how do you stop your throat from burning
from salty tear-stained gulps and gasps
for oxygen that is no longer there?
there is too much carbon dioxide in the air now
and i want to fast forward into a world
where i can breathe in sweet helium
and ask for it to stop.
because there are times
when it's impossible to breathe
and when my puffy red eyes
can't open more than a millimeter
because you have glued them shut
with your accusations.
i didn't want to be gas station concrete any longer
i didn't want dirtiness to be my middle name
i only wanted to cleanse myself of you and your fists,
you and your laughter
you and your hatred.
i wanted to be clean.

*(a.m.c.)

Arise my body, my small body, we have striven
Enough, and He is merciful; we are forgiven.
Arise small body, puppet-like and pale, and go,
White as the bed-clothes into bed, and cold as snow,
Undress with small, cold fingers and put out the light,
And be alone, hush'd mortal, in the sacred night,
-A meadow whipt flat with the rain, a cup
Emptied and clean, a garment washed and folded up,
Faded in colour, thinned almost to raggedness
By dirt and by the washing of that dirtiness.
Be not too quickly warm again. Lie cold; consent
To weariness' and pardon's watery element.
Drink up the bitter water, breathe the chilly death;
Soon enough comes the riot of our blood and breath.

EDNA: Hello there, Dan my dear, please take a seat, but before you sit down, just let me put a plastic sheet over the chair.

DAN: Thank you so much, Mrs Sweetlove.

EDNA: Now, Dan, please tell me why you are known far and wide as Dan, Dan, the ***** Old Man. How did you come to acquire such a salubrious soubriquet? Don't spare us any of the more sordid details. My readers are all agog.

DAN: Well, there are three aspects to my dirtiness. Firstly, my sanitary arrangements and personal hygiene. How can I put this delicately? [scratches head in puzzlement and several lice are dislodged, much to Edna's distaste. She squirts them with super-strength LICEOKILL.] To be blunt, Edna, I don't wash much and I very seldom change my clothes. This means I smell quite strongly. And, as you will observe, my skin is quite grimy and unpleasant to behold; the boils and sores are not attractive to many people.

EDNA: Fortunately I am afflicted with a rather bad head cold at the moment, so I can't really whiff you too strongly. However, I can see your skin is disgusting and your clothes are a total disgrace. Tell me, is there any particular reason why you are so careless of your hygienic duties?

DAN: Well, I see it as a vicious circle. If I were to take a bath or a shower, I would only get ***** again quite soon. And anyway, getting dressed again in my old clothes means any olfactory benefit would be negated. Again, if I were to put on some clean clothes, they would only be rendered odorous by my unwashed body. And defecation and urination tend to get your lower parts ***** two or three times a day anyway, even if you wipe thoroughly which I don't. So what's the point, unless you want to waste all your life on synchronising cleansing activities? Also, between you and me, I quite enjoy the stench of my own unclean body. And it has several benefits: I always get a row of seats to myself at the cinema and I normally have no problem with queues when I go shopping: people tend to give way to me as a mark of respect.

EDNA: And the second aspect of your dirtiness?

DAN: May I talk to you freely about ***, Mrs Sweetlove?

EDNA: Oh yes, be frank! [nods eagerly] Be frank!

DAN: Well, let's put it like this: I am not very particular when it comes to ***. I can honestly say I have never ever turned down a ****** approach of any sort. I am, of course, bisexual and when I feel like a bit of impersonal *******, I nip down to the public lavatory in the park and have some there. What I normally do is wait by the ****** and whip out my grimy, stinking **** and flash it whenever someone comes in. I don't care who it is. What does it matter? Most people run away in horror, a few attack me and shove my face down a pan, but one or two let me **** them.

EDNA: What sort of people would that be, dear?

DAN: Usually tramps, the short-sighted, people with no sense of smell, degenerates, psychos, masochists, you know. A reasonably varied selection. Buggers can't be choosers. Who cares anyway? I've been arrested by the cops a few times, but they don't like to put me in their nice clean police car, so they usually let me go with a bit of a thumping. Which I quite like anyway, although it's cost me several teeth [shows hideous maw of rotting stumps].

EDNA: And how about when you feel like a little bit of the old hetero rumpy-pumpy action, Dan, my love?

DAN: To be honest, I don't get much rumpy-pumpy, even though that's probably what I'm most famous for. Speaking candidly, not many women fancy anyone as filthy as I am, even lady tramps have to draw the line somewhere. So I tend to have to be a bit pushy when I feel like a bit of female company. What I usually do is lurk around girls' schools, ladies' gyms, ballet dancing classes, hockey grounds, netball pitches, the park where the young mums push their babies' buggies, anywhere really where you get women and girls in reasonable numbers. When I see someone I fancy, which is anything female between sixteen and the grave, I just drop my pants and show them what I've got down there. They scream a bit but I can usually get a quick one off the wrist before they've run too far. I've been arrested a few times for that too, but it's a hazard of the game of love, I feel.

