GRAFFUTU

From A Past Notebook

2011-03-10T23:01:00.003Z

Note for Stage Management

Red on top of blue.

White hanky folded square

on top.

What is in the blue &

green

should be shredded.

On The Ashcloud

The invisible ash, the hook in the sky, all continent condensed in a hot stream of ash ...[?] pulling asunder,, rendering,, [?] the breaking bridge to the unseen world. Images of women. Writing the unseen. Writing it out of me, the earth, the soil-noise, the not-silence, in favour of horses chanting etcetera. No word for the lady [of McDonalds] who, looking, over the bench where the ketchup squeezing, refilling, misuse of the ketchup [happens, she says:] "don't hit it please, don't hit, do this like this, hold your cup [she demonstrates] fill it full." etc...

Frozen, Mid-crossing

there are Lions and Tigers and

Prehistoric Men with

their Roughly Hewn

Tools and Small

Inkling of the

Ancestors

And they're Down there

on the Sea Floor

Still in the Dogger Mountains

Three Questions

2011-03-10T22:40:00.002Z

What about it

How not to sound

Could it have been

Make a short sharp stab in the sawdust

Then only

P e a r & c r a b a p p l e

I’m sorry

/ I’m lost

Sign on Motorway at Aurelia in Italy

2010-11-04T23:41:00.002Z

"We sell metres at 1000 vegetables from here"

up in the air 23:45

2010-11-04T23:09:00.005Z

Front Crawl / Fluxus

Fluke / Franz Kafka

Fictitious /

Flunk / Foucault

Frank / Forecourt

Feckless / Freakout

Flick / Funk / Fuckwit

Fricasee /

Fruitcake / Frankly

Fecal / Frock coat

Flock / Fluctuate

Flack / Freckly

Folk / Fickle

Forecast /

Frisky /

Frederick /

Funicular /

Fecund /

Fried Kraut /

Fork /

Fact /

Free Kurdistan /

.../ done in 2009 in London

One-On-One

2010-07-11T01:12:00.010+01:00

ONE

Dear diary, I am reading Hamlet again

I met with a mad woman, she drank iced coffee,

I had iced tea, who, when asked about madness

in the play said she saw herself as Fortinbras

Dear diary, how can I put into words

what I have seen these past weeks?

The murder of the Aztecs by Cortes - a drag queen!

And all the birds fell out of the sky above America

Dear diary, what can I tell you about the dinner

with the literary circle? The opera house in the jungle?

The poet and his lover? Berlin, you keeper of secrets,

you destroyer, you surreal dream - I lit your fireworks,

I powered your televisions and installed your satellite dish

TWO

Do you know what I did in a room today, by myself?

Do you know how I felt when she showed me her breasts

and wrote me a letter? What did I feel, dear diary

when I met the artist I have admired for so long and spoke to him

and watched his hair move and his nails and his studded boots

as he confessed that he had kissed a male audience member

in his show once, and his barely legal girlfriend was shocked

"Are you all my boyfriend?"

THREE

Dear diary, Berlin and London are one suddenly, and Gent,

Dear diary, will we speak of the heat in decades to come

and say, "do you recall the heat of 2010?"

"The sky was worn upside down by the earth", we will say

"There was no shame, no safe-guards, no holding back, only intimacy

between strangers", as the man in the audience

kisses the girl in the play who is pretending to be his date

while his girlfriend waits for him downstairs

FOUR

Put your tongues away! Hold your tongues!

It was 2010

It was so hot, the cement in the middle of the road

turned to water

And your eyes, so sharp and cold and human

turned to look at me,

and became something else,

.../written in July, edited in November

Theatre Understood

2010-06-08T13:02:00.003+01:00

Often, if someone describes a show to me, I feel like I've seen that show and don't need to see it myself. Do you know what I mean?

