Sunday, 20 July 2014

Permanent Flash

Dead grass rustled gently, in midday heat's shallow breath. The sun, white as a permanent flash, parted my head in two. Its axe split my body down the middle. Two wooden halves fell to the ground knocking, echoing, in their stupid, wooden way.

My melting sneakers' soles smudged in a softened tarmac street, and in my thirsty vision, the road became marshland. I waded knee deep in boiling chewing gum, stood there in an Acheron bubbling in pale pink, like dirty hubba bubba. 

Feet on fire, burns stinging all over my skin, I scaled a heap of rusty auto parts, and thereupon became dusty and old like a car. 

Life's many hyperventilations vanished in thin air : where I was going and who I even was, or wanted to be. From the top, blissfully vacantly I overlooked a grand bowl of fog in the plain. Let me walk through this fog in peace, I thought. It might be narcotic. I might see white horses in there.

My first novel (similar style) on amazon

Wednesday, 9 July 2014

Discoloured Smoking Area

Street artists had blown out giant soap bubbles in the morning. Once these fickle and beanie-shaped bubbles had all popped in the air, a flimsy foam fell to the ground and coagulated between broken tiles on the pavement. An evil air of iridescence and oily black stared back at us all from the ground. The smell of detergent evaporated, and then it was as if those magicians had never even been there. Nothing more to see. 

What if I will have never travelled beyond this tea room of few words and of short dreams?

Kids touch the brown and wooden, uneven pub floor. Under a creamy layer of smoke and cough, the yellowed walls sweat nicotine. An old and greyed velvet curtain puffs out clouds of dusty particles. The fear that time might stand still grows knotty fingers reaching like the long roots of trees. Surely not here, not in this winter of the soul spent sitting in a discoloured smoking area that blasts with the fuzzy sound of outmoded punk records. The heart of Saturday night is dull and void, not labyrinthine or enigmatic like in the pictures. There is nothing to fret over here, only the same old rotten minds that bounce off these pasty walls and slide down between identical faces dangling on a washing line. 
And if it's after midnight, tomorrow is already here...

My first novel (similar style) on amazon

Saturday, 5 July 2014

Life in a HubbaBubba

Multicolored, that's what every kids' thing had to be. The colors of the 'eighties, so pretty on a child... I see them on the tutus of the skaters passing by. 
The powder blue and well-rounded, candy scented "my little pony" toys, tattooed with love hearts under their pastel rainbow manes, looked at me dolefully from their cartoonish, made-up eyes, as I melted a pack of flying saucers under my tongue. And Barbie with her ethereal, half-sleepy and half-perky, preppy and sexually available, lifeless and painfully perfect look of blue eyeshadow and long lashes just stood or lay there catatonic as someone wriggled her in and out of an iridescent plastic siren dress. 
These dazzling and somewhat estranging objects, which looked a bit like living beings, but then again not, curiously resisted most games.  Along with the tiaras and the glittery firefly wings, there was only one way you could play with these toys. This ain't  Legoland...
Like all the things my friends had, which I wanted but didn't get, these multicolored, silicone and rhinestone studded, rayon delights hailed from a toyland beyond the towering gates of shopping centers full of headless rubber mannequins behind glass, where you could eat soft ice cream and play in a cage full of multicolored plastic balls.
But whatever all this was--and it also went in pairs with the Disney movies, and the kids' cartoons on TV--it was brightly colored, and it was sticky, and semi-transparent, like rose colored glasses made out of jello sweets, and it buried all of life under a huge, bubblegum-flavored condom. I seemed to be just on the edge of life in a hubba bubba, trying to kick in a door, but hey, it was a stretchy, elastic door, and it was pink...

My first novel (similar style) on amazon