15.04.08

Suddenly, after hours of undifferentiated activity and noise, there was calm.

All over

Goddam those fucking spitting men!

08.11.07

At the University of S they brush away the leaves all day everyday. Asphalt stares me in the face. I turn round to find people are smiling.

My empathy is for the leaves.

07.11.07

As he leafed through his German phrasebook, he was as ever blissfully confused about boundaries. But what's the difference between the medical section and the erotic?

Beissen Sie hier daruf.
Bite down on this.

Bewegen Sie sich nicht.
Don't move.

Bitte den Mund weit offnen.
Open wide.

Das tut vielleicht ein bisschen weh.
This might hurt a little.

Das tut gar nicht weh.
This won't hurt a bit.

Kommen Sie zuruck, ich bin noch nicht fertig!
Come back, I haven't finished!

02.11.12

If Godot ever materialised, this is how he'd look. A tall, gaunt, ashen-faced man with the wispiest hair and a 19th century Scouse accent - metaphysics hidden behind workaday tones.

So tall that when sat down his body folds elegantly into place as he drags on an old fag end, which even at this time of the morning constitutes probably the fifth or so of its kind.

I 'ate fruit.

I hear him before I see him (although I know he'll be there, sorting out the produce). This morning his cough rattles, the sputum of which he attempts to force up through short but loud choking noises. It works, for he spits the offending matter out right by his side as he continues to enjoy his tobacco breakfast.

Time immaterial

ARE YOU OK?

--

HAVE YOU BEEN BEATEN UP? DO YOU NEED US TO CALL AN AMBULANCE?

-- - -- --

DO YOU WANT US TO CALL THE POLICE?

I don't think he's been beaten; he could've fallen.

HELLO? DO YOU WANT US TO CALL THE POLICE?
---
OK. WE'LL LEAVE YOU TO IT. GOODBYE.

October, sometime

"Yeah but lust turns into love after a while, doesn't it?"