The death of kings for eight consecutive hours.

where the work gets done

2010-05-17T01:27:00.002+01:00

In the converted space above the make-shift
kitchen in unit four, we debate the extra-terrestrial.
Between the piano and television, I muse
on the dust which settles on piano keys and the
dust falling through the air as it settles on broken
steps and children's faces in China's wartime capital of
Chongqing.
In the rehearsal room, near Vincent's old stomping ground
the work gets done, opening shared wounds,
clenched fists.
The work gets done, the dead rise from their watery graves
and walk on to the land. Possessions and exorcisms are
impromptu and happening wherever the people gather:
St Marks Square, the stadium in Pittsburgh,
London Bridge Coach Station, for example.

Now let us create, arm! Let us create, leg! Let us walk, whoreish all purpose feeling heart! We are equipped with so much more than we need.

2010-04-12T12:46:00.003+01:00

hang over in the sun shine with one shoe and the up turned chair by the rail way line and the garden shed where pete sleeps

2010-04-12T12:40:00.002+01:00

shooting guns

barking dogs

ring of steel

flame haired beauty

deep as populist

no - brow

is good

advertising is good

religion is evil

Detroit is on fire again

No power

No glory

. peckham. april 2010

facebook update haiku

2010-04-07T11:25:00.001+01:00

Spam email which reads

'Need mouse to become tiger?'

Becomes my status

a painting of an open book by philip guston

2010-02-15T01:08:00.004Z

A PAINTING

a megalith, wounded or scarred with words or bullets or blinds

a black and white building : colours inverted

blinds drawn / or a thousand sightless eyes

pages carved from rock or from gold

full of imprisoned poetry, full of symbols,

black and bitter as coffee beans,

babel, except censored

all the peoples talk in morse code

no warmth, no huddling even

OF A BOOK

wooden book, nails hammered

words hewn from metal, not flesh

brittle, no blood, like punctuation, like potato snacks

or / PINNING THE BLANK PAGES OPEN like the wings of a rare specimen

addiction and perpetual death, prevention of present, of the turn of the page

the bulge of the previous leaf about to turn, should i go back to what was before

this the new page flat unfingered awaiting my giant outside eye, and my swollen finger, sticky

from my fat tongue I AM SALIVATING i have come down from the mountain i am holding this book up high above my head it weighs more than the golden calf, a little less than the cross

the book is a coffin we nail open rather than shut and there's no burial no hole in the ground

a gravestone not a grave and like gravestones it appears to be sprouting out of the ground straight and tall

there is no hand no giant eye

its the book at the end of the world

it will grow fins in a moment

it will have to grow arms / legs

it could turn into a boot to stamp you with

to crush you

PHILIP GUSTON

or it will sprout a head and fly away

to spend its last day sniffing violets in a garden somewhere

it will pass into the golden sunlight, expiring gently on a tremoring leaf

yes thats it, I see a landscape prior to all this, I see two hills and a stream and I want to see, I keep looking for, an icecreamcone sun peering into the valley, another dumb face to greet me

(Timothy Taylor Gallery, February 2010)

things we found in our pockets

2010-02-09T22:18:00.003Z

At the annual Devoted and Disgruntled Open Space event, I led a session on things found in our pockets and notebooks. Follow the link to find out what we found...

http://devotedanddisgruntled5.blogspot.com/2010/02/039-things-i-found-in-my-pockets-and-my.html

Here's the text:

Receipt Vue Finchley Road with 2 pizzas for £12 offer
Ticket stub from Norwich arts centre
T Kettle Bonus Card
Norfolk and Norwich business card
A whole garlic
A phone number (07752219228)
A photo of four women on Graduation Day, one has had her head cut out
A free party invite
A Receipt for FABULOUS WELSHCAKES
Sanisbury’s Waterloo – Receipt for bottled water and croissant
Receipt for Nationwide account, account number ending *************44288
LINDSEY HOPE PEARLMAN business card with glamorous headshot
CAFFE NERO reward card with one stamp on its way to a free coffee
Envelope with loads of phone numbers and addresses and this code: J89*XLFJ
A branded piece of paper from the Young Vic with the name Mark Rosenblatt written in red ink
New York Wallet Subway Map
No fit state Carnet Valid for 10 weeks
10 Nov – 19 Jan
Plastic bag for 3D glasses
Shopping list for making couscous (ONION,
GARLIC
CELERY
COUSCOUS ORGANIC
CUMIN
PAPRIKA
RED PEPPERS
CORRIANDER
PARSLEY
MINT
RAISINS
ORANGE JUICE
EGGS
CANDLES
STOCK
WINE)
A stick

