not before and not after

By | 1 August 2016

a bone white linen jumpsuit hangs in the corner of my lush pad it spits up crude reproductions of ink  samples but you remember its    scent you know you must ward off  its digi vomit stains which transfer  to other materials like your skin cells and your soft spotted knickers  or else i might have to expel you for taking my crouching figures and hurling them  towards my mouth hole while the bone white linen sends signals in through our earholes and we flee, we flee

into  the

recesses of my lush pad it seems  the bone white linen jumpsuit is trying to acquire genitals  but it has not quite figured out  what genitals are since they were eradicated in the last great witch wars  of the previous century before the linen jumpsuit ever was dreamt into existence    we return  to our history  to the fold of  carpet in the  corner of my  lush pad you reach  into your pants  the owl arrives  at the window  and is accompanied  by organ chords we try  to uncover the source  of the organ chords  you rip my shirt open.     there is a vibration from beneath the carpet and we are immediately  suspicious of the bone white linen  jumpsuit & you forget that i liked to repeat phrases from my secret  lover the affective labourer bot like  ‘i produce a sexist sonnet to make you

feel relieved’

you don’t even know  how to write a sonnet  you scream directly into  my mouth hole i sob  i admit it again but can you  admit something to a person if you both already  know it, is it actually called  admission   i reach behind  the jumpsuit it  electrocutes me  you try to kiss  my ear hole you are  botanically inclined towards certain sexual  positions but i am forgetting the last time  we were in this lush pad  there were fifteen of us  and four owls and  alette was descending and we stroked the window pane,  cried out ‘what is a surface’  how do we tension relate  to each other’s experience  of hostile school ground memories  i couldn’t see the linen jumpsuit it was no longer in the lush pad  i hurled my stomach contents  onto the vibrating carpet it reaches  up to my face as if to say

‘it will be okay’

the jumpsuit is spitting up crude  ink face spots into your pants  it is emanating a soft violet glow it brings out the violet in your eyes  which are now welling with tears you glance  down to your hand and your pants,,,,    a squid is breaking  through the carpet now  and i remember the first time you encountered doreen massey  & i wonder whether witches  can expand rooms  or feel the inside of a squid without breaking it open i close my eyes  i hum  i squeeze  your fists into your quads  i squat down in the toddler squat  my trainer taught i picture  the gummy insides of the squid’s body  i forget for a moment the bone white linen jumpsuit has been forged  from the bones of my body    i plead

to the squid

and to the witch that was not me but in fact another being in this room i had ignored until now    i fake orgasms to distract the linen jumpsuit so the squid can escape i read loudly from the inside of my skin you remove your hand from your pants only to discover you have removed your hand entirely from your body and it sits now on your pants.     we gaze around our walls of this lush pad really my lush pad i remember fondly the moment before we were cursed with the bone white linen jumpsuit it is now fondling the witch’s shoulders it shoots its ink like sex juice into the squid’s mouth we realise we were thinking too much about sex this entire time and wonder if it’s a side effect of the fish oil tablets we’ve been

wolfing down or

maybe because of certain deaths that have left us numb &    then our boyfriends start raining outside only they are not whole people but body parts and they looks suspiciously like everyday household objects. objects that have a  point of view are they capital? or did the spell just backfire        baroque eroticism is the name for our eulogy slash memoir.    the linen jumpsuit is no longer quite bone white but remains bone, it hopes for memories outside itself it wishes the universe a

long half life


This entry was posted in 75: FUTURE MACHINES and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

Comments are closed.