thoughts (fragments)

untitled by kerryab


i used to read you, but now i don't understand what you're saying anymore, that's what he says.
- yes, i know what you mean.
- what?
- even i don't know what i'm writing anymore.
- what?
[it's just night on night. dark on dark. stumbles and grasps. left turns when you're lost, who knows, it's a who knows]


___*___*___*

the kids talk about their futures. where they want to go, what jobs, who wants to be the next attorney-general, who wants to be a high court judge. i sip my soda water, stare into nothing. all the while making three people laugh with talk of cartwheels and unicorn and an occasional joke about masturbatory habits. next thing i remember i'm at a train station, in a shower, on a treadmill, in this bed. it's tomorrow, it's today. it's never all the time. f&ck is going on?


___*___*___*

i'm going to buy my own place. like... soon.
to celebrate i'm going to blast portishead and drink a bottle of rum alone and get naked and stare at my ceiling and cry that my bookshelf is near me again.
___more likely i'll repaint the whole thing for no reason other than... dominion. then i'll bust down a wall or pull or a rug and take it outside and punch it for half an hour until my knuckles bleed.


___*___*___*

a young girl walks past me on the train platform. she has short brown hair and light skin. a little dazed, but conscious, even... defiant. steps with certainty. she's barefoot, she has stockings that are ripped up and dirty. purple pants. i can't stop staring at her. a time-machine. there's a universe somewhere she's an angel. she makes no sense to me - she's not a junkie. not a hipster. there's no other option, she's an angel from a heaven i don't know the name of.


___*___*___*

maybe i need a haircut. maybe i should have stayed on the treadmill longer. maybe i need to kiss someone's breasts. maybe not. maybe i need more pills, or less. or more time. or more things to do.
___i need to stretch. pray. (is that the same thing?) fall. more friends, or fewer strangers (that's different).


___*___*___*

i tell her i'll wear i a leopard skin pocket square. she tells me she'll wear a skin tight leopard print dress and knee-highs. we'll be the king and queen she says. (i don't hear, i'm imagining it).


___*___*___*

i used to write well. maybe i used to think better, maybe that's the problem - my thoughts are damaged. i've lost the feel of myself.


___*___*___*

someone asks me what i'm doing next year. that's a coded invitation for a conversation about the future, the professional future. i tell her i'm taking the year off to dedicate myself to the art of assisting lion tamers in the circus. she giggles and asks really. i tell her i'm moving to las vegas to die. she asks why, i realise the film-allusion is lost on her. i tell her i'm going to the north of Norway where unicorn are rumoured to have been spotted. really? she presses. i tell her i'm going to take the year to decide if i should use black pens exclusively. by now she seems to realise i'm not being serious. i'm relieved. excuse myself.


___*___*___*

she texts out of the blue and asks me to get a 4 hour flight and take a 4 hour drive to see her. i wonder if she needs a friend or a lover. i imagine both. we all need both. i tell her i will if i can. i surprise myself by actually meaning it. turns out i can't. i text her back and tell her i can't. i surprise myself by feeling a little disappointment.


___*___*___*

this coming weekend i will go to a gallery. the opera.
whatever. whoever.
bring it.