Bleak, blank, black and white dots

 

Originally Published In CITY-ZINE: Issue 14, July 2011

 

Bleak, blank, black and white dots

 

Today; let’s paint a picture, nothing perfect, but something truly unrepresentative of the truth; Part-scandal/part-fact/part-fiction

The F.B.I decides to take a grassroots approach in a bid to locate and capture an 81-year-old Mafioso member…he’s evaded you long enough let him die running…milk carton advertisements are so last decade.

Will Cheryl and Ashley’s marriage work itself out? Who gives a shit?

There’s loadsa bee’s swarming down Regent Street; a real dilemma for the rich businessmen and their suit-tailoring monopolies; nature has them down on all fours licking the pavement for remnants of honey to soothe them for their loss of money.

Reasonable force can now be used to protect your own property! About time you daft twats- Not that I’d need permission to batter a thief for breaking into my yard; I always use the powers of the force in a reasonable manner… Like Yoda on steroids recovering from extreme- post-gangrene-treatment…you’d have thought Lucas would have sorted it out for him- but no poor old master had to wait for Obama’s health-bill to go through; it looks like he’s gonna be waiting a while for that last medical appointment and that prescription of skin-ointment; Oh to be a pretty boy like Beckham or Depp; unfortunately I left my skin products in safeway on the counter, when I suddenly came to my senses and realized I was a bloke.

Dictate not truths and burn the Thesaurus; one word is enough for any; simplify the linguistic code and replicate our tabloids; simple, short, concise words like; sun, star, and mail…not to mention pretty visions like the times and mirror, mirror on the floor smashed into a thousand pieces.

The shards of a nation fighting not to be Britain…At least we might do well at the footy in the Olympics if Gareth Bale’s on our side….but oh no, what’s this more deceit and lies- The egg firmly on Derby’s face…just what we needed! More bastard redundancies- the perfect accompaniment for a city on its death bed…A city that could be anywhere in the U.K….It’s all just as grim North of London!

Make squatting illegal and carrying a knife ok…as long as you don’t threaten anyone with it.

Teenage Hacker arrested in Essex…clever bastard…smashing geographical stereotypes.

Review the culling of badgers…rate it on a scale of one to five….Stars; just like our government celebrities from the commons,  live, on BBC parliament- Big Brother house to the politicians…Oh how they wish they were Lords…all in good time…failing to heed to warnings from unions….everyone will strike unprecedentedly for their pensions…you aint seen nothing yet Cameron…you and your mate Kenneth are gonna tackle drug addiction in prisons…but we have to ask ourselves a serious question in relation to this grotesque task- is there any gold at the end of the rainbow or is that just a fantasy…hmm the similarities are uncanny…never mind prison what about our other institutions…namely our places of education…nine mistakes on GCSE and A-level papers! Who the fuck is setting the questions? Educational ministerial monkeys…more vigilance required…stop this lingual halitosis and hire someone else to do the job properly…Life in Syria lived in weekly protest; men women and children shot dead in the name of democracy by the orders of hypocrisy…

Greeks contest in Athens-Austerity measures needed; everything is needed…we need to follow America -we can do it best through media; with televised party-debates to fool the nation Clegg’s great. But now we see the true picture and it’s bleak…black and white fuzzy dots just like when the signals lost. Hopeless but not defeated; in dire need of fine-tuning;

And so I wait for the day, when the cats at the top are in tune with us rats at the bottom…but we all know that aint never gonna happen.

 

 

Copyright © J. Thrasivoulou 2012, steal it and bear the ramifications of your actions.

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I don’t know but he does

 

Originally Published in CITY-ZINE: Issue 10, November, 2010

 

I don’t know but he does

Stewart was pacing about, looking anxious. He was waltzing around his living-room in a furious kind of dance. There was no music on. No television either, what was he doing? Was he repeating tribal rhythms in his head? Was his mind simply in another, far-out, more rhythmic kind of place?

I don’t know, but he did, sort of.

-Ware tha fuck avva putit?

I gesture at the cat for some kind of answer…

The first sign of madness is…talking to animals, asking them for answers to questions…Just tell that to the dog whisperer.

-What the fuckin’ el avva dun wivvit? I adit a minit-ago.

