Monthly Archives: January 2014

Twenty.

20/1/14.

Izzy circle

izzy

IKEA as a form of torture
people sitting in their cars drinking warm beverages
watching some kind of movement class
across the street from my window
feeling like a pervert
but knowing that really they are probably the perverts
if they can see me sitting alone in my room
drinking beer
and listening to Radiohead
and wanting to smash this desk to pieces
but not doing it because I know I need it to write
I owe it to myself
I owe it to these pieces of wood
I owe it to the people I miss

walking up the hill dragging bags
of bodies
warm fed bodies
from Tesco
there is an aggressive huffing noise
right behind my ear
this woman is running and it’s like
she doesn’t know how to breathe anymore
listening to her,
I lose my footing,
I forget how to breathe too
what happens to all this unloved IKEA furniture
at the end
all these bent screwdrivers?

*

Sarah circle

sarah

So I’m sitting on my bed in the sunshine
Wind playing across my face, idyllic as shit
There’s a primary school across the road
And the children are laughing and laughing
And screaming. Actually, if I’m to be perfectly honest
It’s more screaming than anything
In fact – Jesus, that kid sounds like he’s being tortured
Is that kid being tortured?
God, those cries are bone chilling
But hey, the flowers are sighing outside my window, and –
Yap. Yap. Yap. Yap.
Yapyapyapyapyapyap.
Some tiny bootscrape of a dog is tied to a fence
And it sounds like it’s trying to set the world record
For most individual barks per second
It kind of sounds like – now, this isn’t PC
And I know how this comes across.
But I tell you truly:
The dog sounds like it’s being fucked.
Hard.
Yapyapyapyapyapyapyap.
I’ve definitely heard women in porn who sound like that dog.
And the kids are still screaming
Like glass is being ground into their eyes
Surely the dog has to cum soon
Surely the kids have to die soon
All this barking and wailing and screeching and sobbing
The whole street sounds like a messed up snuff film
Fuck this. I’m nailing that window shut.

*

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Nineteen.

19/1/14.

Izzy circle

izzy

sitting at IKEA tasting meat balls
I look around, take it in,
appraise it

I see a kid carrying soft drink
I think ‘this kid’s got a really big head’
and he does, it’s fucking huge

last night I turned into a wave
heavy and huge and
sparkling with phosphorescence

tumbling forward with a terrible kind of force

*

Sarah circle

sarah

Splayed out on this groaning bed
I breathe in deep that old-sock smell
And imagine it’s the ocean
Squint at the sprays of mould on the white plaster ceiling
Inverted, they could almost be the stars

*

Eighteen.

18/1/14.

Izzy circle

izzy

vogue says hello
photoshop’s on the phone

I don’t know how to feel
I don’t know how to be

but my cheekbones look
amazing

cold fists on the pavement
fire crackling on these lips

what can you say that will cut me down
how will I remember this?

*

Sarah circle

sarah

Today’s investment tip, from me to you:
3D printers. You’ve seen them on the news.
We’re all just carbon,
And with a blueprint in hand and a nozzle or two
You could plug one right in tomorrow
Watch layers and layers of wriggling matter
Become a steak
A gun
A stent
A shoe
A Porsche convertible
A signed copy of the Mona Lisa
A trip to Majorca, right in your backyard
A new house
A new car
A new dog
A new child
A new planet
A new hope
A new day
A new you
Forget your weekly lottery failures!
Sell your shares!
Buy big, my friend!
The future is yours to hold!

*

Seventeen.

17/1/14.

Izzy circle

izzy

I’ve killed like 10 animals now
with my teeth
wrapped in their pelts
I still can’t get warm

a fleet of children go by
in high vis and wellies

and look,
look
I’m still here
standing here with my hands and teeth
all bloody

I’ve realised the only way to stay warm here
is not to stand still

*

Sarah circle

sarah

Dusty face pressed into this slap-hot road
With the swelling sea sky spitting onto my cheek
And the wind sighing across me
I can feel it beginning
To blow me away
L i k e   s   a   n   d

*

Sixteen.

16/1/14.

