1 poem and two short stories.

Fuck! I wish I were festive!

For Ezra.

The synthetic fibres of Gran’s evergreen glow;
pubes of a sweetcorn giant.

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Nose

Yesterday whilst navigating the jungle of steam growing in my bathroom I peer through into the mirror to notice how big my nose is. It reminded me of a freckled galleon’s bough cutting through the fog to find its way to port. My nose is so big it is like a puffins, it may be a puffins if I had that red patch on the tip. The thing that pains me however is not the size but the fact of me not having big nose characteristics like hog sniffles or a red beacon glowing on cold, winter mornings. It is as if I’m just a small nosed spirit occupying a big nosed body.

After my morning bath I shall try to write an essay on “representations of life through art, 1840 till 2008." I really shall try, but it’s not that simple when you know that if you were to lie down and face upward to the sun you would become an impromptu sun dial and the time would be sprawled across your brow.

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Bus

Just this week I had the pleasure of riding the bus with three very impressive people. The three impressive people who chose the 404 were the following; Daniel Johnston, Richard Brautigan and William S Burroughs. Needless to say I would’ve been awestruck to ride the bus with one notorious persona but finding three in a week is something else. I was really quite excited and this is why I never talked to any of them. The only way I can explain is remember when as a kid you would shake your friend’s can of coke furiously so it exploded like a sugary, geyser upon opening? Well my stomach felt like a can of coke that had been victim to one of youth’s trademark shakes and upon seeing these gentlemen I was afraid that I might splutter if I opened my mouth. Still three impressive people boarded the 404 and I just have to tell you about it.

Daniel Johnston got on half way through my morning trek on the Monday morning, he had put on rather a lot of weight and it was like watching a pastry obsessed planet navigate a canal tunnel. He sat two seats behind me and breathed heavily all the way to college. He had grew his hair long and was reading from a book about aircraft. He kept making eyes at some sour girl, I couldn’t understand why, she looked like a cuttle fish but then again everyone has different pleasures.

Richard Brautigan boarded on the Tuesday morning. I couldn’t believe he was riding this God-damn-bus all the God-damn-way to where I studied art. I couldn’t see no fishing poles or anything of that nature so I thought that he must be off to visit one of his girlfriends. Richard also boarded back on at the same time I left college he had smile on his face like sunshine caught in a jam jar all the way back so I imagine he had a great time where ever he went. I watched his smile all the way back a great ivory dining table under that chandelier moustache of his, it made me feel a bit better myself.

I can’t really tell you much about William S Burroughs on the Friday, he only bought a short hop and was gone within two stops. I just remember that he was wearing a knitted hat pulled right over his ears. I think he had a head cold.