the interview

In amongst the darkness is where I found it hiding, full of melody and rhythm. It looked at me and just wouldn't stop.

Pervet I though and that is when it infected my spine and that was that. I was breeched.

Here I lie in the palm of a bean bag. Sound throbs inside me like sex. A hammer strikes some stubborn nail, it will not drive down. It strikes and strikes then rests to let another creature from the cosmos penetrate. Soft sine waves undulate a cymbals splash and edge me on. I am not here, I am beside myself.

A deep breath enters, pauses and I let it go. so simple and under these conditions so profoundly exquisite.

i am gratitude. My finger tips are sticky and dart so smoothly over the geography of this keyboard and the unspoken passenger, that one that is never happy he is hear too, and now he has been shone upon, and is slowly evaporating,

He does not like that i type. i wander why he does not like it?

My bladder is the enemy today. It is nagging.

The reality of me in this stage is .... I am typing and i have allowed a daemon to possess me and as i attempt to record this exiting of the reality. Is keep yawning, and my fidgeting fingers hop over the keys and the music calls and then the bladder interrupts.

i am drawing in beauty of the silhouette

my head lolls forward and the eyes go closed and the draw of the shore as it respires called forth my death for today.

And now another metronome is here. it clips neatly and my beck seays and my vgin pokes at happy intervals. I am so happy with my life and i do not know who to tell i. There is noting quite like it.

Even breathing is exciting this is like being asleep and seeing behind the scenes of how your dreams get made.

And my fingers fire off and strike at keys and how did they know where they are supposed to go.

I am not sure which is better. eyes open or closed. The view is bright and there are pockets of light where my attention lingers. A building opposite on my side of the road are two large trees. The wind blows the leaves and they wave fingerless green palms at me, the greeting is quite frantic and quite charming.

The leaves wag the tree. The excited child on her mothers leash. The young energy travels the stalk and conducts into the stew and on to the branch and each generation of connection is a moment where the young energy is lost. And finally at the trunk there is no movement at all. The bow is sturdy and holds up the eternity of all its children. And feeds the floor and the tree extends to resemble itself again inside the world and out of sight.

I wander if the keyboard is even switched on. It could be off and i would not know or care.

I wander about my book, over the road. I wander if i will ever read these words the my fingers are hammering out so loyally?

With every urination the delicious toxic in which i am currently suspended, is decanted from my blood and given a watery funeral. I dread the bladder for catching me. At some point this too will end and i will read about what happened to me this afternoon under the spell of music.

Music is the only daemon that i eagerly invite into me.

Invite the daemon in. and surrender to all the impulses as they occur twisted acoustics and throbs and taps and clattering plates. They murder sadness. And while melancholy is dead i wage war with him. And the physical evidence of yes is the nodding of the beck.

That is the function of YES, that is the microscopic extension of essential you. Yes, yes, yes, i nod, to the sounds . They have no memorable words to record in the folds of my mind, these are sounds alone, these are algorithms of the wave these are the wiggles of the air. The sounds without word share where the soul resides. There is no synapse that can be mined to find me. It is the orchestra that makes me. It is the brain and all those current wires that knit me a jail from which i am gratefully found. It is full of stale love and wasted smiles and aches of the belly that constitute the stuff that once was. the sole is the wave of the leaf on the stem. there is no glove that can contain it. the past is the clove that is knit of memories into which the soul is housed, each finger slotted and the cuff defined.

i take stock of the flesh man. cross legged.

It is time again to let some toxins out.


The sky blossomed unobstructed as far as the eye could reach. Arid car in the middle lane passed by.


Charlie entered and the sergeant released her elbow at the door. Charlie entered and sat down at an ugly blue table. Opposite her was a woman staring at her lap.

The woman hands where under the table fidgeting.

she decided put her left arm on the table.

Immediately the stump started to tingle. the stump recognised the limb. the stump produce stavving pains in places that no longer existed. pain messages were sent to the small of elect fingers to provoke u to move away. But there was not obedient recoil. so the nerves truncated lit up and there was not leaf at the end of the branch.

The arm on the other side of the rtavle had it own flight venter.

charlies pilled her hand to stoke the missing arm and rememvered and decided to pit te arm under the tavle too.

she recofniesd ir. like a an old pair of shoes in the ack of the closes, and with he recofnition came a flood of memories. charlie reahed over to the other side and the hands rouched figers, and the hand twitched and drew aeau unexpectantlu,as it rolled charlie saw a atoo on the wite under celly.


She frowned.

Show me the whole thing. She said the fait of her throat careful moderating anger, "plwase" she added

the woman raised her eyes enoght to see her wrist and then introduced the right arm.

it was shocking and charlie it her lip. the womans arm was paler. her fine flume was incisivle from where se say,where Charlies arm was wires on the forearm.she hated tem,

the womand pulled the sleece down to the wrist and then collapsed her shoulder inward and peeled out of her cardigan. and pulled only the left arm ot of it sleece.

Charlies was shocked.

the pale under neath was hatched with scares, and she reached forward and stroked her frafted forearm, and he woman weptin shame at how she cut and vandalised someone elses private properyu. it was shameful. annd her shame and disfust at rher own priviledge made Charlie cough.

i i dont understand. wy would you do it? she asked

the woman wept in reply.

where is the rest? Charlie sputtered out before she burst into tears.

the elbow was missing from the woman arm.

The forearm had a rejoining limb, where the foreign limp had joined to the natural arm, but the join was below the ellow.

(or maye not??)

The policeman intercedes and asks Charlie not to touch, but the woman offerers her arm forward and takes charlies hand.

The door opens again and a woman enters. She is wears an expensive skirt suit. She walks around to the womans side of the ravle.

Get up we are leaving, she said.