EDNA: [gulps excitedly] I think you mentioned three reasons why you are known as a ***** Old Man par excellence......

DAN: Yes, well the third one is a bit more personal. You see, I have a very sensitive stomach and I often get very bad indigestion, which means I **** and burp a lot. And I frequently ***** too, as you can see from the state of my trousers - this is probably a reflection of the fact that my kitchen is crawling with rodents and insects large and small. And did I mention this last bit? I really like eating my own snot in public [voids nostrils onto grimy paw and gobbles product thereof].

EDNA: I'd like to thank you, Dan, for sharing your opinions, emotions and ambitions with me and my readers here today [switches off tape recorder]. You truly are an unusually repellent *******. Get out of my lovely house.

*[END OF INTERVIEW]

After school in summer. An abandoned railway line, through a forest. A grey dress with red flowers on, the blue cardigan with sweat patches under the arms. Trying to conceal them. Not caring after a while. Walking in front, through the wild garlic. Not everything flourishing, some ******* here and there. The muddy ***** up to the track. Scrambling up trying not to get hands muddy, trying not to fall. Probably wearing impractical shoes. She was behind me, beside me. Catching her smell, trying to touch her hand, her shoulder. Talking about things that meant nothing but flowed: began and concluded satisfactorily. Only 17, so long ago. No doubt we talked of school, I don’t remember a word. It was the action, the structure of our communication, that was all I had. The unsaid was still sacred then. Reaching the end of the line. The line! It was a beautiful day, romanticized now. Warm in the sun and chill in the shade but I soon discarded temperature. The green from the trees came up from each side of the line and joined together at the top. The sun soaked through every visible article. All, except from the wall at the end that closed off the tunnel.

The space we were in did not exist to anyone else, no one was there, and no one had ever been there since we arrived. Vacuum packed world of complete perfection, apart from the mud, and the *******. But that was ok. The wall was black and heavy and cold. Near the top there was a hole. A square hole had been left or made through the ancient bricks, something forgotten maybe? Or to serve some forgotten purpose? I saw a challenger. The hole said ‘If you beat me you can have her’. It was not sinister. That did not exist.

Again I stood in front. ‘Bet I can get a stone into that hole!’ 15 feet perhaps or maybe only 8. Her eyes were on me: I desperately hoped they were. The whole of the back of my body took them in, I lit up with the warmth and the look. I would like to say it took only three attempts, that seems unlikely. What was she thinking? Was she looking on at the hole or at me? Heaven forbid she was looking at neither. I picked up stone after stone. They varied in size, feel, and dirtiness. I was an excellent thrower. I could throw a javelin, a ball, a boy; I adored my skill. My exuberance and elation guaranteed success. This was not a day for losing. Not while I could sift out the anomalies and incompatibilities without pain. There wouldn’t be a losing day until I understood that I did not yet know me.

The moment I succeeded in my challenge the celebration could begin. The rock perhaps made a sound as it tumbled down the inside of the wall but I did not hear. All my senses were now hers. Absorbed, obsessed. I was now permitted to turn around; to accept the look of admiration, or more. It was joy, certainly. Utter, complete joy. In skipping towards her she offered me her arms…… What words are given to unqualified human happiness? Getting more than you hoped for is even beyond that.

i lost my innocence at eight years old
and i wish someone would have told me that
i wish i hadn't figured it out by myself when my trust in anything that was supposed to be safe was already long gone
i wish i hadn't walked up to him
i wish i wasn't afraid to tell people that i did because i'm afraid to hear someone blame me for it
i wish i didn't blame me for it
i wish i never have to experience that awful feeling of simultaneous disgust, shame, dirtiness, and confusion again
every time i've taken my shirt off for ten years straight.
when i shower.
when anyone touches me even in the most innocent way.
that feeling like the only way i could ever feel completely clean would be to burn my skin off.
that feeling that consumes my mind out of the blue and suddenly i'm that little girl in the green and white striped skort again that didn't understand what happened to her
just that it was bad
the little girl that nobody taught to differentiate between what was okay along with the real, blunt reason why and what happened to her so any sort of physical contact with people felt wrong
i wish i could never feel that again
i wish it could be night all the time and no one would ever be around
they warn you about wandering too far from home when you're alone
about going out after dark and playing in places without people around
about the bad people, the sick malicious perverts, that you have to watch out for
they don't tell you about the good people that just don't know what they're doing
they don't tell you about the grandfather with dementia watching his grandson play at the park in broad day light surrounded by people
at least, they don't tell you to stay away from him
daylight has never made me feel more secure than darkness
and seeing people nearby has never brought me comfort
because nothing has ever made me feel more unsafe and vulnerable than that day in the park
in broad daylight
surrounded by people

