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connor-reidPoems
LANGTON CRESCENT Shameless, a ****** Jeopardy has no place in the closest of motion, signalling to eachother, that you might be related, or friends. Childhoods, more than one - in a single life, spent without knowledge of such, such an event, in times of jovial adolescence I was there. But I don't remember, brash epithets of discoloured repression, I remove my ensconcing cap. Opening up a can of cold worms, static from the cold draught which is brought in by an open door, as everyone leaves the room. There I am... I was there! Someone died here, I'd never been in this house. Clutching onto my mothers hand, through forced habit & love wandering through life with a keen interest in 'Why?' A stark contrast to the average 'How?' That fills up the long, tall order of the cancerous accolade of dynamic erroneousness that any self disrespecting lifeform would call - 'A day'. Whom did I concern? I was a spectator without a ticket, being let in for free gross mistruths passing from one ear and out the other, intimidating externalisations taken shape in cathode ray tubes happy to give away nothing for free purging on selfishness as the 'adults' talk and I induce A boyfriend. Too much to drink. A secret sapphic affair, that made them happy, it made sense. Too much to drink. A ring at the door. Too. Much. To. Drink. Panic. It's fine...Invite him in for a drink, act like it's all ok. I still love you both (I don't.) He knows. (what is going on.) People aren't stupid, but they knew he knew - they'd planned for this. Upset. Anger. A fight. Resolution. Kitchen. Knife up sleeve. Make up. She drew him close in her embrace ... 38 times the instrument was coerced to and from its target like a nodding head. acknowledging the destruction of the viscera untangling the truth the complications of the human condition spilling onto the floor like hot milk, tainted by the penance of basic sin an overzealous lesson in the fleeting nature of causation. the sand of divine comedy, fluttering through the hands of the undeserving emptying itself onto the floor, every grain more anxious than the last. Dead. Still as the motionless climb of winter across a silvered pond. Staring at the almost ***** tangling of carpet hair, lifted from the hardwood floor like a jigsaw on fire. 'fake' Oozings spattered sloppily across skirting boards, not all unlike an ill **** on the cling of a public toilet bowl. blues, reds, purples, blacks clashing with the absence of concern this two bedroom tenement was unwell, discharging its secrets to the seed, too much for the eyes of a child. There is a reek, a stench of metal (copper?) - enticing my nostrils towards curiosity and a juxtaposition of absolute revulsion. The story; A boyfriend. Two friends drinking. A ring at the door. Oh joy! (lies) He enters. An argument. He hits her. (lies) Upset. Anger. A fight. He doesn't stop hitting her. (lies) She runs to the Kitchen. Knife. She defends herself. (lies) He dies. Septic. **** we need to fix this, I need your help!" "We need to make this look right, fuck...Self defense, for the police coming." "Quickly, hit me! We need to make it look like he abuses me." "When we're done, phone the police pronto and get our stories straight." "I'm a victim ok?" "Ok." In and out. Easy. She's the first in Scotland, nevermind Glasgow to get away with her situation - Lightly that is, 5 years in Cornton Vale, an all female prison somewhere in Stirling. The other gets away with it - 'Art and part section 293 of the CPA act 1995'. No charge. As far as they were concerned it was justified (reasonable force). She gets what she wants. She gets her other half whenever she beckons. Driven there. No thanks. Selfish. But she's in love and maybe she has a debt to pay. maybe she was more involved than she lets on. doesn't want her life ruined. errands? favours? you name it. Someone you grow up with, someone who you consider family. Are they capable of mad passion? A glitch in character? Can a good person do bad things and feel nothing? I wince at the retelling of a story. Buried deep in the waxy imbalances of memory as if it never happened jittered from clarity like a snowglobe that never settles laughing at the absurd sourced from fermented sparkles and igniting omission. I was there. Not long after and not long before. Sitting on the couch and kicking my feet, getting lost in the cushions and brooming in the damp, familiar sniff of the 1990s. Blinds drawn, cups of hot chocolate and endless laughter - remembrance and reflection entwined dividing action from thought. I was there! ...But the memory escapes me.
0
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Langton Crescent
LANGTON CRESCENT Shameless, a ****** Jeopardy has no place in the closest of motion, signalling to eachother, that you might be related, or friends. Childhoods, more than one - in a single life, spent without knowledge of such, such an event, in times of jovial adolescence I was there. But I don't remember, brash epithets of discoloured repression, I remove my ensconcing cap. Opening up a can of cold worms, static from the cold draught which is brought in by an open door, as everyone leaves the room. There I am... I was there! Someone died here, I'd never been in this house. Clutching onto my mothers hand, through forced habit & love wandering through life with a keen interest in 'Why?' A stark contrast to the average 'How?' That fills up the long, tall order of the cancerous accolade of dynamic erroneousness that any self disrespecting lifeform would call - 'A day'. Whom did I concern? I was a spectator without a ticket, being let in for free gross mistruths passing from one ear and out the other, intimidating externalisations taken shape in cathode ray tubes happy to give away nothing for free purging on selfishness as the 'adults' talk and I induce A boyfriend. Too much to drink. A secret sapphic affair, that made them happy, it made sense. Too much to drink. A ring at the door. Too. Much. To. Drink. Panic. It's fine...Invite him in for a drink, act like it's all ok. I still love you both (I don't.) He knows. (what is going on.) People aren't stupid, but they knew he knew - they'd planned for this. Upset. Anger. A fight. Resolution. Kitchen. Knife up sleeve. Make up. She drew him close in her embrace ... 38 times the instrument was coerced to and from its target like a nodding head. acknowledging the destruction of the viscera untangling the truth the complications of the human condition spilling onto the floor like hot milk, tainted by the penance of basic sin an overzealous lesson in the fleeting nature of causation. the sand of divine comedy, fluttering through the hands of the undeserving emptying itself onto the floor, every grain more anxious than the last. Dead. Still as the motionless climb of winter across a silvered pond. Staring at the almost ***** tangling of carpet hair, lifted from the hardwood floor like a jigsaw on fire. 'fake' Oozings spattered sloppily across skirting boards, not all unlike an ill **** on the cling of a public toilet bowl. blues, reds, purples, blacks clashing with the absence of concern this two bedroom tenement was unwell, discharging its secrets to the seed, too much for the eyes of a child. There is a reek, a stench of metal (copper?) - enticing my nostrils towards curiosity and a juxtaposition of absolute revulsion. The story; A boyfriend. Two friends drinking. A ring at the door. Oh joy! (lies) He enters. An argument. He hits her. (lies) Upset. Anger. A fight. He doesn't stop hitting her. (lies) She runs to the Kitchen. Knife. She defends herself. (lies) He dies. Septic. **** we need to fix this, I need your help!" "We need to make this look right, fuck...Self defense, for the police coming." "Quickly, hit me! We need to make it look like he abuses me." "When we're done, phone the police pronto and get our stories straight." "I'm a victim ok?" "Ok." In and out. Easy. She's the first in Scotland, nevermind Glasgow to get away with her situation - Lightly that is, 5 years in Cornton Vale, an all female prison somewhere in Stirling. The other gets away with it - 'Art and part section 293 of the CPA act 1995'. No charge. As far as they were concerned it was justified (reasonable force). She gets what she wants. She gets her other half whenever she beckons. Driven there. No thanks. Selfish. But she's in love and maybe she has a debt to pay. maybe she was more involved than she lets on. doesn't want her life ruined. errands? favours? you name it. Someone you grow up with, someone who you consider family. Are they capable of mad passion? A glitch in character? Can a good person do bad things and feel nothing? I wince at the retelling of a story. Buried deep in the waxy imbalances of memory as if it never happened jittered from clarity like a snowglobe that never settles laughing at the absurd sourced from fermented sparkles and igniting omission. I was there. Not long after and not long before. Sitting on the couch and kicking my feet, getting lost in the cushions and brooming in the damp, familiar sniff of the 1990s. Blinds drawn, cups of hot chocolate and endless laughter - remembrance and reflection entwined dividing action from thought. I was there! ...But the memory escapes me.
connor-reid
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connor-reid
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
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