Ancient Rock Thrown Together In Darkness

In the beginning was the yawning void.
Then came the White Ruhk.
Followed by the rains.
This ancient rock was thrown together in darkness.
Haphazardly; by Godly hands
knotted by carbunkles
and blisters
and hang nails.
It happened this way.
Witness the breaks in the high clouds
approaching from miles distant
rumbling methodically across the Kingdom of Mercia.
The purple heather giving the land
a bruised and mottled appearance.
Like a port wine birthmark,
or a corpse left long enough
for the blood to settle at the lowest points.
Gritstone edges pulsating with life.
Craggy overhangs potent with medicine.
Father Sun. Sister moon. Brother Psilocybin.
The wind in the hair.
The peet beneath the feet.
They say there are wallabies to be found
in this designated area of Natural Beauty.
They say that mermaids lay in wait
beneath its pools of dark bottomless water.
Soon will come the Ragnarok.
Surely soon will come the Fourth World.
The Sixth Age. And the Long Long Winter.
But until such time, I intend to enjoy the view.

A Touch Of The Old Chopstickerypokery

Although the Chinese started it all,
the Japanese have been using chopsticks
for thousands
and thousands of years now.
They are traditionally held in the right hand only.
Even by the left-handed.
I received my instruction from
a Jewish guru on Ealing Broadway in the year of 1993.
He told me to imagine I was holding a pencil.
Let the index finger do the work.
The girl sat opposite me is a novice.
She's never learnt.
She opts for the safer Western-style metal fork instead.
Although she doesn't realise it, this endears her to me.
As do the gaps in her teeth when she smiles.

www.timeout.com/london/restaurants/reviews/8080.html

The Final Days Of The Nokia 6280

I make that
just over 9 weeks in my possession
before it had to be zipped-up
in a
little black bodybag
and shipped back to the manufacturers
without fanfare.
Please place the item on the conveyor belt...
Please place the item on the conveyor belt...
Please place the item on the conveyor belt...

Chatroom Nation

I don't know this girl.
We've never actually met.
And yet, I find myself
wanting to fall asleep on the shoulder
of this girl I don't know during a Trans-Atlantic flight.
I find myself wanting this girl I've never met
to turn up unnannounced on my doorstep,
in tears, clutching a half-drunk bottle of red wine.
I find myself wanting to spend cold Sunday mornings
sat in bed with this girl I don't know, sipping hot sugary tea.
I find myself wanting to bake muffins with this girl I've never met.
I find myself wanting this girl I don't know
to paint my toe-nails with colourful varnish
and watch them slowly dry in the midday sun.
Is this right? Is this proper?
Is this, infact, deliberately foolhardy?
Perhaps we never will meet.
Perhaps that's as it should be.
Perhaps it's actually better that way.
And yet. And yet.
And yet.

Note From The Builder

Oh, the indignity of it all...

Reality Terrorism

I've been avoiding newspapers today.
Just as with those
poor
misguided
atttention-seekers
in their Big Brother house
or on their tropical Love Island
or wherever,
I do not wish to know the names
or the slightest personal detail about those
who sought to bring down
the wrath of their God
upon the infidels and their magnificent flying machines.
It's not about martydom, it's about 15 minutes of fame.
Warhol's as much to blame as Bush or Blair
or the Balfour Declaration of 1917.

Another Tough Day At The Office!

One of them's 22. The other's only 18.
That's not likely to happen again is it?

Phantosmia (Phantom Smells)

He was on the the east bank of the River Irwell,
near the confluence of the River Medlock and the River Irk,
when he first thought he smelt her.
Later that same day, and some
202-miles to the South-East, he thought he smelt her again.
Just for a second. On both occasions.
Her fragrance was built around a
modest daily spray of "Happy" by Clinique Laboratories Inc.
A light summery bouquet, it came
in a glass container
with silver lid and minimal branding.
Applied in the mornings, just before
she left the house they used to share,
by the evening its scent would had merged with her own
to form an intoxicating aroma which collected at the nape of her neck.
Just below the hairline.
Olfactory hallucination is potentially very worrisome.
It's sometimes seen as a side-effect of epilepsy,
and can also be sympomatic of an onsetting brain tumor.
Maybe I should to go and see a neurologist?

The Best Hot Dogs In All Sweden

A little local knowledge can go a long long way...
You won't find this
little puppy
in any of your goddamned guide-books!

Stockholm Revisited

Stockholm without its blanket of winter
is something of a new experience for me.
I should have been here yesterday,
but somebody's appendix decided to burst.
Things got a little shifted around as a result.
Flights were rescheduled. Accomodation re-arranged.
The Banbury Boy and the Tiffins Girl had once
come to this "Venice Of The North" to see in the new year.
They had made their way to the royal island of Djurgården
for the traditional Tennyson reading and the brass band.
There they shared a paper cup and a bottle of Merlot.
And at the stroke of midnight, the skies
all around lake Mälaren had lit-up with a
fabulous and sustained super-nova of a fireworks display.
The moment had been perfect.
The setting had been divine. Like Narnia made flesh.
But behind his cowardly smile, the Banbury Boy
was losing the battle to keep his loaded gun hidden from view.
The Tiffins Girl never knew what hit her.
The spots of red wine in the snow.
The Chitel deer in the headlights.
She forgave me in the end. Which is more than I deserved.

ISBN 9780099458371

I'm less than 20 pages
into the latest Chuck Palahniuk,
when I have to stop reading
and place the book down on the table
for fear I might actually be physically sick.
He really is that good.
And that slice of hot raspberry pie was too nice to waste.

www.chuckpalahniuk.net/books/haunted/