I’m just walking around like a complete and utter twat; looking for it. For what you ask, my marbles?

NO

Not quite, I never had them to lose, none of us did. Its water, that’s what I’m looking for. A bottle of; fresh from the fridge, I took it out but five minutes ago. But I can’t think where it is. Where have I put it? The thing with me is; there’s a talking me, and there’s a thinking me. But we’re both different. We aren’t at all the same, in any way shape or form, we are opposite. But we are one; we will always be one, but the water man the fucking water. Why the fuck are you looking in the fruit-bowl? Does it resemble ones thoughts? My thoughts, they aren’t yours no more sunny Jim, you’re a few apples, Sh-short of an orchard my boy, better call FRANK.

-FUCK FRANK, FUCK- HIM, FUCK- HIM, FUCK-HIM AND EVERY FUCKING BODY YOU BASTARD WHERE HAVE YOU PUT MY WATER? WHY DO YOU ALWAYS FUCKING DO THIS TO ME?

I’m, well him; he’s beating the wall…ha-ha, chuckle-chuckle, giggidy-giggidy.

What the fuck am I, I mean he, what the fuck is he doing?

I assure you that these are not my actions; I would never plan such a vile and stereo-typically repulsive act of self-vandalism. The whole thing is bloody preposterous.

And still no fucking water, I need water as well Stewart you buffoon. Where is it Stewart oh where is it sonny? Oh where is it Stewy boy? Where is it lad? Where is it kid? What are you crying for child? Are your hands cut? Do they hurt? Pour some vinegar in my friend, maybe some salt as well, and then tear at your own flesh, with your own teeth. It will taste good, it might hurt at first but escape the pain, let me take over. Mind over matter, you are as good as vegetable matter. A pointless existence leadeth you. Yoda is summoning the darkness, the dark-side of the force. Legislative manslaughter. Cries and whispers and murmurs. God this is fun, man, you’re real fun Stewart!

BUT NOW I’M THIRSTY…

LOOK BEHIND THE DOOR STEWY. LOOK BEHIND THE DOOR.

I’m back, hands hurting, broken but I’m all right, I didn’t eat my flesh if that’s what you’re thinking; Although I may do later, if he keeps on asking me. I don’t like to upset him; I don’t like to upset anyone.

So now I’m gonna look behind the door, whatever he, I, we, mean by that.

-FUCK IT’S FUCKING THERE, ITS THERE, ITS HERE, HOW DID YOU KNOW IT WAS HERE, YOU BASTARD DAMN YOU, DAMN YOU, I HEAD-BUTT GLASS TO FUCK YOU MOTHER-BITCH

He’s gone and head-butted the bloody glass-panel in the kitchen door now. What’s he like eh? Mad as fuck and still no water. He’s out cold instantly; the glass has severed one of the main arteries in his neck. He’s drowning in his own fluid. Blood, Puddles of blood galore, the cat looks on. His eyes remain open, his hand reaching for his own neck, trying to strangle his way to freedom, out of this life and onto another. He doesn’t want to die like this, not bleeding, not on the floor with the cat watching. Not like this.

Then the oxygen and blood, it stops. Gone forever, replaced for piss and shit in an hour or so. And then the stench, the smell of death, it will come to us all one day. But I live on watching him, laughing all the way to his afterlife.

 

Copyright © J. Thrasivoulou 2012, steal it and bear the ramifications of your actions.

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Rainathon (days of a dumpster)

 

Originally Published In CITY-ZINE: Issue 12, Feb 2011 

Online Version Available Here:

http://www.scribd.com/doc/96193085/Zine-12

 

Rainathon (days of a dumpster)

I started work for an agency; I’d been there six-months (on ‘n off). One Monday I goes in ‘n they ‘ad a position on the bins. I took it; piece of cake, I was thinking.

Half an hour later the Bin-Lorry came round the corner and picked us up; I couldn’t believe me eyes; I knew one of the lads in the front; Smudge, a geezer I used to knock about with back in the day.

Him and the geezer driving (Kenny) made us feel welcome; showed us the ropes ‘n that.

That first day they stopped at the chippy for dinner; cuz I’d not brung any with me. The weather was pretty nice that day; I remember getting a right sweat on sat in the front of the lorry and yammin’ all that hot food down me gob.

