the love epochal – stanza 3 – the slugabed

volcanic shores and gales of fearsome solitude
mapped out like a navigable carthaginian, i was not
so, a stoic, i mourn each day a day lost
and think a blushing thought of soft skinned twins of twins
just a finger’s pinch, a shallow bite, a nibble
not a repast but the popped french cork starter pistol
for a glorious wedding breakfast.

the wind cools and we race to the ferry and over the hill
comfortable in the air between fiction and essay—
a soul impressed by power and wealth is not worth impressing:
momento mori and more is yet to come.
i’ll be home soon, waiting for you
i’m skylarking back with the new month’s tunes
and there is an elder geezer in louis vuitton shoes
his amex was in a stolen purse
has 1000 euro cash money and wants a chicken wrap
pours his heiney to a flexy tumbler, up to the brim
thanks the kindly lass across the aisle for a short term loan
and i listen to cohen again and wonder if i’m obsessive
in the wet, warm drink i sip the spirit water, and ponder
i react first with emotion, the weight takes a while to settle
i’m let down and i let down
there is no reasoning with the passions.
sometimes i feel like i’m not a real person—a lack i’ve sought in others
credit for debit, the difference solo temporal
evolve the revolving door, better round than in
any task, i’ll find a way to do it
my first instinct may be wrong but given infinite time…

our reunion was a salty affair, trolling agents and sellers
ebitdata scientists don’t budget for trauma:
cutting teeth. immersed in the pain pearlescent
I wonder if being kidnapped by my mum‘s best friend as a child had a lasting effect?
unrelated: the knot in my chest will spring from my mouth and rip out my guts
leaving a slugabed trapped in a pole vaulter’s libido
territorial, barking at my next door neighbour on the landing, hello
stand up for yourself, for [] sake
ah, woof! we all rely on the good souls who forgive us

all stoned poets think they are funny—well i am funny
or unusual anyway
shilling for a limited europe, my identity fading, delaminated
not drunk, just exuberant. and well nourished
cycling down a road like the dream where i find another room in my house
moist stroll, jelly tower shuffle, cheesing postbox, very cruel
charge another hour to diary management
you simply must believe the story you tell yourself
(excuse me for hoping to feature so prominently in it
a big and empty feeling filling a sad gap
why do i act like ive found the one true way of being when it doesn’t me happy?

but then bliss is in my life and the doldrums abate
we extend the family table, aware the ides of march
once again i chop chillies then piss and my dick burns
i count the first lambs of spring and dig a few hills
fitments suitable for various screws, but none of this massivity
a sombre lover, indolent turbo, fresh strain spring clean shower interrupter
a plan for mouth and fingers, mutuality of idyll desire
a hotbed of fervour, preachers on manic street
indigent, indignant and surplus to requirements
always leaving, never gone, tomorrow never will crystallise
the turncoat, former scapegoat, grasping for a banknote
but there is no antidote.
we hereby shall rely (on the good souls who forgive us)

chorus 3 – march

have you tried the toblerone, stupid child?
i have a theory my anti car philosophy is not strictly environmental
but because i was in two major car crashes before i was 10
different, but the same

my airpod uneared into a drain so i chanced an upgrade

ah well. so it’s a year i’ve had these airpods now. returning from an early morning climbing session, my airpod escaped the ear canal and went for the drain instead. i presume anyway. i looked for a while then went to argos and bought new ones. can’t live an adequate life without headphones.

the king came with the bangers, we stayed for the ballads

in the 90s i used to take long coach trips. to france, italy, spain. one year, i must have been 7 or 8, for entertainment we got a documentary about elvis pressley. i was instantly obsessed. and then suddenly bereaved – my hero was dead before i even knew him. i cried. i listened to elvis tapes. i got a leather jacket. quite autistic, in retrospect.

i don’t listen to as much elvis these days. but i will always love the king. and if suspicious minds comes on the radio, i will give it my full attention every time.

to morrisons partick, hover on a ba’ sac/re-up on buddha and kippers

i met a pal at the supermarket and i think he mentioned he had recently had an injury to the testicles. and then i bought some kippers…

jerk foul, jerk fish, take the pineapple express

i had jerk fish and chips at a carribean themed restaurant and it was really nice. best fish and chips ever probably. there must have been a pineapple chutney or something. it reminded me of roots manuva’s witness (1 hope). and to avoid accusations of plagiarism, i named the verse ‘witness (1 dope)’, me being the dope eating the jerk and summoning the power of banana clan.

pant leg micturition is a viable system

so i have a pair of basketball shorts i wear to the gym that are too big for me, so i need to tie the waistband quite tight. but then i have to undo it if i want to pee. what a pain in the arse. then i realised i can just pee out the leg of the shorts. also useful on the bike or out for a trail run.

cold, wet, gravel, ice… and light new hoops.

sleepy as hell this morning after a big day on the bike in the hills in the sun yesterday. at this time last year i was riding my gravel bike in the some cold scottish forest in prep for a trip to gran canaria. and i was riding some new wheels.

earlier trip this year so yesterday i was lost on the road bike on a gravel track lost alone in lanzarote having a meltdown and shouting expletives.

an unexpected trip with treasured brethren / of which diane was not informed

late post today, i did a big bike ride with my pals here in lanzarote. i went off ahead by myself and got lost. had to cut across a gravel path. i was shouting fuck fuck fuck etc. saw an egret.

this line refers to a visit of my friends m. l. and s. l., who are brothers. and i didn’t tell my barber. i suppose ultimately she had no right to know. the image below is intented to evoque memories of diane from twin peaks. rip david lynch.

yet ah is how i start my whatsapps—it’s a bit more generous.

ah well yes. i can’t be typing hmm? at the start of all my text messages. i don’t know when i acquired the ah habit. it’s still going strong. ah thanks for this useful new information / ah that is funny / ah well isn’t that lovely / ah i suppose the funeral will be expensive / ah i just stepped on a wasp

hmm? a doubtful interjection. beginning my each phrase

i have a few noises i suppose. i must have been hmming a lot in early february. sadly i left last year’s diary at home this week. but noises come and go. i pick them up from odd places. echolalia from the television and jip like this.

a sort of deep throat sigh that i can’t explain verbally. a sympathetic groan. a palette cleanser – due to my autism, i struggle to speak if i haven’t anticipated the situation. words honk out wrongly. a long hmm gives me a little time to process maybe.

and in this case its a non-answer to the question from the previous line. i’m saying hmm but the image is of the aegean water i surely will drink.