Dancing is an eco-friendly
way of burning emotions
in the form of joy.
Nuclear fusion occurs when
two people lean together.
There's a burst of heat
energy, and it's renewable.
Transform your misery
into happiness, and that
is alchemy indeed.
Friday, February 24, 2017
It's always in a crowded place, last time a concert, this time a meeting. I am always a little late arriving. When I get to you, I lean my face against yours, so you can tell me something in my ear. I notice you have blotchy skin, and are quite thin. You tell me something, but I can't make out the words I hear you saying.
Monday, January 30, 2017
I am anxious about my habit of always going naked at gatherings. I went to a small coffee shop to see the star. When I have taken off all my clothes, the place fills up. It's only a small shop. Soon we hear the sound of the star playing and singing, as Donovan appears. He hasn't changed much, a short guy. Everyone in the crowd is encouraged to get up and have their pictures taken. I feel a bit embarrassed. Where did I leave my clothes? They are strewn over two chairs. I put on underpants. "I'm an old hippie," I say.
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
Overhead is opal turning sapphire,
Down to turquoise, and then blue.
The sun is cold upon the trees
On the far side of the reservoir.
A weeping willow, a reedy bank,
A few leaves, downcast, waiting.
And now three swans approach,
Looking for bread, expecting none.
They glance, reflect and dazzle
Like tomb light on the darkest day.
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
Upstairs in this place. I'm going to take a string of pearls away with me. It's mine anyway, so that's okay. But then it's much longer than I thought. Twice round the neck is not enough. And apart from pearls in a row, I find it also has those chunky, fashionable glass and acrylic shapes. I'm worried now that it might not be mine, after all. I take it off and put it in my coat pocket where it barely fits. Down a flight of stairs and J.... is working on the landing floorboards, by an open door to a grand, empty room. Without ceasing to work, he makes his usual self-possessed and good-humored banter about me leaving. Normally I would stay a while and go into the room, but I'm too worried that he will notice the pocket of my coat bulging with the huge necklace, which I try to keep turned away from him. Even though it was mine, I feel like I am stealing it from the house.
Tuesday, August 23, 2016
In a hotel room. The small picture is doing something terrible, something it doesn't want anyone else to know. What it was is about to vanish from my mind, so I put it on the corner of the bed, and try to capture it by filming with my phonecam. But it resists by creating a deafening sound and starting to burn, the more I try to get an angle to record it, the more intense the burning. It burns like magnesium, only crimson. There's someone at the door. I am afraid. A person is there and there are many other people looking out of their doors or near their doors in the corridor. "Your music is very loud."
Sunday, August 21, 2016
I am in a friend's place, chatting with her husband. He asks, "Are you close, intimate, you two?" I say, "A bit." Just then she appears in a full length flannelette nightie on her way to bed. She's indifferent to our conversation but looks like she might be thinking it's a bit late. I add, "Not really."