We knocked off about three-o-clock that day; finished the round a little bit later than usual, Smudge ‘n Kenny said. Fuck-it though, I don’t think they was being funny about it; don’t think they were trying to hint at oat. They knew it was me first day so I think they were all good with it.

From the Tuesday onwards I got me Mrs to make us a pack-up; nice sandwiches, loadsa crisps ‘n chocolate ‘n all that.

The first week flew by, the weather was proper sound. I was buzzin’ with me pay-packet the following Monday; I’d earnt more than I’d ever earnt in me life. That night I went out on the piss proper style, me n Smudge was on-it-like-a-car-bonnet!! Avvin it proper.

The next morning me enthusiasm for the job was beginning to wear-off. At first I’d enjoyed the running about ‘n that; felt like it was doing me good ‘n keeping me fit. That morning it was different though; it just wasn’t the same. The kebab I couldn’t even remember eating started to repeat on us, I ended up pukin me guts-up on only the fourth street. Smudge ‘n Ken were laughing at us like fuck; the bastards, bet I looked a right-sight though. I vowed to quit drinking after that day, at least on school-nights.

I kept up me vows for the remainder of the week ‘n got smashed at the weekend. This became a routine for the next month or so; a true WEEKEND OFFENDER, but I was beginning to dread the Monday morning.

But despite the dread Monday morning rolled on next week ‘n I went to work. I was beginning to get really pissed-off with the way people leave their bins, always wonky ‘n full to the brim, heavy as fuck to push along when you have to do pissin’ eighty to a hundred on every bastard street. I was happy when lunch-hour came, I scoffed me food down like a savage.

A couple more days went past ‘n then it was the Thursday, it looked like it was gonna piss it down. I walked to the depot anyway. That Kenny was beginning to piss us off, he kept going on about their old-partner Dezzy; a legend him ‘n Smudge had said. ‘N that was fine; it was fine to think of an old-colleague to be of legendary status, that was not the problem. The problem was that Kenny kept dropping fucking remarks like;

Not as fast as our old ledgy-Dezzy is he Smudge? ‘n stuff like that. It was funny the first few times but I was beginning to take it personally.

By the time Kenny ‘n Smudge pulled out the lock-up and picked us up it was proper tearing-it-down, I couldn’t fucking believe it. I got in the front ‘n Kenny was grinning, the smarmy bastard, I was feeling fucked-off with it all.

We started the rounds ‘n I finished off the first couple of streets; I was soaking wet-through, I’d never been so bloody wet.

By the time I got back in the front and we were approaching the third street I’d already decided what I was gonna do. We pulled up at the top of the street; Renfew Street. ‘N then I did what I knew I was gonna do;

I ran, I ran like fuck!

Luckily me mate lived round the corner so I knew where I was running to, so I jogged on and never looked back and never set foot in the depot again. I could here Smudge shouting as I was leggin’ it-

-METZ, METZ! WHAT THA FUCKER YA DOING? DON’T LEAVE US IN THA SHIT!

I felt bad for Smudge cuz he was a good lad but me days of carting people’s shit around were well and truly over. The twats at the agency even gave me a full day’s pay for me marathon!

A couple of weeks later I got on at a factory round the corner from where I live. I’ve worked there ever since I ran away from the bins.

This job felt pretty steady until recently; all the government cut-backs ‘n that; they’ve been laying-off left, right ‘n centre. They say on the news that things will improve in the next couple of years. Apparently them Conservatives ‘n Liberal Democrats know what’s going on ‘n they’re gonna sort it out. It’s that kinder stuff that makes me not want to watch the news, sometimes I’m just not convinced they’re telling the truth; I think they might just be- all out for themselves; without a thought for you or me.

 

Copyright © J. Thrasivoulou 2012, steal it and bear the ramifications of your actions.


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I AM THE CAPTAIN OF YOUR SHIP

 

Originally Published in CITY-ZINE: Issue 16, May 2012

 

I AM THE CAPTAIN OF YOUR SHIP…

 

-A REAL QUANDARY, Shouts the captain in perpendicular motion, fingers raised toward the setting sun- if it were fully dark we’d see the Milky-Way!