Other Things

The process of taking out everything from your pockets and bags and wallets

SHAME?
- dirty handkerchief, tampons, business cards, drugs in handbag
- train ticket to Cardiff

EXPOSING

SCALE

CLUTTER

Maps people draw you when you’re somewhere strange. In which “DISTANCE IS MEASURED IN MINUTES” or by the landmarks. The pubs etc

Letter from Grandfather – “ The joy of life is in the struggle for what you want to achieve “ (He is a bad man)

Little pieces of paper

Master Key (do not copy)

Banana

Moisturizer

(COINS) Change that’s worth something £ £ £ $ $ $ $

“you had a piece of garlic in your pocket…”

NICE to reflect on what you carry with you . A RUBBISH SHOW. A PIECE OF RUBBISH

Tickets, receipts, cards

Photograph of me as a baby, used for A THERAPY SESSION
??

How to survive? A shack in Suffolk.

The word IMMURE

Thoughts on abroad and on boundaries

SURVIVAL

CONTROLLED RECKLESSNESS

Conscious awareness of only 7 things

BEAUTY

How can we control the context around the objects in order to make everything beautiful?

HAT and FLAT

Charles Simic

Melancholy= desire to change
Fear= Reluctance / Avoidance to act
Anger=Desire for clarity
Joy= desire to live

“ I think the very nature of Art is Affirmative, and in being so it reflects the laws and the evolution of the universe” (Barbara Hepworth)

“We are such stuff as dreams… etc”

GUADALUPE NETTEL
El Huesped: In the wound there was something familiar and at the same time unknown

En la heirda habia algo familiar y al mismo tiempo irreconocible

SUBCONSCIOUS Keep things stowed away. Why> ? like atime capsule, a subconscious reminder. Waiting for them to reappear in your bag, your pockets, your notebook …

The phone card I WAS GOING TO USE TO CALL MY GIRLFRIEND IN AMERICA AFTER SHE HAD SLEPT WITH A WOMAN AND HAD SEX WITH MULTIPLE PEOPLE AT THE SAME TIME AT THE BURNING MAN. I NEVER USED IT.I NEVER CALLED HER. BECAUSE SHE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN WHAT I WANTED TO SAY

How to Fall Asleep and Stay Asleep by Dr Art Ulene

2010-01-18T00:35:00.002Z

stage one:

sleep cannot be willed

or forced

It is controlled

by a primitive part

of the brain

similiar to the one

that regulates

other uncontrollable urges

such as hunger,

and thirst

stage two:

the eyes

are moving very rapidly behind

the closed eyelids

all of the skeletal

muscles

of the body

are paralyzed

(paralysis keeps you

from thrashing about and

harming yourself or others

during

the intense dreams)

stage 1 1/2:

transition state

between

wakefulness & sleep

most people feel

that they are

still awake,

although

their

thoughts

are drifting

and

they

not

-member

-e

things

that are

happening

stage 2: True sleep

In which aDULTS spend most of their sleep time

Little mental activity going on during

stage two and very little

sexual activity, although

aDULTS have been known to hold hands.

(belize 2008)

the donkey bridge

2010-01-18T00:20:00.004Z

Soon we will arrive at the bridge. When we get to the bridge I will lead you over it. Do not be scared; we shall cross it together.

The donkey crosses his eyes. He shakes his ears. His hind legs tremble.

Donkey, we have come so far, we have carried so much. We must go on.

There is no other way but forward.

And the donkey bows his head for he knows this to be true.

Perhaps if there was to be a pretty female donkey waiting on the other side, he thinks. Or some good food to eat, or a cool place to rest. But no, we cross only to keep going. And there will always be another bridge to cross.

The donkey sighs a hefty donkey sigh.

Look, here is the bridge. Do you recognise it? We have crossed it many times before.

The donkey does not recognise it and he thinks it looks particularly unsafe. He stamps his feet and bares his teeth in disgust at the world.

