Sunday, 3 May 2009

Sunday Meander

#vss Berlin became him, was him. There, his thoughts danced passionately with his mind. When he finally left, hollow, most of him stayed on.

#vss It burrowed deeper into him,infecting his speech.Even his sharp tongue couldn't cut it out.Finally, he gave in and did the hokey-cokey

#vss His nose just a triangle,the rest were ellipses&lines.His rectanglar jaw trembled.Geometrical surgery hadnt really straightened him out

#vss They banished him.Erased his username&untagged his tweets.He was an outlander.They hung his photos on Flickr&Facebook,his face cut out

#vss She owned a taxonomy machine.If pointed at anything,it could categorise in seconds.I pointed it at her&it exploded.We don't speak now.

Saturday, 2 May 2009

A swingful of Saturday

#vss She translated love.He edited it.They craved love but often mistook it.He hammered love to the wall.She stared at it for hours,puzzled.

#vss It is a fact she worshipped her nose.It is a fact that she built herself a house in the shape of it and sneezed away unwanted visitors

#vss Music scared him.Its texture was wrong.He couldnt see it,taste it or touch it.It cast a spell but he was immune.Only he heard the truth

#vss He lubricated his days with chunks of juicy prose.At night,he'd feast on dry scraps of poetry,mixing syllables with fresh spring rain.

#vss She was his α and he was her Ω. They decided to compromise over a slice of cherry π.

#vss Her nostrils hovered across the land, breathing in love & hate, cool silence & heated words. He looked up to see her face, darkening.

#vss She broke his stories in pieces. Reading became like leaping across a river of words. His writing whirlpooled into rafts of paragraphs.

#vss He carried his child to the chair. She was sleeping & he kissed her gently. That night,he would leave. And she would forget him,in time

#vss Sir Mandeville made sure tweets were 140 characters long. He had seen the world beyond Twitter, full of monsters, enchantments & lies.

Friday, 1 May 2009

Friday's batch

#vss "Why is science important?" the teacher asked. Jim didn't know.But it was the only class where he got to sit next to Jilly Braithwaite

#vss Inside the wreck,he wriggled his toes excitedly.It was beautiful.Even if the treasure wasnt here,the tales he could sell were priceless

#vss She loved falling in love but hated being in love.She understood this&lived alone at a lakeside villa.Her selfhelp books made her rich.

#vss He craved space on the page like he needed space in his rooms. Minimalism, they called it. His favourite was a one letter novel. "I".

#vss It was the perfume that betrayed him.She turned,finger on the trigger."Any regrets?"she asked."Yes.I should have lived a life of crime"

#vss He kept his name in a box.His friends didnt know his real name.Most called him John.Before we buried him along with it,I sneaked a peak

#vss Take this cup&drink,my friend.Let's celebrate the end of our conflict.They smiled&kissed while the ordinary gunfire petaled their home.

His mood would flip through the day like a weathercock on a remote island hilltop.Anyone could change it by gently blowing in the wind. #vss

#vss He screwed it open&placed his ear to the jar. Inside was stored the sound of his first birthday. He heard its silence for the 1st time.

#vss Crashrangutan,dont fool me into thinking youre real,like a Keelboot or a brush-backed eel.Surprise me!Tell all in words stippled in dew

His face a shadow against the sun-crisp sky,he turned to face her.He couldn't quite muster the guts to tell the truth. &he never would #vss

May opened her arms&gave him cocoa.He'd been out keeping the vampires at bay.She felt his deathly cold skin&his teeth sunk in her neck #vss

#6wordstory Salt-lipped with lust, he short-changed love.

#vss A sharp word halved her thoughts into left&right.She'd push words across her hands,walk thru fields of novels.They named her Jekylline.

Depending upon how he upskills,we'll def deep-end him.It'll unroot those annoying certainties he has,make him more pliant&easy to sack. #vss

A nightbag of stories

With a sleeve of time she made a cloak.It let her alter her past,cleaning up tiny faux pas.And she always had the wittiest ripostes in town.

His plan-sweep up the poets&force them to write in rhyme or lose their Eliot license.His success forced poetry underground,where it belongs.

She was a Scot out of water&he an Englishman abroad.They exchanged vowels at Derby&hullaballooed aboard the QE2,joining 'i's for their tea.

This frail man once ruled the land&now he shrivels here in his cave,shivering&calling out for milk.His dead white eyes still pierce you thru

Handsome though he was,she wanted better.Her eye wld drift from man to man&he knew if he didn't provide a child,he'd soon have to scuttle on

He rolled his life into shape&found himself a steady girl&a steady job.His need for liquor liquified into the best built birdhouse around.

His headache spread to the paper on the table&the ink in his pen.His words filled with a migraine sharp venom,burst on the page&snapped shut

She cared for words not mouths.He cared for skin not flesh.They cared for love not lust.They weighed each other bare,sharing their thoughts.

His crackly gramophone voice was a thrill she rationed.After 3 years alone on the island,it snapped her back to a culture long since gone.

John broke the bread&gave it to the boy&his mother.The boy did not like the bread&spat it out.His mother slapped John,pouring his wine away.

A brush of him set her on fire.His sweat diluted her&his words scattered her to unimaginable places.He was her poison&she drank him whole.

Oranges rarely satisfied his hunger for fruit.He moved onto papaya&cherimoya until finally he could only feast alone,guzzling cuts of Durian

In the rumbletumble of his bachelor days,he would play pool into the pockets of the night.Nowadays,he swims every morning&dreams of snooker.