More comely than a Palfrey's Gazookus

Posted by blackjack-davey on Sun, 26 Oct 2014

An old lady staggering in the street in a quilted turqouise anorak/body suit looked so much like an alzheimers astronaut, tipping slowly into the wind.. david bowie in sheltered housing
 
Weird dream of teenage girls, beauties, watching me take a bath through the skylight. One starts opening her buttocks and shitting through the window and the turd turns into the neck of  a honking
canada goose that starts flapping round the bathroom causing havoc with my  moisturizers... and then later I'm aware I've been burgled-- takes days to work out what has gone--- only objects of sentimental value, a post-it note from a dead lover, a dried bay leaf from a greek island, pebbles from Shingle street--- but the sense that maybe the stuff has just been mislaid. How often do you get
the bay leaf out for a quick sniff and then we're driving to a wooden house by the river, the roads are flooded and in this empty house are lots of people staring at a wall pinned with all their stolen post-it notes and trinkets, mine are among  them and the perpetrator is about to arrive
 
you can't make this fucking stuff up
 
The signs of ageing parents-- they forget to put gravy on the roast chicken, they no longer put out the redcurrant jelly or crab apple jelly-- those sauces were once bold statements of changing attitudes to cooking, the loosening of rules, sweetness and convention-busting ideas that signalled a culinary confidence, an end to findus! But now it's back to sauceless meats
 
Toilet flush doesn't offer more than a trickle but mum with early onset dementia says, ' it's just getting old like me.. it needs to be pulled slowly..'
 
dad tells me he only gets erections at 4am... how can he advertise for a lover at this antisocial time.. he says he will provide tea and biscuits.
 
Read a corker, Dorothy Hughes In A Lonely Place completely related to the serial rapist, disappearing in the Californian fog, wearing his tan gabardines, living off handouts from Uncle Fergus. We all need an Uncle Fergus.
 

Comments

Submitted by VeraClark on

Long to meet the astronaut. Tears came to eyes. Of laughter. The mixed jellies symbolised parental cramming and stuffing, the primary colours of more decorated feasts. Now there's only dehydration, fibrous stringy meat, scent of domesticity drying up, the boot leather skin of bird. Haven't cracked a smile all day. It's the infinite darkness settling in. The drum tum. The loss of time and illumination that beckons beyond my plump handed stretch for light where only maternal darkness settles. As the body stills and slows, loss beckons. Loss of myself and blood loss. Loss of independence, sanity. Sleep. The gains are huge but hidden behind mottled statues of Greek men with bulbous phallus in hand. I too need to be pulled slowly, rotated in bed like a pig on a wired spit roast. Ribs crunch at dawn break as inexplicable weight descends on IKEA's Beech. Must read Hughes. See how I slipped a simile in earlier because I can't write without comparing oneself, my innate tendency is to overuse the word 'like', usually making comparisons to an animal associated with sin.

 

Submitted by blackjack-davey on

the baby in the womb too is reaching a webbed hand towards the light-- you are being slowly cooked in the winter dark, the nourishing dark.  forget the knock-off statues at the garden centre or the men standing still in car parks or waiting in towels on guest house landings...

 read D H-- something lovely about the blue pool on the patio, never swum in, and the slow unravelling of the misogynistic mind  and the fog rolling in on the country club