Your mother and father crossed this bridge. And their mother and father before them. Are you going to bring shame upon your family?

They couldn't care less, thinks the donkey. They're dead.

The trees begin to rustle in the gathering wind.

The clouds begin to gather in the closing dark.

It is now or never.

Never, thinks the donkey, as he makes the first step.

Never, thinks the donkey, as he makes the second.

(Antigua, Guatemala, 25/01/07)

I am a boy and my dog is still living

2010-01-04T00:52:00.003Z

The plants in my garden

are dangerous

The marigold will sting you when

you kiss it

The snapdragon will break your face

if you try something

The foxglove guards the shed

your granddad filled with sacks of mice

and the greengage tree

a negligent parent

whose sons all died from -

can't remember what - a love bite?

Only the lupin

ungainly lupin

with outdated frills

and pink leg-warmers

and a grey cap

and witch string puppets

dangling at its painted fingertips

is approachable

And maybe that's just cos

she grows over

my old dog's grave

(may 2007)

crossing

2010-01-04T00:45:00.002Z

Click.
(2005)

one hundred thousand million years old

2009-12-30T03:20:00.002Z

Click.

(Warwickshire, 2005)

mugabe on the radio (2000-2009)

2009-12-30T02:54:00.004Z

tv is the only thing
that makes me cry.

what do you remember?

a time when we spoke freely?
when we marched in the streets?
i can see the picture in my mind's eye.

i do not think i felt new
why then should i feel old now
but for this tin can heart with a piece of string wrapped around it
and a stone tied at the other end?

where do we live again?
please, miss, where do i live?
the commuter train speeds past old graffitti on the tunnel walls
'get blair out'

lost in the smallest
in the smallest

screen.
leaves turning over and over every minute of the day
sun and wind hitting the honeysuckle
row of seeds drawing from the soil

light.
lost shoe found on the balcony
the broken escalator at 4am
lost in the pipes
in the motherboards
in the storage facility (blank puzzle, endless mystery)
and the backroom
with the kettle
and the display box of cigars behind glass

please accept this gift

...

how it is, darling, in the snow is

2009-12-22T00:51:00.003Z

Small blue plastic bottle (once contained face cream), filled with brandy, the real stuff, she says

Did you drink the brandy?

Mum had a tipple

Dad, belligerent, refusing everything offered to him, trudging on in the snow

Denying: hot water bottle, brandy, chocolate, scarf, hat, gloves

Accepting: the walking cane brought back by my mother’s grandfather from Malaysia

The cane was grown from the ground up, straightened as it grew

Fastened to the top of the cane: an engraving in silver from the children of a school

On the edge of an old empire

Given in thanks

I see them in the distance

I flash the torch

Can’t remember how to signal SOS

What I mean instead: I am here. I recognise you. I have come to get you. I have walked out into the night and the snow to rescue you and bring you home. You are my parents. Hello.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

I flash the torch up into the branches, loaded with snow

The spare branches across the night sky are like fine gilded letters from an old, perhaps dead, universe

The sky itself, full of powder, glows with orange light, as the halo of light from an eclipsed star, as the aura around, or radiation from, all things

Only the electric glow of London and her M25

I hear the snow in the dark and it sounds like deer and foxes and wolves and all the old animals that slept or are sleeping where the white fell down, through trees, touching undergrowth, touching soil and skeleton leaf and fur and beak

Memory of the red horse pushing its nose deep into the thick blanket of soft snow, making broken tracks out of her desire for a fresh patch of grass, for something to curl under her tongue and teeth and chew

Walking from A

Walking from C

Meeting at B

Returning to A

ROAD CLOSED. POLICE SLOW

The road is ok. This stretch is ok. You can keep going. I’ve been walking half an hour and I’ve seen no accidents. This road is clear

Thanks. Funny night to take a walk, mate

I clutch the cane. I stab it deep into the snow

He clutches the cane. He walks more quickly and surely on this treacherous surface than he crosses the carpet in the living room

An argument later. Shut up. Don’t tell me to shut up

A phone call. Are you alive?

