Just before...

I make sure that nobody will be able to exploit 
what I have done. 

I triangulate. 
Maybe it needs to be a trapezium. 
I'm not the one who is controlling that. 

I just control the plane. 
I make sure the landing gear is deployed. 
Then sail smoothly into the fog. 

Sometimes it is as scary as hell  

>HELL 
But I keep a calm and open mind. 
I tell myself that it's going to be okay.

There is an uncanny tint.

Greedier in the Feed Machine

Being written, over a measured period. May 14 - May 31 (2012)

And clearly wasn't. Now being written over some other...measures. Antecedent is here.

---

When the snake first heard this ruffling, sort of  papery sound, it had thought, "Oh there goes another mouse." It just snuck its head back to its important work (the underbelly), and ignored said rodent.

Some snakes like to crawl very carefully, so it is important to them the disposition of their bellies, cute as that disposition might be. They move slowly, slowly feeling the earth upon which they are moving, hearing the sounds of the forest or jungle. They have a favourite tree or two that they like to sit next to, and they know when or where any big storms will come.

This is a survival mechanic. Once you don't know the position of the big storms, you're pretty much dead. Not much sympathy. There are other snakes, little tiny thin and green ones that can just dart around, biting your face, but we are talking about a huge snake here. Massive in both mass and size.

This snake can afford to let little mice go.

But it wasn't a mouse that had ruffled its feathers (Yes, feathers), was it? Wasn't a little whiskered and whiskeyed furry little brown fellow poking and sniffing where he shouldn't, running its life away in pure nervousness. It didn't have that vibration, that mischief--that je sais quoi, mais...

No, this time it was a chick. It was tapping away, over its skin. The snake slowly uncurled its head. Not that this was a cobra, oh no. No embarrassing flaps. Just the size of the whole snake meant that it had to wait, reposition, wait, reposition, etc. etc.

But it finally saw the chick. Yellow, fluffy. There was a duck once, too, similarly yellow, fluffy, but that one turned out to be a huge mistake. The type of snake we are talking about cannot afford to make two mistakes. So, the snake watched the chick for a long, long time, as it pecked and twittered around.

.

Tweed was having a very hard time explaining to the prostitute why he couldn't bring himself to be fellated by her, when she mentioned something that gave him pause. She had said, "Well then, let me slip into something a little..." and her voice had trailed off (for him), just like that.

She could see that he was suddenly under a lot of stress. "How long have you been living like this?" asked Berlyn.

"Oh," said Tweed, rubbing thumbs together, "it's been about two years."

"You must have family," she tried. "Friends?"

But Tweed only shot straight out of the room, down the stairs and over the turnstile at the station entrance. She was a little pissed off, honestly, as she watched his receding performance from her window, but when she finally turned away and saw what he had left for her, she realized that in fact, Tweed was just a very kind man, who maybe didn't fully know how to take a rest, or relax.

Tweed, already miles away, carefully considered his visage on on the cheap plastic of the train seat. It hadn't just been two years. For him, it had been thousands of years. That is what happens when someone you considered a good friend starts slipping in and out of people. They had called Williams a psychopath, but Tweed wasn't sure.

He hadn't exactly killed anyone yet.

Sonic Bloom!

Sudden heat, spores
allergies of affection.
Pollen don't want but
immediately, crabs.

The gentle milk streaming.
Finally landing the plane propeller-ly.
Twelve other indignant boy-racers.
Just two girls.

Oh wait. Twelve women.
Sixteen. Twenty-five.
Thirty!

Infinite women. All, of them. All of them!

Crying Dude in Computer Lab

"*Invents amazing new tech where, if you scan a dvd you own into the camera, the movie suddenly starts to begin.* #wastingtimewithdiscs"

I then added, "If you scan a dvd you don't own, it plays a recording of your birth"

Satisfied, I rose and scanned the computer lab. There he was again. This guy that spent way too much time there. But this time, he was crying. He was staring into the monitor, and tears were coming from his face.

Being an investigator of all things, I approached this human, and asked, "You ok, man?"

I mean, something must have happened, right? "Did your gf just break up with you, online?" I asked. I tried to apply humor: "Heh. Maybe she faxed it to you, eh?"

He didn't even seem to see me. Something had happened that was visually depicted to him on the monitor that I was not privy to. A new set of tears drained down his rosy cheeks, and now, he even sniffled a little.

"What? Did you just learn your mother died, or something?" I touched him with my left boot. "You alright?," I asked. "What are you fucking crying about?"

No response.

"Just, cause, like, I have to spend a lot of time in this computer lab. I don't want your tears gradually causing a biological hazard that could injure my person."

Nothing. No response.

"Can I do something for you, to make you stop the crying?" I asked. Incentives are always motivational.

Then something unexpected happened. Something unforseen. The man turned his head to me, and, with a little sniff, asked, "Yes. Can you get me a cola?" Then he turned his head back to the monitor, and continued with his weeping.

Right. Sure. I had been meaning to go to the vending machine anyway.

Heart Feel

Bad things happened last night. I issue, now, a public apology, which can be only so heartfelt.

My hope in doing this is that this will be the end of it.

What is "it", you ask?

I don't know whether to tell you plainly, or to somehow butter you up first. Or to just lie. An event of such magnitude could only be felt in the bone, not in flesh or the vagaries of little neurons travelling in such mushy topic as the biological brain.

But know that it was felt through these pathways too. And after we switched off all the lasers, the quantum drives and all the special-eject-seats, we experienced a short moment of it.

That is all I will say. Good morning.

Petrol Breath

Had the nozzle in fuel tank
to sink a few timezones.
Would take a little time so
lit a cigarette up.

Plastic melted onto scalp,
gashes round the elbows,
I asked the little store ma'am
where the vaseline was.

She didn't say, but was staring at me in a way that guaranteed we had communicated.
This was when I began believing in telepathy, as the explosion had blown my lips clear off.

"Where's the damn vaseline,
little gas station store ma'am?"
My pants were lighting on fire,
my nipples dripping petrol on it.

If you saw the CCTV footage of that afternoon, you'd see my apparition jogging
haphazardly around the chips and candy aisle, searching wildly for any sign of pharmaceuticals or skin care.

She reached under the register
pulled out her eight-gauge.
Pointed at me, then pulled,
blowing my brains out.

Sticky gobs of burning napalm
with tiny splinters of my skull
flew as my body did a little dance,
all over the back wall.

Suddenly the store was all explosions. Little ma'am ran out, screaming.
A jar of vaseline rolled uselessly to my foot, and from above, a stray tic-tac landed into my torn open throat.

It didn't help much with the petrol breath.

Clear The Years

Can't hear anything.
My years are full up.
34 years not a bad amount.

My mother used to poke sharp instruments,
say, a hairpin or (during daring missions) a wood toothpick
to tickle my auditory canal
and 'clean' me.

This has become only a most obvious message
about how I am supposed to exist and operate.

There is something deep in there.

Thank you, mother. What else was there before?