Saturday, January 31, 2015


Tarantulas crawled all over my face. And I liked it. Their little hairy legs seemed to push right into my pores, pressing nicely into the grooves and swizzling around in the oil. For so many years I had been deathly afraid of spiders,. What a fool I had been. Now that I knew they were the ultimate inner pore masseurs, I made it my business to have them crawling all over my body at all times. I no longer needed clothing, since I was now covered head to toe in tarantulas, twenty fours a day. I'm not sure what the tarantulas were getting out of this, some sick sexual pleasure no doubt.

Friday, January 30, 2015


A goat clambers along the rocky outcrop that it calls home. Well naturally the goat doesn't actually call it home, goats don't speak English and don't really think that way. Goats speak Spanish and like to think wherever they lay their hat is their home. Unfortunately most goats eat their hats as soon as they get them and then have nowhere to call home. But perhaps that's just the way they like it. After clambering for a while, the goat  became tired of living out this goaty cliche and levitated the rest of the way to the disco, green lasers shooting out of his eyes and cutting down trees all the way.

Thursday, January 29, 2015


Every morning I see the wind. I see it wrap itself around the leaves and dance with them. And every morning I think perhaps I will write about the wind, but I can't write about the wind every day. It makes me think of young lovers on the park bench like in that old Nolan Strong number. It makes me think of wicked winds a coming and evil carnivals coming with them. But mostly it makes me think of a certain woman and pictures of her riding a tram on a certain day and the way I felt watching the wind that day. Duke Ellington was drifting out loud and clear from the house and the sun was shining and I could feel a phantasmic current connecting us across the city and I felt buoyant and serene and on a plateau of pleasure and contentment that is rare indeed.

Wednesday, January 28, 2015


As Minnie The Moocher kicked the gong around Chinatown, carefree as a lark, the locals were plotting her demise. Day and night they were tormented by the sound of its clanging. They constantly worried that their children would be injured as she sent it flying down the alleyways, knocking over trash cans and scaring cats. How they cursed the day that man taught her how to kick the gong around. They plotted perhaps that they could poison her food, but she never stopped to eat. All she did was walk the streets, surreptitiously sniffing cocaine from inside her shirtsleeve, and kick that gong ever further.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015


She let her head lol on the edge of the martini glass. The gin and vermouth felt cool on her skin, and just the fumes from the alcohol were intoxicating. She had climbed the ladder and stepped in gingerly, not sure if she would have some adverse reaction to soaking in hard liquor. She had been doing it most of her life in a manner of speaking, but this was quite a next step. She giggled and splashed the liquor with her toes, batting the olive around like a cat with a ball of yarn. Breathing a great sigh of pleasure, she turned over and arched her back, pressing her breasts against the glass. This day was turning out wonderfully.

Monday, January 26, 2015


Glowing lumps of Kryponite. The green light radiated on Superman's face. He knew it meant weakness and sickness and certain death to pick them up, but flying and lifting tall buildings and helping people had become such a drag. He needed new thrills, and that could only come with danger. With the possibility that he might end up on the losing end of a confrontation. He blinked hard, swallowed, and made a high whimpering wheezing sound. Then he picked up the lumps of Kryptonite and stuffed them into his underwear. Feeling woozy immediately, he staggered onto the street and started shouting obscenities at the first man he saw, a rather burly bearded fellow who looked as if he probably drove a truck and ate several steaks at a sitting and didn't take kindly to speculation about what his wife and mother did together when he was on the road. As the man laid his fists and boots into Superman, he tried wanly to resist and felt a great tremble shoot up his spine at the uselessness of his efforts.

Sunday, January 25, 2015


I awoke as a nub of pollen, drifting on the wind. It felt good. I hadn't had too many cares beforehand, but now I was just cruising wherever the day should take me, cool wind buffeting me around, supporting me like a great invisible pillow. I began to think about my new life as pollen, and wonder how much I really knew about my kind. I was pretty sure we had some role in the sex life of bees, and possibly we were like heroin for some species of bird, but this was all hazy hearsay from my school days when I stared out the windows and imagined many things, but never that this pollen talk would someday be so relevant to me. I certainly hoped I was right about the bee sex thing. As a human I had always greatly enjoyed sex, and if I couldn't somehow be involved in bee or bird sex, I didn't see much hope of me having any in this new pollen nub life.