Izzy circle

izzy

pull this cloud around you
like a cloak
cling to it
croon to it

you can’t have a fever
when it’s this cold outside
biting fingers, breathing fog
keep your hands to yourself

you can’t have a fever
try telling anyone
why your head is so hot
when it’s 0 degrees on the street

*

Sarah circle

sarah

Alright, bitch.
You chose the time,
I’m choosing the weapon:
Tattoo guns.
You heard me.
So you’ve gotta ask yourself one question:
Where do you want that dick and balls?

*

Fifteen.

15/1/14.

Izzy circle

izzy

I’m sending you my eyes
in the mail
so you can borrow this view

express post, air mail
all the mod cons
the postie will dance when she delivers it
with bells round her ankles
and a stupid novelty kilt

my boots are soaked through
rain streaming black down cheeks
I either can’t feel my face or
I’m feeling it for the first time

cold knees creak along the footpaths
there are runners everywhere
breaking up the dark with mechanical breaths

chest crushed like sponge
words can cripple you
with the press of letters
inside this little pigeon chest
swarming and kicking
knocking at the hollows

I wear this shirt like a second skin
the imprint of another body
pressed onto mine in this fabric
hanging loose like a pelt
moulding to me
languid and spent

somewhere there is a woman
who has climbed the tallest building
who has peeled her fingers back
from her eyes
who has breathed the clouds that settle
around the turrets like halos
and looked down at this city
and owned it
this is a woman with wings

she doesn’t miss people
she is not limbless
flailing
ungrounded
she doesn’t get catatonic
with homesickness
she just kicks ass

*

Sarah circle

sarah

A spider bit me today. Wandered onto my upper arm and left me with an extra elbow, a grumbly red mountain topped with a crusted cap of lymph. I chinese burned myself in an attempt to see the site. I remembered a time years ago, waking from a skittering dream in a haze of dizzy confusion, my fingers chasing itches into consciousness. Through my bleariness, I took stock and evaluated that there were three fundamental truths in the world:


1. I had been bitten by a spider.
2. I was going to die (I knew this unequivocally).
3. I was quite tired.


Despite the pressing nature of points 1 and 2, they couldn’t quite override point 3, and so, with a sort of valiantly disinterested sense of duty, I stumbled to my computer and wrote a brief note explaining the situation. I pointed out the location of the bites in order to speed the autopsy process, wrote a generic imperative demanding that everyone I knew live their lives in a fulfilling sort of way, instructed that everyone was to be told that I loved them, even if I probably didn’t and finally made it entirely clear that nobody (nobody!) was to even think of making a play about me in order to process my death. And then I tumbled back to bed. The next morning I woke up, briefly marvelled at the fact that I hadn’t expired, and went about my day. 



Tonight, in the doorway of a strange new home, my housemate stood silhouetted in the sultry dusk and pointed at where the golden orb weavers had laced the house in webs. I imagined my skin rumbling like a volcano, erupting in a chaos of fine gold silk to wrap the walls until the building was tea cosied in a glittering shroud. Thought, I will pave the streets with golden carpets and swaddle the schoolchildren in blankets as flaxen as their hair. I will spin ropes for royalty and sew satin pillows for the coffins of kings.

And then we locked the door, and took our leave, and I scratched with secret pride the itch on my arm.

*

Fourteen.

14/1/14.

Izzy circle

izzy

my chest is a cave
walking home at 3am,
filled with fog and red sandstone
freezing cold and it’s fucking
beautiful
and romantic as shit
spindly trees loom in closer
closer

warm streetlights
stroke my woollen head
cold air licks my face
kisses my eyes

there’s a kid with a scooter
and a water pistol
at the end of the street

we stare each other down
I think ‘it’s a bit late –
surely it’s too late
for this tiny little kid’
(she’s about 8 or 10)
‘for this stout, mean-looking
kid to be out here all alone
with nothing but a water pistol.’

but then the little bastard starts
speeding towards me,
foot scraping away at the pavement
slap slap slapping
face fisted in determination
arm outstretched, pointing that
bloody water pistol
right between my eyes

and I am sitting on a windowsill
smoking air cold as daggers
Maxime speaks in maxims
slips a few more of my ciggies into his pocket –
like I can’t see –
jerk.

and there’s the tiniest flicker of fire
trickling up the walls of my cave
as I lean into this windowsill
and I’m fanning it, blowing at it
asking it to burn brighter, burn a little hotter
so I can stop thinking about the 40 degree heat
calling to me from the other side of the world.