-Ahoy, agreed, hurrah! Exhaled the troops in unison. The battered fiesta was working out fantastically. They were driving down a tight country-lane approaching a small Cornish village.

-TEAR THE FUCKER UP CAPTAIN! Roared an excitedly ‘tripping-off-his-tits’ Private Howard Jetson from the passenger seat next to him –FUCK THE CORNISH BOYZ- WE RULE!! -WOO-HOO!!

Mushrooms had been a major part of the agenda, it had been a perfect clear summer’s day; the evening sky was now red- a real mystified Sheppard’s delight. There was a tension in the air, an ambiguous feeling of omnipotence and adversity concerning the next twenty-four hours. Worse still- that old foe panic was on the horizon, the captain could sense him; he knew this predator well. He listened out for sounds of serpent’s hissing- forgetting the road and nearly smashing straight into a fence. His vision was impairing itself rapidly. The troops giggled girlishly as he sailed forth- his engine wailing disharmoniously in over-revved agony. The Captain could see sharks swimming in the next field; he skidded around the corner; dry dust penetrated the gaps in the electric windows. Private Howard Jetson pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes; now seemed like the perfect time to use them. This issue with the Jaws impersonators in the next field perplexed the Captain greatly- why would they do that?

-This is the first time I’ve driven this ship and I’ll be damned If I’m going down without a fight!

The Captain had turned red as sweat saturated his brow; he screamed in a manner that made him almost wretch with sheer unadulterated aggression, his eyes were monstrous forming a blank glaze:

-NO DAMNED LAND SHARK WILL GET THE BETTER OF ME- WHO DO THESE JAWS IMPERSONATORS THINK THEY ARE?

The troops exchanged bemused looks, but looks would achieve nothing. The Captain was now ferocious and full of rapture as he slipped from second straight into forth and burst through the oncoming fence and into the field. He wretched further into rage:

-FUCKING BASTARDS! YOU’RE NOT TAKING ME!!! NEVER!!! THIS IS OUR LAND ALSO!!

The captain suddenly ground the car to a halt, turning off the engine but leaving the ignition on, the radio blastingTell Me Lies by Fleetwood Mac, this seemed to annoy the captain as he violently reached for the power button. Off.Silence.

The lieutenant was seated in the back alongside Tea-boy Stackson- they’d been relaxing, seemingly inattentive, taking in the drama, attempting to comprehend the complexity of the situation that was fast approaching the mind of their Captain. They could sense the cogs of insanity churning away- They’d been here before, the Captain’soccasional lapses of drug psychosis from years of speed and smack abuse-Bla-bla-bla…

This would form the basis of his excuse in the morning. Nonetheless, his bad trips were a joyful prospect of entertainment for their observerous eyes.

The Captain placed the nub of a roll up to his mouth. He sparked-up and exhaled the smoke, as if forgetting that he hadn’t inhaled it. His blue eyes rolled deep into the back of his head, although he was turned toward Jetson as though making eye contact, but the Captain seemed incapable of achieving such a task. He spoke but this time surprisingly more calm and dignified:

-Listen platoon, I’ve been thinking and it’s sure as hell a lot more likely that those land-sharks are rhinoceros’ rather than Jaws replica’s, but still, we must be careful.

The lieutenant rolled his eyes and head-butted his palm- he knew not whether to laugh or cry, so instead he spoke up from behind:

-For fuck sake captain we aren’t in Hollywood that shit would cost thousands to replicate, and there’s no water man, -You’re handling this all wrong-I demand you- to let me take the wheel sir, you are currently not of sound mind -I know just how to handle these rhinos -I saw it once on Stevie Irwin.

He winked at Stackson hopeful that these words would enable his movement into the front of the Fiesta.

The captain instantly appeared agitated, shaking his head in disbelief. The roll-up in the corner of his mouth now soaked with dry, spent saliva- sticking to his bottom lip. As he spoke, his face quivered in a bitter chemical contortion: -Not on water? haa-haa, that the best you got? Not on water? His eyes rolled back further and then darted forwards and peered into the rear-view- mirror addressing the Lieutenant’s squinty brown pupils. His voice then rose in shroomed-up anguish:

-YOU, LIUTENENT!