Saturday, January 24, 2015


I drank a bottle of turpentine and started to convulse. I was so drunk I started to hallucinate, and as my body twitched in strange rhythmic pulse, I could see crowds start to form around me and gasp in awe. My hat fell off and people stated throwing coins into it, then subsequently larger notes, and even entertainment managers began throwing their business cards in and telling me I had "it". Before I knew it I had been whisked away to a television studio and was jerking and twitching for a worldwide audience, who hooted and brayed in admiration of my avant garde movements. I was, in a way, on top of the world. But I could never be sure if it was really happening or just a hallucination from drinking that whole bottle of turpentine.

Friday, January 23, 2015


The whole world was made of silk. White silk. People and trees and dogs and cars and the ground and the sky and the lights and the bikes. All slippery smooth silk rubbing pleasantly up against each other. All day long forever, everything would be constantly rubbing up against something else and saying, "ooooooh, that feels goooooooooooood." Then one day the ground began to split open and a huge split was rent in the world. Everybody and everything tumbled down into a place that was nought but craggy masses of denim. "Oh silken lord!" they wailed, gnashing theirs silken teeth together. "What have we done to forsake ye?"

Thursday, January 22, 2015


Sunset poured through the windows and slowly covered their bodies like warm mercury. It rolled easily down along shoulder blades, into the small of her back, built up a gentle head of steam and ran up over her buttocks down her legs. It pooled for a second behind her knee, pausing to appreciate the warmth and the coziness of the folds of skin, then rolled on down to her ankle and covered her feet. It spread silently all over the bed like warm liquid honey. The little dog took it all in silently.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015


A squashed cat peeled itself off the highway and slowly made it's way into the bushes, tottering on it's hind legs. As it wandered through the forest, squirrels, chipmunks, raccoons, and other animals stared agog at this two dimensional creature walking among them. As she approached the cat looked solid enough. but when she walked past and they saw how truly flat she was, they had to blink and wonder if last nights acorns had somehow fermented into a psychedelic fungus. On and on she stumbled through the woods, bit by bit getting the hang of this squished hind-legged walking until soon she was strolling with a confident gate and a trilby hat cocked rakishly on her head.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015


Brackish water burbled up from the great crack in the pavement i'd just made with my implement. It smelled foul and seemed to be getting thicker by the second. I was sure that i'd just unleashed the most evil substance, heretofore locked in earth's core, and doomed humanity in an instant. I thought it would be Exxon or somebody who would do that, not me. It got blacker and goopier and my eyes got so wide I thought my head could not contain them. But the goop started to form into legs, and then a torso, and suddenly I saw the most beautiful woman imaginable rendered in molten, stinking goop. Her black eyes were of such utter blackness I was hypnotised. I dropped my implement.

Monday, January 19, 2015


Organs in jars packed tightly into a warehouse the size of Texas. Discreetly they are brought in and occasionally brought out. Black cars with tinted windows enter the underground car park and exit hours later. Even with a detailed cataloguing system, it takes some time to find the exact organ that the masters require. And it must be exact. It is said that certain mercenary forces have plotted to rob the warehouse, or simply fire bomb it in an act of malicious torment toward their enemies. But this is just idle dreaming. The security, the lasers, the dogs bred from birth for one purpose, they are but a tiny portion of the security that keeps this place sacrosanct. It is the will of the masters, the feeling force they emanate, the need they have to keep the precious organs available at all times, that makes it so.

Sunday, January 18, 2015


Drums crash like thunder overhead, they slow down and speed up, lightning shoots from my little toe all up into the back of my neck and i feel warm and woozy. When it stops, I will have nothing, I will be an empty shell dribbling and shaking, so please fellows, keep pushing and reaching and thinking and taking these sounds all around the corners and up the stairs and through the vents and down into the sewer and out into the ocean and back onto the land, feeling their way into life in the air and in the trees and out into space to stare down and see everything very small and glommed together and pulsing.

