Earwig Porn

I’m not sure what you expected.  Did you really think I would be rooted?

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The boy with the oversize trousers splashes through a pool of prejudice and snarls.  Hairspray blinds him, his ears are deafened by nu-metal and his sweater has been knitted by his mum.  He says ‘fuck the world’ and the world replies by ignoring him.  Only the parasites crawl from the cracks in the pavement, sniffing out virgin arse, keen to screw that unblemished pooch from scars to balls; all veins no feeling.  Cars rush by, yelling out foul words, but he looks only for the manhole covers and cigarette butts.  Damp Sketchers and cold ankles.  Goosebumps in the vacuum.

The thing is…. I cannot know that in a couple of years time I will be sitting on wet grass, leaning against someone’s living room wall, with The Most Beautiful Woman sitting on my lap begging to be fingered and fucked.  I tremble and tell her that it is the cold.  I’m scared by this beauty, even as my cock peaks into the brisk May breeze.

The blasted tree is gone now.  Thanks to the searchlights from the security beacons, that dispassionately registered every nuance of my desperate fumbling, I am able to find her lost earring.  My god, put on some background rhythm and blues and our bad vodka breath could mingle.  I’m shaking so hard, the fillings rattle in my teeth.

Is it any wonder I have an icy fire burning in my chest?  Is it any wonder I ask rhetorical questions when I am looking for answers?

Is it any wonder I don’t even know what questions to ask?

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Sticky with pine sap, we roll down the hill and merge our ideas into a plan.  You are going to scale over a fence and I will watch passively because I’m a nutless coward.  Terrifed by spys and pathetic signs.  As penance, I scratch the epidermus of my arm with a piece of barbed wire and feel pain.  My blood can barely manage the effort to rush to the surface so I squeeze it into action.

No sex back then, not even kisses, just penny sweets and grass stains.

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Rootless, I stumble around bumping into phantoms.  Nothing to grab onto and nowhere to put my feet.  The glorious wasteland, so full of desolation and ruin, has now become useful and is of no use to me now.  The grass has grown back.  The final resting place of a young innocent woman is now covered by concrete and astroturf; the monument lovingly crafted by her parents tossed away.  Now, young men and women dance under the spotlights unaware that they look up at a Final Sky, once looked upon by fading eyes.

Everything is finding a purpose, except the purpose of simply being.  I used to love a path that went nowhere, until someone decided it needed a destination.

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Of course, if you get down on your hands and knees and squint, you can still see the chalk outlines.  You may even smell the grease and the oil.  As I lean against a grey box, blowing the cold air out of my mouth, I am aware of a young boy looking up at me holding a stone in the shape of a spaceship.  I bend down and hand him a small branch shaped like a ‘Y’ and he disappears into the memory to reinact some hard fought battle.  I don’t feel safe here, even standing on tarmac so recognisable I could pick out each individual white stone.  In absence, a black tar has washed over everything and I can only manage a few minutes before suffocation.

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Strong beats in an echoing warehouse and ghosts crashing doors.  In that small, fetid space dreams were unrealised.  I can still taste Jack Daniels and flat Coke.  Dust and guitars.  Knives in the dark and blood on the windows.

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She asked me if I was going to cum?  I was shivering so hard, I didn’t blame her.  There was no danger of ejaculation; I was so scared I could barely keep it up.  Headlights swept past us.  I sank back into the front seat of my car as she mounted me, resting her knees either side.  It surely wasn’t comfortable but she was ravenous and I was confused beyond my wildest dreams.

In a moment of unusual wisdom I told her to quit her job.  I said that her life now was like someone running on a treadmill against someone going for a run in the park – both people were expending the same effort and energy but only one person was actually going somewhere.  Years later she still remembered it.  Years later she remained in her job.

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Rootless.  I sit on dead crunchy grass and remember the smells of rust and rotten earwig pornography.  Once I was a (minor) part of an army that ruled this place, and now I am unrecognisably alien.  Even the dust and the rust smells different.  The trees don’t remember.  The people are dead or away.  A fist closes on a bubble.  Since my foundations have been removed, I float aimlessly now.  Throwing out a rope here, a gesture there.  But it is over now.

There is nowhere else to go except everywhere.  And if everywhere fails there is nowhere else to go.

 

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