He walks in front

I take her arm, her shoes slip and slide

A hot plate of food, delivered two doors down

Like a petulant child

The concert was brilliant

He didn’t play the peace anthem

He didn’t play Home for Christmas

He played the B___ R___ though

Took me back twenty years.

House lights on

vanishing acts

2009-12-15T23:49:00.013Z

In the theatre a sword-shaped parcel has arrived for the magician. Magpies are hoarding razor-blades in their nests. A man sets fire to a tree that was a church. The magician is rehearsing his last grisly trick and the bird is hacking away in her high branches.

Every creature is preparing for the same act in its own way. A badger peers up at the cloud-strata and predicts dawn. The cows put out their tongues and note the wind temperature, hoping for a storm in which to raise lightning rods.

Everyone is busy.

A woman opens an avocado sandwich over her in-tray. It is full today. Each brown envelope contains a shard of glass. She spends the afternoon putting them together.

She stops to stare at the completed mirror. The breaks make up an Islamic pattern, all geometric shapes. She remembers such shapes do not occur in nature, but tests them secretively. The diamond shape. Did not a flock of birds create this once? The square. Was there not a single square plotted amongst all the stars in all the heavens?

The thought frightened her.

...

christmas tits

2009-12-14T01:20:00.002Z

miles to go before I sleep...

2009-12-14T01:14:00.005Z

kayak on a cognac - an evening in the punchbowl with jacob p

2009-12-11T20:34:00.003Z

(Bompas and Parr's absurd architectural punchbowl at 33 Portland Place.)

we feel fine (clay and opa gave me this feeling I needed)

2009-12-10T16:21:00.005Z

x x x

x x

X X x

X X

x x
x
x
x
x x

x

I didn’t feel like being all poetic in this entry because poetry sucks and I hate when people throw out their feelings to someone and the other person acts like nothing ever happened.

I was still wearing his robe as it billowed around me the room had a slight feel of an echo as the sound of my steps came back from the walls.

I’m still a bit snotty and a bit wheezy but the rest of me feels fine

I hate people watching me it makes me feel like an elephant or something really huge

I went to marks and spencer instead: the worrying thing is knowing if I do end up in some sort of relationship I’ll probably just sabotage myself in some way and make us both feel sad

I don’t feel I saw particularly many people today which is really weird cos I knew loads of people who were there and I didn’t avoid people or follow certaim people or whatever so I don’t know why that happened but yeah

I am beginning to feel energised and ready to take on the world again

I feel compelled to write in my journal despite not much happening in my life

I feel like a fourteen year old girl secretly writing her darkest secrets into a diary that only she will ever read probably some ten years later and become really embarrassed about the pretentious slip of a girl she was when she was young

I feel very happy that after years of wanting one I’ve finally got a relaxing fish tank but less happy that its been so stressful to acquire.

I have honestly nothing I really need to do today and that always leaves me feeling itchy and without purpose

im not wearing much and my hairs down my body feels more sensitive to my hair touching the body and I get shivers down my spine because I don’t know where the daddy long legs went and shudder the feeling that it could be on me argh.

I needed something to eat and didn’t feel like cooking so I decided to follow through on my idea of walking to charing cross

I also feel very connected to elephants who many feel manifest soul in ways humans do caring for young mourning for the departed I often feel sad for these creatures and wish they had the ability to communicate with us what they are feeling

im a pathetic aaron funk gushface who makes silly hypotheticals to feel connected to beautiful things

I cannot see or feel how the life of earth is connected to the life of other planets across the interstellar and intergalactic space

I feel so connected to my family and everyone I am unstoppable

I realise that after mum left I just needed to feel connected to people talking to clay and opa gave me this feeling I needed

I wear her on days when I need to feel connected and strong and full of feminine creative magic

I feel like just one night of being perfectly content would be enough to keep me going for another two months.

I feel people are colour coded its always the usual subjects that have irked rednecks since the time of the first rednecks in Scotland and Ireland who would charge romans naked and screaming get off ma land

I feel like a bad host for taking you here in silence

I feel all the long years of my life and yearn for my comfortable chair in front of the fireplace

I feel what feels like popcorn popping in my stomach its very light but there

I feel like its about nature and god

I feel my idea is that when people don’t see you they forget you

I feel like im digging my own grave right now that will be filled by the end of the summer

I feel so gay right now in the second definition sense

I feel like a kid in a car with child lock on

I hope you feel the same too shes making me a plate of food right now

x x x

x x

X X x

X X

x x
x
x
x
x x

x

Old book ages well.