The ground connects us through our feet
We connect the Earth through our minds
And connect our hearts through our hands
Until the ground beneath our feet
Begins to crumble
We dig up hatred and then repeat
As we stumble
Attacking the planet to cut our connection
And severing our stability
When the ground is filled with holes
And the ground is filled with those
We chose to dispose
For what they know
Or what they show
We told them no
And dimmed their glow
We feel dirt between our toes
As the quicksand embraces our ankles
We let a malicious mudslide flank us

The Sandman continues to introduce us
To our own eternal rest
On his endless conquest
For minerals in his midst
Sentiment unable to penetrate his sediment
The dirtiness in his heart becomes evident
When he drowns us in dust
And colors us rust
He feels he must
But he made a fatal mistake
Not realizing we are attached by soil
As the soil becomes a lake
We find relation deeper than oil

The Sandman seeks our species' slumber
But the power of our tears
Are strong when shared
And shower us with love
That runs through our blood
Moistening man
Soaking the sand
Once we see life grand

Snow is pure white and fresh like an angel's wings waiting in heaven.
I pull back the thick curtains and look out my window.
The snow is slowly falling like pieces of cotton from the sky.
It looks so soft and light that I want to reach out and touch it with my hand.
The moonlight catches each flake and makes it shine.
It looks so wonderfully peaceful outside that  I decide I must go.

I bundle up with my puffy down coat, hat, and black scarf.
I pull my boots on and open the door.
I walk into the bright moonlight and stare at the falling snow.
It is so beautiful this I know.
It is so bright outside because of the full moon overhead.

The snow falls upon my face and cleans away the dirtiness.
It melts as soon as it touches my skin.
Now my face is wet and my eyelashes hold the flakes as they fall down faster than before.
It is so quiet all around.
I can't hear a sound.
I feel happiness that only my heart can hold.
I love the snow!

There is no sound except for my boots walking upon the snow.
No cars, sirens, or people to be found.
The only light is from the bright moon that seems so near to me now.
It seems so peaceful outside that my worries and problems from the day,
They all fade away.

The snow is cold as it hits my cheeks again and again.
I love the clean, cold, crisp air,
I take a deep breath taking it in.
It is cold enough that it burns when it reaches my lungs and fills my nose.
I walk down the road for a while.
Not seeing a single soul.

I see a small dim light in the distance.
I wonder what it could be?
I haven't noticed it before?

The snow crunches loudly with each step I take.
The snowflakes are falling bigger, faster, and harder now.
It is almost too hard to keep my eyes open.
I squint so the hard pellets, which were once soft flakes a time ago don't sting my eyes.
I keep walking towards the light.

With each step I take my momentum slows,  
The howling wind blows the snow against my face so hard that I can't see a thing.
It stings, it bites, and the temperature is dropping now I do believe.
It has suddenly become bitterly cold,
I can see my breath, where I couldn't before.
I keep on walking, I don't know why?
But it feels like the light is pulling me in.

The light in the distance is getting brighter.
I am almost there.
I am very tired and sore all of a sudden.
How long have I been out here?
Should I stop and turn back or keep going in the whipping, blinding snow?
I stop in the middle of the road.
Which way should I go?

I could walk towards the light, or turn back and go into the darkness behind me now.
I choose to walk on, towards the bright light that gets brighter with each step I take.
The light is closer, no turning back.
I am intrigued and entranced by the light's warmth and its glow.
I slowly walk into the light and finally I feel safe at last.

I am warm and comforted by the yellow light that surrounds me on this dark, cold, snowy night.
It feels good to breathe air that doesn't burn icicles in my chest.
The light is too bright, and I close my eyes tight.
I am glad that I am no longer in the blinding snow.
Where am I?
I open my mouth to say, "Hello."
But no voice comes out, only silent hums from the lights all around.
Should I stay or turn and run?

I suddenly feel a panic inside, like I am somewhere I don't belong.
I walk back in the direction from which I came.
All I see is ambient yellow light around me.
The road is gone and all the white falling snow has vanished.
I want to be back home right now.

I turn to the yellow humming lights and find only more light ahead of me.
Will I ever return to all that I know?
Or is it all gone in this unknown world I walked into?
I turn and start to run.

