Ok so now the tables have turned.

Against me that is!

Lately every place I go to has one of those ridiculously off-balanced tables where the slightest elbow weight makes it tilt upwards as if to kiss you.

Or smash your face and splatter your clothes with food

Hasn’t happened yet.

But they’re out to get me

Tonight all the faces I’d seen were completely forgettable.

They could have all morphed into the faces of crash test dummies and it wouldn’t make a damn difference to me.

It always amazes me that these people never stop talking.

Are their lives so full and interesting?

Are they poets that can dress every moment with a beautiful coat of words?

Are they compulsive talkers who must talk about every single thing that happened to them or run the risk spontaneous combustion?

I never could settle on an answer

On nights like these I come back home angry, for the sole purpose of such expeditions is to collect material that can keep me occupied until sleep takes over and maybe, on exception, after I wake up the next morning.

And tonight I couldn’t even manage that. I only came back with dirt.

Met a friend who was out with girlfriend and friends of girlfriends

Friend and girlfriend left early

Suggested to friends of friend’s girlfriend to continue the night out in a nearby place

First said yes

Then said no

So I went on my own

In the universe next door I’m with the two friends of friend’s girlfriend

In which of the two do I have a better night?


Reading it now it sounds like one of those elementary school basic math questions.

I’m not in love.

So yes, tonight, it’s better alone

Better alone

Whenever I listen to French Medieval music it feels like I’m coming home.

It’s something more than merely finding the pieces beautiful

An experience of dissolving into the spaces between thought and the senses.

Ah, but what’s the use of trying to reduce such wonders to mere words?

In the silence that comes afterwards my soul begins to tarnish again.


This early?

Perhaps my body is bad at cooling itself down. One of a number of personal features that I seem only recently to realise their existence.

Perhaps I don’t want to hear the neighbour’s dog or the beastly sound of the garbage truck at whatever god forsaken time it roars into my street.

Machines make such lovely lullabies don’t you know?

Machines for machines.

I could have made a T-shirt with that slogan, if only I could find a graphic artist to draw it with a fancy background and really kick-ass fonts

Perhaps I need to burrow somewhere and the only thing available is a bed cover.


One of fear’s many disguises

I keep a light cover on the bed in preparation for Summer.

Such a ridiculous paradox!

I keep stumbling on articles about people dying these days.

I may have gotten a death overdose.

I realise the need to face our collective mortality – it looks like I’ve been doing that for years now – but this is getting a bit too much.

‘I’m dying and I want everybody to read about it!’ blurbs an article header in a British newspaper.

I will not. I already read that a couple of months back, when someone else was dying and wrote about it.

But he used a different title.

On a games site, an interview with someone who made a video game about the death of his small child

I could go on but I will not.

Time to stop reading anything longer than an email.

Short poems are in perhaps, and maybe tweets and text messages.

Fortunately human language cannot – as yet – describe the abyss of death in 140 characters, even with the latest emojis.

I may be breaking down a bit.

Breaking down is a bit of a misnomer

Fossilising is a more fitting description

Or maybe I’m turning into a tree, like in those ancient Greek legends where the gods turned people into trees and bushes because they wanted to fuck their wives or something

My memories of Greek mythology are a bit sketcy nowadays.

I always write these long posts and can never find a fitting way to end them gracefully.


They do at least end honestly.

I decided to view this blog as an infinite room. Quite featureless.

Trouble is, I have not yet found the typed equivalent of having an infinite piece of chalk and drawing really long and weird symbols on the walls.

Which of course are infinite