2009-12-08T21:57:00.002Z

he sat up there too, once

2009-12-08T14:51:00.000Z

.
.
.

the boy walks into a macdonalds and orders a coke; he slumps over a table at the back, alone

the dark coloured boy and the light coloured boy kiss on the street corner

they walk down the highstreet holding hands

the exhibit in the museum moves her to tears, her companion thinks he understands why

the little girl goes shopping with her grown-up cousins

the young man and his grandmother are on holiday together

the little boy is getting sun burnt by the pool while his mother is drinking cocktails; a stranger tells him to sit in the shade

the old lady waits for the gift you promised her

someone you once knew stops you on the train and you don't know their name, only a vague feeling of what it used to mean to talk to them

the married woman reads that masturbation is the best way to prevent an oncoming migraine

a woman doesn't allow herself to become transparent to her partner

as a boy he had problems with criticism so he expresses contrary opinions on a single subject so as not to be called wrong

he cannot imagine his father existing in those decades

they work so hard for such little reward, permanently damaging their natural resources

she lies about not having taken a particular drug before

he talks about the ex he still loves while snorting coke with a beautiful friend

infront of a stranger

in a friend’s bedroom

the grocer confuses them for mother and son, they laugh darkly – ‘she’s not my mother’

she has a considerable strength which she keeps by always putting it to use

she doesn’t understand why people don’t love her at first sight

he unconsciously invades his friend's personal space, they inch across the floor in a strange dance

as the friend retreats he follows

while waiting they play a clapping game

she sings longer than he, he sings louder than she

they read the same book at the same time on the aeroplane, as the pages fall out he hands them to her

they met in a poem written by a mutual friend

he makes him think differently even though they’ve never met or spoken

he sat up there too, once

he lies in the bed but feels as though he will roll off it

passing children make fun of his bike but he doesn't understand why

they try and set him up with a prostitute but he doesn’t want a prostitute, he’s in love with one of them

facial hair admiration from one who can’t grow it to one who can

he gets drunk and jumps in the pool

how he greeted me: held out left hand with palm facing up

he tastes like stale cigarettes and sweat

he kisses like a teenager

on his way to the swimming pool, dressed only in red shorts, he meets the Serbian

it is almost breakfast time and he is still stumbling about near reception, calling for champagne

when he kisses he makes a clamp-like grip with his arm around the other’s neck

he kept talking when she wanted to think

she tells everyone to stop treating her like a mother, secretly loving it

her hands cover her open mouth when she sees baby clothes in the supermarket

he doesn’t understand computers

she always forwards her junk-mail

they take different routes to the same station

he isn't happy till he's made her cry

others think he’s overprotective; he thinks it's no bad thing

he believes society should be free enough for him to kill someone and have a chance of getting away with it

he takes full advantage of his boyfriend's manic episodes

he calls a group of heckling women 'cunts' and they chorus 'wooooh'

he completes the hardest sudoku ever but there’s no one around to tell

the phone is switched off

he looks in the mirror at them having sex

he feels self conscious chatting with the hairdresser

someone he knows walks in

the three of them sit around a tree on a summer’s day

his voice made exactly the right sound to make the room reverberate

every wednesday they would meet for their seminar and the room would shake

.
.
.

In which Demi Moore has an epiphany

2009-12-08T14:01:00.000Z

DEMI

Demi Moore is sprawled naked on her bed. It’s mid-afternoon. She’s drinking a coke. From time to time she emits tiny little gaseous burps. Her short stubby fingers and chipped nails work their way across her sleek Macbook keyboard as she updates the world on the progress of her lazy afternoon. Her boyfriend Ashton Kutcher is photographing her butt.

Honey, stop taking pictures of my butt.