*

Sarah circle

sarah

Today, as the roads shimmered like oases
I read that asylum seekers on Manus Island
Are limited to 500 ml of water per day
And in the sweaty dusk, I felt the earth’s curve
And I felt sick.

*

Thirteen.

13/1/14.

Izzy circle

izzy

I saw her on the wing
as we passed over the Carpathian Mountains
en route from Dubai.

snowcaps lush and perilous,
falling away beneath her dangling feet
she held on with a desperate strength
face gritted with certainty
and determination
ready for anything,
anything but an engine failure

her eyes are locked
like a slow-moving hurricane.

the only way is up
and falling is easy
if you do it with purpose

this is a woman who knows what she wants
this is a woman who knows how to arrive

*

Sarah circle

sarah

When the end days come
And the cities burn in the night
Like beacons of what we once lost
When the asphalt melts
And the sand on the beaches
Turns to slippery glass
I’ll take to the seas
With a cutlass between my teeth
And a compass to my chest
Tattoo my eyelids with squid ink
Fashion a beard of sea foam
And push headlong
Into the screaming wide ocean
To fight what is left to be fought

*

Twelve.

12/1/14.

Izzy circle

izzy

the sky looks different
from within
denser, more tangible,
full of the idea of itself
holding sunlight to it
like a lover

red lipstick grins
through the cabin –
it’s part of the uniform
crop circles and oceans
fading into each other below

whissskeycola, I am
getting smashed
with the leathery Italian
sitting next to me in
cheery middle-age
gurning out my window
like teenagers

at the sky over Western Australia
crackled red
smashed with grey cloud
huge ropes of rain
trailing down to home dirt

we’ll have a cigarette
together at Changi
the Italians telling me
about their respective chidren
best friends, who are now tied
to my hometown
he speaks in stops and starts
she doesn’t stop

it takes me forever to remember
what ‘caldo’ means
‘hot’ not ‘cold’
and he is telling me
– repeatedly –
how much I will need
my thick tweed coat
to hold me
to wrap its lambswool
collar around my slender neck.

their tans are ten times
deeper than mine
yet still they know
– better than I do –
that I could never be prepared
for this bone cold.

*

Sarah circle

sarah

An itch under my eyeball took hold of its bloody strings
And steered it away from the neon and paradise lights
Towards a greasy flap of burlap tent
Smelling like the sewers had burped it back up.
My feet took off, two unattended infants
And I wheeled through a vulgar slit in the fabric
To stand, queasy in the colostrum-coloured air
Before a bruised wooden box
Pierced with a brass eyepiece
Adorned with hamfisted lettering
Promising ‘A SIGHT FOR SORE EYES.’
As the carnival crashed outside
And the pistons hissed on the sick old rides
I pressed my rolling eye to the glass socket
And peered on in.
A guttering light rose and flashed
Illuminating a mirror of glacial perfection
Cold and still and polished
And in it, I saw my own distended pupil
Straining against the veins that held it in
Bloodshot and sulky
And we regarded each other, the eye and I
For time without timing, lazily blinking
I sighed with the crashing of my boredom
And as I did, I saw my mirrored eye suddenly sliced
Bifurcated almost imperceptibly
Cut in two by the tiniest of cracks
And then again – the crack doubled
And again, again, spidering across the glass
The fractures spiralled, silent and irrevocable
And my eye became two, become nine, became legion
All staring and blinking and darting
And seeing and seeing and seeing and seeing
And I gazed upon an army of myselves
And the dozens reflected in my eyes saw themselves back again
And so were thousands, and millions, and more
And they saw me and I was afraid
Threw myself backwards from the tent
And ran. Left those infinite copies of myself
Sharing stares and winks and rolls and tears
And threw myself blind into the night.

*

Eleven.

11/1/14.

Izzy circle

izzy

putting my seal skin back on
worried it won’t –
it does –
tight around the waist but
it still fits

sleek and wet
the time has come
to slip away again

*

Sarah circle

sarah

The moonlight licks your shoulder
We hiss and sizzle
Like bacon fat frying
Like soft drink kissing ice
And sigh, water on a hot wok
And I’m left with salty lips
And a kitchen to clean

*