THE EXISTENTIALIST NINE YEAR OLD   1 comment

Staring out of his bedroom

It all just seems shit.

Really shit.

A carcinogenic, putrid mound of slimy shit.

This is not the life he dreamt of.

He was meant to be running amok in theme parks,

Struggling with long division,

Swapping football stickers with fellow aficionados.

And there he is.

Watching.

Waiting.

Staring out into the darkness.

Waiting for his life to begin.

Books surround him.

Cocoon him from a world of risk and adventure.

Cloak him in secrecy.

Time judders on.

The clowns on his wallpaper

Stare at him

As if he too is a painted fool.

He screams at them nightly.

‘I’ll show you.

I’ll show you my teeth.

My well-brushed almost adult teeth.’

‘This cage in which I prowl

Sharpens the claws

Quickens the wit

Stokes desire.’

Step aside you knobble-kneed jerks.

There’s a new kid in town.

Posted November 25, 2010 by whirlitzer in Uncategorized

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N.E.E.T.   Leave a comment

Not in education, employment or training.
No longer erudite, effecient or talented?

Not exactly exceptional title.
NO EXTRA-TRADITIONAL THOUGHT.

noteveryoneexceedstoday.
Null, exhausted, empty, totalled.

Now everyone exhales together,
Not everyone expects transformation.

Posted November 25, 2010 by whirlitzer in Uncategorized

Tagged with

MY TELENOVELA LOVER   Leave a comment

I met her in a cocktail bar

Every strand of her ink black hair

Lacquered into a perfect ponytail.

Lips as red as a matador’s traje.

Eyes as brown as Mallorcan leather.

She ordered a gin and slim

And began her extravagant history

Of dances with the devil

Fiestas in candlelit pueblecitos

Lovers lost and won in the Valencian sun.

Every now and then

She would stare into the mid-November middle distance

I never did work out

Whether this was for dramatic effect

Or an overall inability to concentrate.

She dressed in trouser suits

From Spainsh department stores

Pearls in her ears

A cross around her neck

And a a more expensive than necessary handbag.

She never seemed comfortable

Going out for a quiet meal

Didn’t enjoy Orange Wednesdays

Or walking in the frost of a winter’s morning.

They were not really her scene.

However, when given the opportunity

To emote, bicker, strut, fuck or fight,

She grabbed the bull with both horns.

Which turned out to be problematic

On the trip out to Tam O’Shanter.

I loved her

But it was never enough

If I wasn’t rescuing her from towering infernos

Professing my love on a Superlambbanana

It just wouldn’t do.

We broke up in hospital.

She wailed at my bedside

Slipping my heart into her back pocket.

I lay there prostrate,

An olive stone lodged in my throat.

I went into a period of mourning

Stopping just short of the black lace veil

This was my cancion desesparada

Made all the worse

By seeing here every Friday.

Staring into the distance,

Soft musak,

Warm lights,

Beautifully teared eyes;

A weekly performance informed by jamón.