ASHTON

Ashton cannot stop. He is amazed by the butt. The butt is amazing because it is precisely what it should not be. It should be a saggy fifty year old lady’s butt. But it’s not. On account of miraculous, unabashed, full-body surgery, its young looking and pert and delightful to the touch.

I love your body, baby.

Ashton gets closer, parts the butt cheeks and peers at his girlfriend’s sphincter, puckered and purplish; it resembles the heart of a bitten peach.

DEMI

Get away from my asshole!

ASHTON

Too late, Ashton has snapped it on his SLR camera.

Amazing.

Ashton’s pecker is stiffening. He starts to rub himself very gently, flicking back through the pictures he has just taken.

DEMI

Meanwhile Demi on Twitter, picks up a link to Youtube. Oh my god, watch this, it says. In the small animated rectangle, bright lights and faces rush. A portal has been opened. Five red stars shout anonymous approval in the corner. Demi watches. Watches as a disgustingly ugly and mildly disabled looking woman talks from beneath a proscenium arch to a man who looks like, yes – it’s him, it’s the British one from American Idol.

An audience jeers as this foul-looking hairy old woman declares that she wants to be a professional singer. And then suddenly she bursts into song and…

Something happens to Demi during that three minute clip of a woman singing. Something stirs within her. Her eyes widen. Her pulse quickens. Her fingertips slip from the keyboard, damp with sweat. She cannot equate the face with the voice, which soars, which is majestic, heart-felt, regal. From out of the cyber gloom this woman’s song flies and pierces Demi in a way she is not equipped to deal with. Something she cannot express about body. About desire.

Tears spring to the corners of her eyes.

ASHTON

Ashton presses his cock against her hole, and gently, silkily, eases himself inside.

_____

Question & Answer With Myself

2009-11-19T00:58:00.000Z

QUESTIONS 2005 / ANSWERS 2008

WHAT WILL I MISS?

YOU WILL MISS THE MARRIAGE, YOU WILL MISS THE GOOD OPPORTUNITY FOR THE OTHER ONE WHICH IS HARDER

WHY DO I SPEAK STRANGELY WHEN I DRINK GIN?

BECAUSE THE GIN PUTS A CLOWN IN YOUR MOUTH

WHAT MAKES THE G IN GIN SOUND SOFT?

A COUNTRY IN AN AGE AND THEN A TRADE ROUTE

HOW LONG DID THE THOUGHT OF ME LINGER?

HALF A SECOND

WHY ISN'T SKIN MORE LIKE ARMOUR?

BECAUSE THEN WE'D BE REALLY FUCKING SAD

DO I LOOK BETTER WITH A BEARD?

NO

WHAT DO MY INSIDES LOOK LIKE?

GROSS

WILL I EVER HAVE AN OUT OF BODY EXPERIENCE?

YOU'RE HAVING ONE NOW

CAN TELEVISION DESTROY LIVING?

EVERYTHING DESTROYS EVERYTHING, AND IT’S FUN, REMEMBER THE BALL POND WHEN YOU WERE KIDS

DO I HAVE NICE HANDS?

YOU HAVE NICE HANDS

WHAT DID I FEEL GUILT FOR TODAY?

THINKING OBVIOUS, SHALLOW THINGS ABOUT LOVE.

WHEN WILL I BE RECOGNISED BY A STRANGER?

YOU HAVE BEEN

AND COULD YOU CALL THAT LOVE?

YOU DID

WHAT DOES THE HOUSE LOOK LIKE WHEN I AM GONE?

FULL

IS THERE A FOREST NEARBY WHERE WE CAN WALK?

YOU KNOW THERE IS, LOVE, LET ME SHOW YOU

(_____)

Instruction For a Glass of Water

2009-11-07T15:44:00.000Z

Throw open the largest south facing window in your house. Pour a tall glass of cold water. Fill it to the brim. (There should be more water in the glass than seems possible - see how it is held there by its own skin?) Place the glass carefully on the window ledge in the afternoon. Before long you will see a perfect little cloud forming in the air above the glass, floating there, just a few centimetres above the surface of the water. It may only last a few minutes. Some have been known to linger for hours, though this is rare.

(Mexico, 2007)