swoosh!

a year's worth of stories swooshed past in a yellow bike down the kingsland road. oh-uh.

east to west and north and east again

a man sits by the canal with a fishing rod, a tin of sweetcorn, two litres of cider and a stern staring pair of eyes set on the shimmering water. punks and drunks mix by flower strewn narrow boats. works of art hide in amongst the graffiti. birds sing and chatter across the road from the hyenas. mansions stand the test of time failing everything else. tony blair's new home blends with the iraqi celebrations of a football match gone good. an old pub's ceiling's angels look to the spot where charlie chaplin may or may not have once stood. trees sway in the light breeze, cheering the sun on. girls and boys row in the serpentine waters, some with more accuracy than others. ice-cream is raised but discarded. more art is appreciated, underappreciated and overappreciated. a house is pointed out as the possible residence of someone's uncle. following a difficult word-play, warm tube journey uncovers lack of advertising in central parts of town. calm and collected. a park chills in the sunset; deer, rabbits and goats sharing space with squirrels, pidgeons and north londoners. south india visited for a pink while. and an old pub. and talk of religion. and a bus ride home. and good night.

advice

so my friend from the land of nice tells me, c'mon, why don't you write about the one-footed balancing cyclists? or the aliens that have come to broadway market with a slightly skewed vision of what humans look like? or the couples that sat in the pub im'ing each other from their matching apple macs? or the fact that there's a man out there who's managed to make it past the age of 20 without learning the crucial difference between bees and wasps? or the girl that went up the stairs in her shorts and sort of hypnotized you for a split second with the swaying of her legs? or the baby that kept showing his brand new teeth to us knowing full well he'd exacerbate our broodiness? or the stalls full of left over designer food? or the... and i told him, even if he didn't really tell me all this, i can't write about any of that. of course i can't. so that's it.

round

there is a curve that catches my eye in the mirror and it's chocolate chip cookie shaped. the curve follows round from my hips to my navel and up my chocolate chip cookie shaped tum. chocolate chip cookie breasts spring out from the middle of my chocolate chip cookie chest. i wink at my chocolate chip cookie self and it offers from the mirror, with a chocolate chip cookie shaped smile, the last chocolate chip cookie for me to have before going for my chocolate chip cookie flavoured dreams.

vast

in the distance there is a lonely hut. barely visible amongst the pine trees. a plume of smoke rises from its chimney. the man watches the smoke as it goes up and merges with the gathering clouds. the smell reaches him and an image flashes behind his closed eyelids. a kitchen. a door. a figure walking out.

proof

ok. i just put a coffee cup in my microwave oven. put the thing on for 20 seconds. opened the door. an ant is crawling around there....as if nothing happened.

nuclear war?, says the ant, pah!

inmigration

ants have come indoors. i don't blame them. have you seen the weather outside?

peachy

round. smooth. bouncy.

our jolly government

they're all high on dope! great news!

fleeting

after the man left the cafe and his memories behind he drove along an empty road curving up towards the mountains. on the top he could see white snow and the scent of pine seeped into the horizon. sometimes the man just has to disappear like that. he thinks it's got something to do with his being a man. a primal instinct. driving him away from the things he loves so that he doesn't hurt them. escaping the fists. the contorted face. the tense jugular. all these things he sees in the mirror and doesn't want to be him but knows it is. it's stupid, of course. you're always the only person you can't run away from. who said that? some clever clogs. clever clogs. clever. clogs. she would've said that. some clever clogs. a smile spreads across the man's face and he pushes on. upwards. dreaming already of the drive back.

spam reading

sex can be one of the most enjoyable parts of your life
all her plans will be disconcerted when she sees your new...
make your penis mister universe
go ahead, hit me

summer is almost here, be ready

fantastic

everyday i see things that are not amazing that actually amaze me, but i struggle to keep that perspective.

daytime telly

where else can you see a whole hunk of beef being carved up in full technicolour glory without a shred of shame or embarrasement?

happiness is a full tummy

borrowed sausages
left-over tomato
wilted mushrooms
fancy bread
breakfast!

first and last

if there is any experience more out of body than...
in case of emergency brake...
don't tell me again, i heard you the first time
bible hero from jerusalem
put them in the oven
he ran away with his secretary and for 11 days and 11 nights she gave offerings to the gods to thank them for ridding her of his unhappy face

cynical

better alone than in bad company

there was a time

long long time ago a girl with smooth skin and lots of friends travelled across the seas. on her journey she met a couple of giant squid with a weakness for guacamole. it was lucky for the squid but a tragedy for the girl that she just so happened to be travelling in a boat exporting fair-trade organic avocados from guatemala. the squid went completely mental. one of them grabbed hold of the boat while the other used his tentacles to mush the avocados into a seaworthy seaweed guacamole. the girl was sucked into the smaller squid along with a ton of the green stuff. this in itself didn't kill her, but in the squid's stomach she found a diamond ring that promised to make all her wishes come true. so she wished for everything to be ok. and the ring made everything ok. but then because everything was ok she got so utterly and completely bored she died there and then. and so it was for the girl with smooth skin and lots of friends.

rocking

P7090011.JPG
Originally uploaded by ladelentes.

the old songs sound new. the new songs sound worn in. like a great pair of boots. stomping.

things that can really undermind a girl's confidence

bad screws.

gol! gol! gol!

the copa america is raging away in the happy continent. legs are being torn away, skulls cracked, reputations smeared...

uruguay is playing crap, as usual, but we beat the hosts 4-1 just the other day. which they deserved, really, having inflicted that godawful theme song (i dare you to play it all the way to the end! go on! test your powers of endurance!) on the rest of the continent...possibly in the hope of creating some anti-chavez feeling as a by-product.

super woman strikes again!

that fucking ikea wardobe is up on my fucking bedroom. too fucking right!

stupid cow

over the roasting lamb the stupid cow waxes lyrical about her knowledge of everything. when she leaves i shrug my shoulders and roll my eyes. she sees me and comes back at me...you're so rude, she says. well, better that than wacking you straight on the nose, which is what i've been fantasising of doing for the last 15 minutes. you stupid cow.

tongue tied

i pop by my friend's restaurant for a bit of company and a beer. my friend says a cheerful hello and i struggle with my solidified jaw, rusty from days without speaking, to respond in kind. later on he puts a plate of cow tongue in front of me, garnished with some onions and garlic. appropriately yummy.

wind

the piece of fabric on my door ondulates in the visiting gale. my house is alive with little currents. i'm going to give them pet names. dress them up in whispers. send them off to the school down the road carrying windchimes, birdsong, the smell of toasted sandwiches and a little shivery cold.

not so surprising

the iliad: war, gods, men, gore, more war, men, armour, ships, goddesses, envy, war, spears, fighting, chariots, more war. reading time: 3 weeks.
black swan green: childhood, 80's, whistful, countryside. reading time: half way through within 8 hours.

at a loss

this is incredible. happily travelling on my own. lost for things to do in london town.

despair

i completely and utterly hate it, but what's done is done.

echo

the fireworks thunder in victoria park and all the alarms of hackney go off in unison. police cars sound their sirens in quick response. fire engines lullaby. my heart thuds with every light. next door, the dog keeps awfully quiet.

disconcerting

somewhere in the world a man is travelling at the speed of light to make his life. make a life. make life. make.