years and years ago, when we were all big bullshitters, I had this mate and my god he could spin a yarn. like he told me that this one sunday morning he'd been out all night somewhere in town and that he'd got on the northern line, heading home to wimbledon, still off his head, (pills, puff, lager), sweating, smelled bad, white jeans all stained and cigarette burns on his shirt and normal people staring at him, and that his eyes had closed and that when they opened again, he was dazzled in the hot glare of daylight and that he was passing through east finchley, heading north, as in he had supposedly been passed out all the way south to morden and then all the way north on the way back up to high barnet. well, I didn't believe him but it was one of those clubland boasts, one of those ecstasy war stories. so I was probably all like "what are you like, you nutter."
the snake bites the deer as it grazes in the shade. and the sweating mothers labour us, wailing, into the world. and the bag of blind kittens is tossed into the sea where the fish dies in terror in the entrails of the whale, and the whale dies in terror, barnacled, beaching, in the holiday sun. and the light fades in the eyes of the impotent tiger, and the beauty of the flowers is a ruse, and the butterfly's joy doesn't last, and the lovers' embrace is uneven, and the teeth rot in the mouth while the dentist plays golf. and the lepers know horror, and the sperm stains your underpants, and the metamorphosis of the breasts marks the time
this is pretty derivative, drawing heavily on a few lines of prose from the short story Simon Magus by Danilo Kiš
I open up the emails and the first one, from a mobile phone company, says it's not too late to get to glastonbury. and I look at decades of photos on the wall, and at the mess of the thing I've been trying to do all these weeks. and I think of when I started feeling older than everyone around, more than 15 years ago now, and I think you people don't know me.
ABOUT 18 MONTHS AGO I WAS DOING MY SECOND STINT WORKING AMONG THE WANKERS AND WALLS OF HOXTON/SHOREDITCH. DON'T LIKE THE PEOPLE MUCH. BUT YOU CAN TAKE NICE SELFCONSCIOUSLYMEANINGLESS PICTURES. USED TO GO FOR LONG, DARKMOODED LUNCHTIME STROLLS OR MOOCH AROUND A BIT ON/NEAR RAVEY STREET. IT WAS CHANGING THEN. CHANGECHANGECHANGE. HAS CHANGED MORE NOW. CUZ LONDON NEEDS MORE BOUTIQUEYCLIQUEY HOTELS, SHOPUNITS WITH CUNTYFADFOOD OUTLETS TOPPED BY STRATOSPHERICALLY PRICEY FLATS IN NEIGHBOURHOODS WHERE YOU NEVERTHELESS HAVE TO STEP IN VOMIT AND BROKEN GLASS ON THE WAY "HOME". LAST TIME I LOOKED IT LOOKED LIKE THIS: