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Jun 2020
LITTLE BLUE HANDS GRAB ME FROM SOMEPLACE I DON’T KNOW HOW TO MOVE HOUSE IN THIS PLACE HOW IN THIS PLACE IT’S NOT REALLY THAT DRASTIC NARRATIVE FALLS FROM SKIN LALALAND ROUND AND ROUND THE WHEEL GOES IN FUCHSIA IT MAKES US BOTH SICK AND WE FALL OFF A LITTLE LOPSIDED WHY WEREN’T YOU HOLDING ME YOU’RE NOT MY SEATBELT YELLOW CIRCLE BUT THAT’S NOT WHY THEY CALL IT THE BLUES, THAT’S WHY THEY CALL ME THE BLUES? AUDREY HEPBURN THE MEAN REDS ARE MEANER THAN EVER, THEY’VE GOT BAD EYEBROWS TOO AND THEY WONT GO TO THE BEAUTICIAN, SAID THE BEAUTICIAN WON’T WORK WITH PLASTIC TAKE YOUR DISGUSTING SWEET TIME TO COME AND SEE ME, WE’LL SLEEP ON THE FLOOR AND PRETEND THE YELLOW SHEETS MAKE US HAPPY, GRINNING SO WIDE MY FACE SPLITS IN TWO. GRINNING SO WIDE MY KNEECAPS ITCH SO WIDE I BREATHE IN THE WHOLE SETTING.
OOPS. FILLING SPACES A LITTLE SUCCESSFULLY LIKE DEAD FLY’S BAD ART BUT NOT THE GOOD KIND, THE DROP-DEAD KIND. GOOP KIND. RIP OF MAN OVERCOMPENSATE KIND. NOT THE ME KIND. SOFTER FRIENDLY SPACE BETWEEN YOUR FINGER’S KIND. DON’T LOOK BACK INTO THE SUN, THAT IS. NEGATIVE SPACE SPANS WHITE NOISE SPANS 157 MILES COLD TOES IN CONCRETE ROOMS BLAH MINIMALIST ******* SWEAR AND YOU LOSE ALL TRAIN OF THOUGHT, AND THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE IS MADE TO WOO, YOU CAN’T FAIL ON THAT IT TAKES EFFORT LAPS DAISY TONGUE TWISTS SHHH, PLEASE
AND TAKE ME TO RED ROOF HOUSE COTTAGE PLACE WHERE ONE DAY WE DIE TOGETHER AND THE SKIRTING BOARDS ARE BRIGHT GREEN I BITE THEM THEY TASTE BLUE BUT BLUEBERRIES NOT YELLOW BLUES NOT GENRE MAYBE TOSS BE OKAY IMAGE OF PERFECT DOMESTICITY RUBBER GLOVES ARE WORN AS SOCKS AND SLOW DANCING HAPPENS BETWEEN A MOP AND A 50’S HOOVER. IT’S FROM THE 50’S IT STOLE THE FLUX CAPACITOR AND ****** OFF WITH IT TO WHERE I SIT SWAYING, YOU HEAR THAT? ME. TRAGIC COMEDY LIKE A FATHER JOHN MISTY SONG IT PROBABLY ENDS WITH A SAD ALL-CONSUMING WAIL FROM A BEAUTIFUL VOICE HARMONISE I STAMP ON YOUR FOOT PINK PLASTIC WALLS CLOSE IN AND ALL I CAN THINK IS OH, GOD, YES. FLOW OF CONCENTRATION IN A ROOM OF AWFUL DEFAULTS AWFUL ONES. ******* OUT PINEAPPLES FOR WEEKS ON ENDS, RUN FROM THE ORANGE MAN LIKE BAD NURSERY RHYME SHEEP. WHAT? I BELLOW. TYPING LIKE A COMPUTER ON AFTER READING THE INSIDE OF MY BRAIN ON HOW WEIRD IT COULD BE TO TAP DANCE WITH COUNTING MONKEY CYMBALS PINK ELEPHANTS DO THE CAN-CAN ON THEIR TIP TOES GOD WHAT A PLEASURE IT IS TO BE AROUND. PERCUSSION A LITTLE TOO READILY. REALLY, ISN’T IT? THE 50’S HOOVER WEARS A SKIRT THAT SPINS WHEN IT TWIRLS, THE ENEMY OF TOXIC MASCULINITY. I WOULD LIKE TO SIT WITH YOU AND I, URGH. LET ME EACH YOUR FIBULA, I COULD DO WITH A SNACK. LAST NIGHT I ATE TWO WHOLE-WHEAT CRACKERS, A WHOLE ORANGE, A BAG OF SCREWS AND THE SOLE OF MY BOOT IN MY SLEEP, I KNEW WHEN I WOKE UP BECAUSE THEY SAT UNCOMFORTABLY AND THE SOLE WOULDN’T STOP SLAPPING THE CRACKERS, THE BAG OF SCREWS WOULDN’T STOP TRYING TO GET THE ORANGE TO PEEL. THE FEELING OF IMPENDING DOOM CHANGED TO HAPPINESS SOMEWHERE UP THE RUNGS OF A BADLY BUILT LADDER AND CRYSTAL, FORMER WOMAN OF THE NIGHT, FBI, HAS STOPPED ******* OUT WET FISH AND STARTED DRAWING LANDSCAPES, BUT THEY DON’T QUITE LOOK REALISTIC BECAUSE SHE KEEPS DRAWING DANCING CROCKERY IN THE FOREGROUND.
TYPE A LITTLE MORE EVERY DAY, PUKE OVER THE SIDE OF THIS FINE ROLLERCOASTER, ROLLERCOASTER? IS THAT WHAT I SAID? EXCUSE ME I MEANT OVER THIS FINE YELLOW RAILING FROM THE SCHOOL TV PROGRAMME WEDNESDAY ROAD OR SOMETHING DRAG MY TOES OVER THE GRAVEL EDGE, THEY ALWAYS PRESENT A FUNNY IMAGE A LITTLE BETTER WHEN IT’S TOES DOING SOMETHING I HAVE TO GET ALL OF THE BRAIN FOGGY GOD KNOWS WHAT STATIC LIKE OLD COLOURLESS TV BEFORE WE GET TO THE REAL GEMS BUT WHAT IF THERE ISN’T REALLY ANYTHING THERE I FEEL LIKE I’M PULLING A QUITE BURIED IN THERE STRING FROM THE BACK SECTION OF MY BRAIN ITS MAKING MY EYES ROLL, SUBMERSED IN THERE, STOP IT, PLEASE.
MY NAME IS SONNY AND I WOULD LIKE TO BE HERE AND I WOULD LIKE TO DANCE WITH YOU AND I CAN CHANGE MY MOOD LANGUAGE TO FIT THE ROOM BECAUSE I’M JUST THAT GREAT MY NAME IS SONNY AND I THINK MY VOICE IS SCREAMING IN YOUR HEAD RIGHT NOW LIKE AND ANGSTY TEENAGER I’M A LITTLE BLUE AND I HAVE THE MEAN YELLOWS OR REDS BUT NOT, CUT ME OPEN I SPILL OUT YELLOW BUT I SMELL BLUE, OH SO BLUE, MY NAME IS SONNY AND I WANT TO BE TOUCHED.
YOU SOUND LIKE A BUNCH OF TURKEYS WARBLING.
THE HOUSE GOT UP AND JIGGED ITS WAY OUT OF A PARKING TICKET LIKE A REAL ADULT. MOONSHINE, VICTORIA AND BRING BACK THE FUNK ARE STILL STUCK IN THE TOY SHOP. THEY’RE ALL A LITTLE TOO WRONG, IT ALWAYS HAS BEEN. THE SCORES ARE STILL NIL. THE PORCH. WHATEVER HAPPENS. I WOULD LIKE TO SIT WITH YOU AND I…
Jodie-Elaine
Written by
Jodie-Elaine  22/F
(22/F)   
33
 
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