This is not the cheese

25Feb08

One by one I am killing off every person I know.

(In my dreams only.)

This morning I fell from a concrete roof garden and woke up with a smile hovering above me somewhere, my fist still clenched around the neck of a red wine bottle long dissolved away.

After having killed my father three nights ago with a three foot mottled aubergine I cried a number of tears (320) unequaled in wakefulness since the day Fritz with his torn velvet ears and snaggle-tooth ran away when I was nine.

Some nights the absurd comedy killing is impossible to separate from unbearable bottomless sadness.

Other nights my dreams are simple, detached experiments in which weapon works best, tested with perfunction in the Dali-warped car park of the multiplex cinema in town.

(It is not the cheese. There is no cheese in the fridge for it not to be.)


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5 Responses to “This is not the cheese”  

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  1. 1 Ziv Catbee on February 25, 2008 said:

    Please don’t kill me!

  2. 2 goddamnright on February 25, 2008 said:

    Heh heh. You’re next on the list ;)

  3. 3 An Unreliable Witness on February 25, 2008 said:

    Can I just pretend I didn’t read the second line of this post? Please?

  4. 4 goddamnright on February 26, 2008 said:

    Yes. This is why it is in brackets, to make it easier for you to pretend. Were this not a computer, I would have written it in lemon juice.

  5. 5 Ziv Catbee on February 26, 2008 said:

    *And* hammered out in minced pies.

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