Saturday, January 17, 2015


At the end of my street there is man with a wooden leg. I don't know what he is planning but he has a very sinister look about him and he has been standing there for some hours, just glaring inscrutably and spitting out hunks of chewing tobacco every now and again. I go out onto the street periodically and stare back at him. He never moves. I am in the kitchen, fixing some eggs, just trying to listen to the radio and relax, but I can feel him out there. It's got to stop. Somebody's got to get that fucker off the street. I guess I could go talk to him, but that's not my style. I feel like things are going to go from one to a hundred very quickly with this situation. Jesus it's hot.

Friday, January 16, 2015


With cavalier abandon, she explained to the policeman that her car was unregistered, that she had no license, that she had been gunrunning quite recently and thoroughly, that she was an inveterate criminal, that she was never going to change, that she was a just a rebel with a rage for living (lots of things she does aren't allowed), that she had no home address, no passport and had in fact never been born. "Well", said the policeman, "it's not looking good."

Thursday, January 15, 2015


Brandishing a short sword, the extremely well endowed pirate forced his way into the rotisserie chicken restaurant. "No man, woman, or beast will keep me from this rotisserie chicken". But as he crossed the threshold, mister "I'm so well endowed and have a sword and an eye patch" found himself falling into a pit of the most pure blackness. It seems he'd fallen prey to the old giant endless hole disguised as a rotisserie chicken restaurant ruse he'd managed to avoid so many times before. He cursed himself, but as the endless fall wound on, he began to appreciate the time he now had to think. Stabbing and pillaging and cavorting had taken up so much of his time, he'd barely stopped to sit and consider the point of it all.

Wednesday, January 14, 2015


The word spread all through town that there was good rocking tonight. In every parlour, doghouse and outhouse, the whispers grew louder until at 11:57, the barn was shaking till it seemed it might fall apart. And then it fell apart. Wooden beams splinted and crushed poor old women's legs. Giant nails broke free and sailed straight through the gooey eye meat and right into the brain of humble farm hands. People ran screaming and bleeding into the woods, where they were set upon by wolves who could smell the blood and fear.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015


Salty, wet, brown skin. The sand is caked on her shoulder and baked in by the sun. She turns and smiles with her lips and her mouth and her eyes and her nose, and then dives into the waves. The sand is lifted off her and swirls in the ocean, it drifts past the fish and the molluscs and joins up with it's buddies at the bottom, lying in wait until she emerges and pushes her feet deep into it's mass. The grains of sand are all one, and they all groan in delight in unison as her toes wiggle all around them.

Monday, January 12, 2015


Garbage Island is a wonderful place. One can frolic through the mountains of garbage and find anything you might need. Why, an empty milk carton could become your new house, or a hat, or a Barbie Dreamhouse, or Barbie's oversized hat. There's no shortage of accoutrements for Ken to play with, his friends ratty rat and cockroach mike are always scurrying around playing hide and seek. A little girl can spin around with her arms outstretched in joy for hours, and if she should get dizzy and fall down, the ever so soft garbage will break her fall. Such a wondrous, fetid place.

Sunday, January 11, 2015


Inside the throbbing head, machinery worked overtime, gears rotating and shafts cranking and everything bathed in sweat and firelight, as if it was some Dickensian workhouse factory in the middle of Marrakesh in a basement boiler room. Where would relief come from? When would it end? Before these things could be contemplated to their ghastly conclusion, a gust of the coolest most Arctic air blew through the place. It froze the gears in their tracks, it extinguished the fire, and suddenly all was still and peaceful and cool.

Saturday, January 10, 2015


The wind blew so hard that it knocked down trees. The trees knocked down telephone poles. The telephone poles knocked down adults. The adults knocked down children. The children knocked down dogs. The dogs knocked down cats. The cats knocked down rats. The rats knocked down gnats. The gnats knocked down beetles. The beetles knocked down ladybugs. Then the ladybugs said, "Hey, rack off", and pushed the beetles off them; which reverse dominoed everything else until the trees pushed the wind back and told the wind to rack off. The wind was suitably chastened.