-Yes, sir, yes su—

-NEVER FUCKING MIND SIR YES SIR- YOU FUCKING HEATHEN- I AM THE CAPTAIN OF THIS VESSEL AND I SHALL NEVER PASS THE WHEEL OVER TO A NOMAD SUCH AS YOUR BAD SELF, YOU FIENDISH FUCK! WE AGREED I AM THE CAPTAIN- I DREW THE LONGEST STRAW AND PISS FROM THE LONGEST COCK! AND YOU- HE WHO SITS DEFEATED; NOT EVEN RIDING SHOTGUN- HAS THE AUDACITY TO DEMAND MY POSITION?

-I HAVE A GOOD MIND TO JUMP FROM THIS SHIP AND HANDLE THESE SHARKS WITH MY BARE HANDS AND POSSIBLY LEGS; I KNOW HOW TO WRESTLE AND HAVE ALSO WATCHED STEVIE IRWIN; I CALL HIM STEVIE BECAUSE I FEEL AS THOUGH I KNEW HIM BETTER THAN YOU DID, HAVING CLEARLY WATCHED HIS SHOW MORE- IT WAS ME WHO GOT YOU INTO HIM YOU BASTARD AND IT’S ME WHO KNOWS HOW TO CAPTURE AN ALIGATOR WITHOUT GETTING BITTEN, ALTHOUGH I AM YET TO TEST THIS- I AM AT ONE WITH NATURE AND I AM THE CAPTAIN OF THIS SHIP AND I DECIDE IF WE ARE SWIMMING OR SINKING! -IF THIS SHIP GOES DOWN; I AM GOING DOWN WITH IT; AS DRIVER, AS LEADER OF MEN AND FIGHTER OF SHARKS DO YOU HEAR ME? DO YOU UNDERSTAND LIEUTENANT? AM I MAKING MYSELF PERFECTLY CLEAR?

The atmosphere of the car was breathless and the Captain’s question rhetorical. The silence of the endless, surrounding fields seemed deafening in comparison to that of the vessel.

But this was to be understood; After all, there were land sharks lurking. The captain had turned the ignition to start the engine; he was playing with the window wipers and lights, flicking them off and on, the wipers squeaking slightly whilst the headlights illuminated the grass ahead of them. Dusk began to set further. The captain could feel the ground beneath him rumbling, turbulent tremors from below.

-THESE FUCKING TYRRANTS- THEY ROCK MY BOAT-WHO ARE THESE BEASTS?

The captain ground his teeth together and was now brown-lipped from the tar of his dissolved roll-up. He looked out of the windows, rubbing his hands in anticipation. The lieutenant had his face buried in his knees; he knew the captain was gone, suffering- extremely deluded. Would he return? Only time would tell.

-WHO DO THEY THINK WE FEAR? WE HAVE PROVISIONS- PLENTY OF JUICE IN THE ENGINE! I CAN FUCKING SAIL ALL DAY; RIVERS-ESTUARIES -SEAS- YOU NAME IT!

Private Howard Jetson was finishing skinning up a joint on a CD case in the passenger seat; he noticed the Captain reaching into his combat trousers and producing a knife which he flicked open instantaneously:

-What the fuck are you doing captain?

-I’M GONNA CUT THEM- I’M GONNA CUT THESE FUCKIN BASTERDS, LEND ME THOSE FUCKIN SUNGLASSES MAN- AM GOIN IN, AM FUCKIN GOIN IN!!!!

The captain now spoke in an attempted American tongue; what state he was from, only he knew, it was certainly undecipherable to the insane ear. All of a sudden he ragged the car towards the sharks/rhinos driving directly over one and grinding to a halt; He jumped from the vehicle and ran towards the sharks/rhinos. Private Howard Jetson began to laugh uncontrollably shaking the body of the car whilst coughing on the thick smoke produced by the joint. The lieutenant raised his head from the back to view a sight simply unimaginable- He watched completely miffed, as the Captain repeatedly stabbed and kicked at a bail of hay:

-So they weren’t even rhinos then? Inquired a miffed Lieutenant.

-It appears not, replied an equally as baffled Tea-boy Stackson.

The Captain continued his assault until defeated by his comedown. This would be one voyage the crew would never forget.

 

Copyright © J. Thrasivoulou 2012, steal it and bear the ramifications of your actions.


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