Sunday, June 7, 2015

RTF 6-6-15

Like trading lightly she took a sight, breathed in, walked, white things were falling from the sky above her head, evergreen motion, flying foundling and talking, she walked lightly, as if it were something new, hesitant, a step, to reach, ahead. She came to a plane which existed in planes of straight lines diagonally away from her to about chest level, she kicked the first, closest one. She stepped on it, and tried her weight. "Holds", she thought. She brought her other leg up, and with it kicked the next shape in front of her feet. "Solid", she thought. .p-40 RTF

I cant bear a bare bear any longer looking at such things, think differently says the man taking differently your pair of long johns and taking your dogs outside to piss and shit, while you sit on your ass and do fuck all sitting in front of you computer thinking, playing some shit videogame thinking that you can win by sitting on your ass playing and socializing through virtuality and beertuality at the bar, sitting in front of your box of parts thinking it's real like a punch in the face is real, but real it aint, and real it aint gonna be, till you stink to the letter and pee through pipe, roughly with your arteries clotted and you piss stinging like a bee on your dick. Watch this, really real things seem real to me, but unreal things seems as unreal as reality, you see? You don't, well that aint my fucking problem look, you see this, you talk to this, you touch this, but what? But what this, this thing this box of gloves handed to you by your guardian angel the commerce of economy, thinking you's a great chap for lending out your brain for it's gratitude and commemorance, you see? You don't, well fuck that, I'll tell you's some more, and more and more, until you see, you don't? Well we'll see said Eve to Bob to lobbed a chair into the reflection in the window thinking reality is a bitch and Eve's a hour whore wating to suck it up from his dick and rimming him while it's done, oh yeah bitch, that'll feel like a million dollars baby, baby you see? You don't? We'll don't, cuz this dog's gonna walk and walk to the willows by the river and take out from the frogless bum sitting eating his frog legs 41 p-38 RTF

My oh my said the wind to the willows and set out willfully towards the sun, sung in three pitches red bright and gloom, tree in sitting waiting to be sung in song to the morning glory woken up by the sound of the sun singing to the willows in the Eve to Adam as eve to morning sat besides the firelight shifting and bopping to beat to beat to beat, only to the rhythm of the beat singing and toiling away in the fields to grow to prosper, prosper who, where, this prosper, more like shit, drooling in the sun, boiling down on you heavy shoulders from the toil and toiletries why oh why god, did you make us shit, like you couldn't have created something better, but you were off somewhere having fun and toiling and toiletries you probably too, had to give that weight off, felt good didn'it to toil and to burden man o man, to sink in to the dirt to make us work like no other animal, jeez, what a load of dog shit. p- 37 RTF

 "You are walking through it howsomever." he thought. "I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short times of space. Five, six: the nacheinander. Exactly: and that is the ineluctable modality of the audible." "Open your eyes Tom." The Doctor said. "No Jesus! If I fell over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the nebeinander ineluctably." "Open your eyes Tom." The Doctors voice stressed slightly louder. "I am getting on nicely in the dark. My ash sword hangs at my side. Tap with it: they do. My two feet in his boots are at the end of his legs, nebeinander. Sounds solid: made by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? Crush, crack, crick, crick. Dominie Deasy kens them a'. Won't you come to Sandymount, madeline the mare? Rhythm begins, you see. I hear." p -36 RTF

