in a rorschach test<br />
but wouldnt reflect well on<br />
me probably<br />
<br />
fog stuck in conversation<br />
with branches made the<br />
only movement in the day<br />
my untimely aging<br />
somewhat uncomfortable with<br />
that<br />
<br />
but on the plus side nothing<br />
dripped down no rain no<br />
birds if theyd come theyd<br />
have brought rolledup pictures<br />
but not veidt maybe something<br />
by hopper fitting if theyd been<br />
pigeons but in the end they<br />
didnt come<br />
<br />
would find it harder to do<br />
this kind of thing in his<br />
preferred background anyway<br />
maybe best to find my<br />
way out turn my phone<br />
back on that way can<br />
connect up find out<br />
where im goingGMGrebhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11466296494098892461noreply@blogger.com0