I tried to assume a foetal position but couldn’t find a woman big enough


I tried to assume a foetal position but couldn’t find a woman big enough.
I always left the most constrictive of openings to the masterful and platonic genius of Ken Wizzerman. He knew what he was doing. He could handle even the smallest of entrances. He was born with those long thin artistic fingers, like articulated drinking straws attached to a narrow palm that would have looked at home on one of those small new world monkeys, like a marmoset. His wrists were also slender, but once you got past the elbow he was built like a cannon, a statue made out of cannons and cannon balls in the shape of a man with uncommonly slim forearms and tiny, spidery hands. Did I mention he was black? Really black. Stained black as the result of an accident involving a street luge race. Down Helms Hill, that famous long, steep descent of smooth asphalt that ended in the loose gravel of Unavoidable Calamity Corner, a right hand turn sharp as a widow’s elbow, and right beside it, on the outside of the curve, was the West Coast’s biggest squid processing plant. It’s probably against food processing regulations, but on hot days, like the one the Fifteenth Annual Killer Downhill Invitational was held on that August, they kept the loading bay doors open and let the stench of those giant containers of tentacles, beaks, eyeballs and ink escape into the surrounding industrial estate. That year, the fifteenth straight Killer Downhill Invitational Ken had competed in, his familiarity with the track unapproachable, Ken flared out at the corner, his sensitive but weak fingers clenching at the scattering road surface, wearing through the gloves until his foot jammed in a wheel and he flipped into a high speed tumble, centrifugally shedding his protective body suit, his helmet, abrading and contusing every swathe of his skin as he caromed across the concrete apron, horrified squid processors who had gathered outside during their smoke break to watch the race scattering as his disintegrating body bee-lined for them and clattered past and into, penetrating, a thousand gallon plastic vat of squid ink, piscine steam billowing as his friction heated, denuded epidermis was impregnated with fresh ink from the bellies of slaughtered squid even as the force of the liquid ink pushed him back out of the broken wall of the vat and rolled him in a mirrored black puddle out into the sun.

(Reblogged from jimmythemagnet)

You hung yourself out to dry

You hung yourself out to dry. No-one would visit for months. By that time the desert air will have desiccated even the moist bellows of your chest. They will place your husk in a terracotta trough of artesian water drawn the evening before and left to sit under the stars. Your dry fibres will draw it in, you will rehydrate, clean water filling the space left by the fluids you had allowed to grow fetid. You will wake and your neck will be sore, but everything else will be cured.

She really loved diamonds

Liam lingered in the cafe, daydreaming about Kylie. A waiter interrupted.

"Another coffee, sir?" 

Liam shook his head, paid up and wandered down the street.

Once, while drunk, she admitted she desperately loved diamonds. He peered through the jeweller’s window. Inside he could see her waving his Glock at the staff.

The heart doesn’t hold much blood, it just pushes it through the pipes.
I was walking down 21st when I was suddenly bent double by a stabbing pain in the guts. My first thought was cancer, but I figured it was probably just my lunch. I should’ve skipped the knife soup.

The night sky as featureless as the daytime sky

There is not much glowing. Is that sad? Some might say so. I find the greater darkness a relief. The night sky as featureless as the daytime sky, with only the moon, a solid neighbour with a familiar face, shining up there. We know all about the moon. I don’t miss the stars and I especially don’t miss the Milky Way. On a clear night in the mountains it was humbling.

Do shadows believe in astrology?

Do shadows believe in astrology? They have such short lives you would think that they would have no time to believe in anything other than simple joy and wonder. Are we their gods? Do they stare up at us, our heads surrounded by a nimbus, our features hidden by the glare of the sun behind us? Do they believe we made them in our image? Are we in turn shadows of something unimaginable?

huffing on the wrong end of the hose
hanging on the wrong end of the rope
rubbing the wrong side of the razor
sucking on the wrong end of the barrel
falling off the wrong side of the ledge
Chomping on the bit of destiny while the reins of fate pull the bridle of inevitability into the manifest corners of our assigned mouths.
What is consciousness but time’s self regulation? Confirmation that it advances. All time grows out from us. Watching the stars from night to night we make the universe occur. Before us? Other watchers. Here or somewhere else.
crepuscular - adj. creepy and muscular.
We each rule the world for a seven billionth of the day.
I was stained with the indelible ink of gluttony. The staining occurred mainly from the inside out. The ink of gluttony turns out to be incredibly high in calories. Just sniffing the felt tip of an indelible ink of gluttony marker is enough to gain twenty pounds.

Hunting appears to be the most least average definitive general random recent pastime

Hunting appears to be the most least average definitive general random recent pastime of hidden anger denial defence immersion escape retreat from death. Killing makes us feel alive because we were once hunters predators animals unconscious and witnessing the death end absence of another animal at our hands triggers that excitement at life continued, death delayed, food found, existence mastered. So many weighty significant important profound measures results concepts ideas goals repercussions drives instincts fulfilled and bathed in the warm air fragrant stagnant rotting atmosphere released from a disembowelled beast as guts food life spills out of an edible meat and bone bag, after something so simple yet unpredictable as killing, ruining a brain, breaking a heart, releasing a flood of blood, stopping the lungs.

Damned in the water, damned in the air

Damned in the water, damned in the air, damned in the stone, damned in the bones, damned in the hands, damned in the blood, damned in the head, damned in the prisons, damned in the sheds, damned in boots, damned in shoes, damned in gloves, damned in hats, damned in powder, damned in driving, damned in hiding, damned in shadows, damned in waking, damned in dying, damned in matters, damned in mining, damned in Syracuse, damned in Dublin, damned in Cairo, damned in Byron, damned in purple, damned in black, damned in piles, damned in stacks, damned in lines, damned in jealousy, damned in pity, damned in emeralds, damned in diamonds, damned in motion, damned in dance, damned in March, damned in August, damned in June, damned in July, damned in the morning, damned at midnight, damned at home, damned at work, damned at sport, damned at art, damned at the corner, damned at the fountain, damned at sea, damned underground, damned flying, damned falling, damned crying, damned drowning, damned draining, damned laughing, damned clowning, damned dreaming, damned seething, damned teeth, damned nails, damned skin, damned eyes, damned ears, damned back, damned sleep, damned night, damned dark, damned stars, damned dawn, damned dawn.