The lights in the house were off as per usual, but there was a red car in the driveway, Gear opened the broken off-hinged gate carefully leading to the back yard, and was met by an immense beast of a rottweiler running towards him, it stopped right before him, and proceeded jumped with it's mouth wide open and tongue hanging out, wouuuu! it panted as it landed on his chest, Gear smiled, and pushed him off, "the back door should probably be open, since your out" he said to the dog and continued to the patio from which the garden receded, the large white plastic french windows were closed, he pushed them open and stepped inside. There was nobody in, he picked up the remote and turned the TV on while he sat down, took out his gear, and started to roll another joint. He was halfway through the joint, watching Jeremy Kyle barrage some unsuspecting chavs about morals and whatnot, when Dean came in "I see you've managed to get inside" he said, "yeah" Gear said as he threw the joint over, Dean caught it easily. He took a puff and started shadow boxing, he threw a few jabs, and hooks, his foot work impeccably light, bouncing here and there, weaving, a faint, jab, jab, weave, hook, he reminded Gear of a jaguar, ready to pounce, his tight muscles tensing and relaxing, in perfect rhythm, dancing in sync with his imaginary opponent, all perfectly visible without his shirt, lean like a stray dog. "You wanna spar?" Dean asked. "not right now, no" Gear answered, "is Becka in?" "Naa, she went out with VIctor and Vuzz", Dean said. He was shifting pace perfectly to avoid his imaginary opponent, duck, jab, weave, he was clearly winning. "You didn't go?" Gear said. "You know me." Dean said as he landed the winning uppercut straight into the imaginary jaw of his imaginary opponent, as he looked at Gear, and continued the motion to a victory celebration both hands in the air, he took another drag and threw the joint back to Gear, it landed on the sofa next to him, and he quickly, yet assuredly, picked it up and put it in his mouth. "You sure you don't wanna spar? I have all the gear, I just bought a new head guard, you can wear it, gloves, everything, shin guards?" Dean said, throwing a few punches for good measure. "Not feeling it." Gear said as he took a toke, "you have any weed?" "Nah man, not much around these days." Dean said. "So you keep telling me." Gear retorted, slightly disappointed, "Becka'll probably have some" he thought. "Good good. So what's your plan? You staying in?" He asked Dean. "Yeah, some guys coming over, gonna kick some ass in Fifa. Here check it out" Dean pounced across the room in to another, Gear lazily got up and followed him to the converted bedroom, "pretty cool this" Dean said, and handed him the boxing helmet. "You wanna buy a shirt?" Dean asked, "I've got plenty, check them out." He picked up a shirt from pile, "I got this for two pounds, imagine that, two pounds, bargain." Dean intoned all his words beautifully, making his accent strangely foreign, "I've got other stuff as well, short? These cost me like five pounds for two." Dean said. He was well pleased with his shopping. "You don't want any, I can give you a decent price?" "No, thanks, there not really my style." Gear answered. "Suit yourself." Dean said, "but your missing out." He frolicked back into the adjacent living room. Gear languidly followed him back, Dean started shadow boxing again, trying to agitate Gear, Gear ignored the efforts appreciatively and continued to the adjacent kitchen, "everything is so clean here these days" he thought and opened the cupboard next to the sink to get a mug, "you want a cuppa?" He said out loud. "No, thanks." Dean was shadow boxing as close to Gear face as he could, throwing punches a few inches away. Gear took the kettle and filled it up, "you never know" he thought, and put it back in its place and clipped it on. "So what are you planning on doing?" He asked. "Gonna play some Fifa at some point." Dean answered, throwing a punch which would have landed in Gears right kidney, "oh yeah, I wonder if I should go to that thing they went to or not." He said out loud. "Whatever man," Dean said and threw a hook so close Gear could feel it on his nose. "That was close," he said. "Yeah, check this out," Dean said, and threw a combination of punches towards the head and body of Gear. "Cool, you've gotten quicker." He said. The water had come to a boil, and the kettle clicked off, Gear poured some milk over the pyramid bag he'd already placed in the cup, put the milk back in the fridge and poured the boiled water into the cup. "You sure you don't want a cup?" He asked again. "No thanks, I'm off caffeine at the moment." Dean had stopped punching the air and had moved to looking into the fridge for something to eat, Gear walked back into the living room with the cup in his right hand, put it down on the coffee table in front of the couch and sat down, sat down, tried his pocket thought "oh there it is", and proceeded to roll another spliff while Jeremy was barraging the next unsuspecting victim with morals and standards, Gear liked watching chavs getting harassed, like 'fat people' documentaries, they made him feel more normal, better about himself, uplifting his self-esteem; thinking that he never had sex with his sisters did he ever run out on his kids or anything else which seemed fairly common place in Jeremy Kyle's world, generally seemed to do that to him. "You wanna pitch in?" He yelled. There was a quite whiff and Gear could see from the corner of his eye as a small bag flew from the kitchen onto the living room floor, "jeez" he said and got up to go pick it up "stop whining, bitch" he heard Dean vocalize in the kitchen, "I love you too Dean", he said and sat back down onto the couch. p-42/43 RTF

No comments:

Post a Comment