I run as fast as I can, but I can't seem to get anywhere.
I feel as though I am standing still, but running in place.
I feel the wet tears welling up inside my eyes.
They fall down my cheeks, as I realize my own fate.
Where is all the blinding snow?

Running and running I am out of breath.
My lungs burn now from the lack of air, instead of freezing snow.
I close my eyes and make a wish.
I wish I hadn't walked into the white, peaceful snow.
Tears from my eyes fall so hard like hail stones in a summer thunderstorm.

I stop running and open my stinging red eyes.
It feels as though I have been crying for days.
I see a small glimpse of an angel's wing.
A soft white feather brushes against my face.
A wind picks up quickly and dries my tears.
The air begins to freeze again, and I gasp for air or maybe for my own words.
What is happening?
I feel weak and I give up the fight to continue.
Did I die in the blinding snow?
Is this the end of the road, or the end of my life as I know?

Suddenly, there is heat in my soft frozen cheeks, as though I have been thawing after a long hard winter's cold.
I open my eyes again, afraid to take a look around.
I wake to find it was all but a dream.
I think, or do I believe?
I am in my bed with the covers pulled up to my chin.
Breathing so hard and scared to speak.
I get up slowly from my snowy slumbering nightmare.

I walk to my window and pull back the heavy, thick curtains with shaking hands.
The snowflakes are quietly falling, perfectly from their winter clouds.
Soft and white like big cotton puffs.
I want to reach out and touch them with my hand.
I breathe a sigh of relief, and turn around to go.
I feel something wet and cold dripping down my face.
If it was a dream, then why is my hair wet from the melting snow?

You should be here
waiting for me in bed
when I get home, sir.
Just an idea.

Do you have any clue
how hard it is for me
to focus at work
with my ******* slick
from thoughts of you?

It's hard to act calm
and professional
when I'm thinking
of you entering me
from behind, pushing
into me as you pull
my hair and own me.

Nobody at work knows
that when I smile it's not
to be polite, but because
of the secret dirtiness
I keep covered inside
that none of them
would ever guess.

It's only because I am
thinking of you,
contemplating licking
those secret places
only I know of, that I can
make it through the day.

You should be here
waiting for me in bed
when I get home, sir.
Just an idea.

I am a sponge,
Absorbing everything.
And when I wring
Myself out,
All the dirtiness,
All the tears,
All the battery
Throughout the years
Will cascade down,
And there will be
Rainbows abound.

As I stood above the others, looking down upon their plea,
I felt the lies that shook from me and cried out blasphemy.

The strength that holds inside of me is not amongst my own,
The dirtiness that’s filled with me can’t find itself a home.

As I lay before the altar side, a knowing smile within,
The punishment they gave to me was only the first therein.

As I step outside the ashes, to send my challenge out,
I feel the chaos rising in and know there is some doubt.

A loss, a gain, the angst, the pain.
They all remain the same.

For I was not the one they hailed,
To lay beside the king.

As death decays my jaded soul I’d healed before I thought,
The agony I felt that day was something they had brought.

A gift they said, to scar and curse,
The words I made were in reverse.

Irreversible to those I know and those among I love
I realized then, what I must do and gave myself a shove.

For it was now my time to go,
To rise above it all.

And what I did could be so low,
So cursed and evil,
But I can see their wicked eyes,
And knew it was my call.

From broken to reaching for Revelations,
My chance to spread some angelic wings,

I was eroded by an ****** enlightenment,
With those who knew the limits of lust,
But not individuals of the evening,

Wishing to feel complete,
Once feeling the glory of a lover,
With tangled toes and tossed feet,
Sweat, moans, and humanly harmony,

Realizing the relationship was destined to be a Shakespearean tragedy,
I lost someone I still hold dear to me,
Because I couldn't live that life,
The liar dressed like a priest,

Erased by memories, moans of relief,
Please keep in mind baby,
No dirtiness for me,

I’ve been particular with those laid into the bed of this thief,
Where I can reap the natural fixes of her beauty,
Absent of love,
Away from everything,

With a life too short for worldly inflicted woes,
When your existence is timed by faith filled beliefs,
Making me work for the air I need,
For the breaking that I avoid,
With every breath I take,
I’ll prop you up with a pillow,

Life will break you at the jaw,
Before sucker punching you into the ground,
******, bruised, and still lacking a crown,
It will be tough but you can defy,
What we think is divine,

Tap into that humanity,
Pay homage to the genes that evolved till they could conceive,
Convince some Apes to use their knees
From paws to fists,
From animals to intellectual fruition,