Friday, January 9, 2015


The wondrous smell of a centipede drifted up from the garden into the little boy's nose, like that of a pie cooling on a window sill. The boy knew he must have this centipede in his fangs immediately, or the pent up need would cause him to murder his whole family and be dubbed "The Damien of Sherrybrook". But it wasn't true, he was no demon seed, just a plump young thing filled with desire, and he would not let his desires cause his family harm. Only the centipede. He vaulted over the windowsill and scurried face first into the garden, snout wiggling and snorting, fire in his eyes, his whole body twisting. To catch the centipede, he would become the centipede.

Thursday, January 8, 2015


If you do the hully gully in the pale moonlight, right on the edge of the equator, it is that said that the earth will open up and dancing fire sprites will dance around you with twinkling mischief in their eyes. They will be setting everything you own alight, but you will be so enraptured by the flickering flames and the feeling of wonder that you too will dance without a care in the world, doing the hully gully, the swim, the pachanga, the mambo, the mess around, the swim, the nino nino, and all manner of outlandish steps made up on the spot, hopping about madly as your feet recoil from the hot coals upon which you dance. You will have the time of your life.

Wednesday, January 7, 2015


Solder dripped all over me and suddenly i had become Solder Man! But it dried very quickly and I was stuck, now I have to have a team of assistants with soldering irons around me at all times to keep the solder molten and then let it cool for a second and then get it molten so that i can still be covered in solder and still move. needless to say, this does not make me a very effective superhero. When an arch villain is stealing a giant building, I can possibly drip a bit of solder onto him but I really can't move very fast. Perhaps I should abandon this whole crime fighting idea and just focus on how I am going to eat and breathe while covered in solder.

Tuesday, January 6, 2015


Mariah walked through the Moroccan suite of her elegant New York City apartment, and thought to herself, "Should I really have named my child after this suite? Maybe I should have named him Jungle Room, after the Jungle room. Didn't Elvis call one of his kids jungle room? No, that was priscilla". All of a sudden Priscilla Presley burst into the room. "Bitch, I've had enough of you talking about I could be possibly named" and flung herself at Mariah with great fury. Thankfully, Frank Drebin from police squad was there to break it up. god that was the stupidest thing I have wrote for this project yet.

Monday, January 5, 2015


Pianos were falling from the sky and I have to say, it made me pretty nervous. I generally think myself a lucky guy and you think to yourself, "that'll never happen to me, a piano falling on my head?" But when they're falling left, right and centre, making huge holes in the ground as they plunge down toward the molten core of the earth, the odds can start to make you a little uneasy. plus there's all those holes to fall in now. I've always wanted to visit the centre of the earth, but maybe in a special suit on some kind of well planned expedition with some scienticians, not just falling in a hole made by a piano and screaming in terror the whole way down and never getting to enjoy all the sights.

Sunday, January 4, 2015


South of the border, garlands of flowers hang around every neck, a smile on every face, a can of cheap watery beer in each hand. There are burros, and horses, and gringos, and ladies selling trinkets, and tacos float down softly from the clouds as if they have parachutes. When I am there, I will be walking 1 foot off the ground, that is to say I will be walking suspended in the air twelve inches, not hopping along on one foot. In fact perhaps I will be moonwalking through the air, observing everything as I walk away from it. but then I would see tasty things too late and already be on my way away from them. No, fuck that, I will walk forwards.

Saturday, January 3, 2015


all my days and nights I throb inside with a purple heart heart that pumps concentric circles of light through my body, it goes into the air and drifts through my neighbourhood in search of a lady who is nowhere to be found. Into the storm drains, up over the power lines, down into the ocean it goes, but she is ensconced in a cave, surrounded by a thousand books, working working working away.

Friday, January 2, 2015


Molasses was everywhere. We were very sticky. Waking up in such a sticky, molasses filled room is disturbing at the best of times, but when you have just been reincarnated as a kangaroo baby, it can be simply too much to bear. When a bear started to run toward us, roaring in hunger, I thought I may have a heart attack. But the bear too was stuck in the molasses, unable to move, and his roars of hunger became sad, confused whimpers. We stared into each others eyes, and that special moment was a watershed in bear / baby kangaroo relations. We were truly the same.