log of first MXE trip in months

i found a small bag of MXE that had been sitting in my little chinese take-away tray of stationary, receipts and uncategorisable desktop leftovers for a few months. i picked it up. shit, yeah, it's been a while. i was trying to finish several poems. maybe this unsuspecting white powder would fuck my mind into a new perspective. i did a big line and made a cup of cherry tea which my neighbour had given me earlier. i added in lots of sugar.

i felt the desire to swing and pounce like a monkey - to bounce, and to fling my chair like a helicopter blade above my head. i felt the desire to rage and rampage - to beat the shit out of something.

i folded all of my t-shirts and towels neatly on the bed and considered that the military might serve a purpose after all. i marvelled at how perfectly square the piles were and how it made me feel disciplined and organised.

i did 100 push ups with the supreme confidence that it was possible, each repetition a testament to the ease with which it could be done. afterwards i collapsed and spent a few minutes looking at the skirting board willing the insects who live behind it not to be shy, but to come out to where we could look deeply into each other's eyes.

i followed the encyclopedic hypertext of trotskyist splinter groups of the united kingdom and mapped them on an A3 piece of paper - an experience through which i engaged in the cyclical and pulsating eb and flow of divergent and convergent political philosophies.

i put my ear to the wall for the best part of an hour to listen to the moan and rumble of ambient vibrations passing through ancient masonry.

i watched an introduction to anthropology that Alan Macfarlane had made on a computer in 1988 which explained the nomadic hunter-gatherer lifestyle of the african bushmen. it was pretty good. then i watched porn in which 3 men skull-fucked a girl and force-fed her out of a dog bowl into which she had vomited.

i pretended that it had become day and that i had written through the night, once again reborn and having made an entire revolution.

i looked into the open page and thought, you are one of the few rabbit holes into which i can confidently shout.

eat aortic

to make an omelette, you have to crack a few eggs.
humpty dumpty eat your fucking heart out.

though we know it is a hazard of living - that there is no opt out clause for the final destination - no one likes to be reminded of their mortality. perhaps we do, falsely, for a moment of weightless adrenaline fuelled abandon, but not truly, when it's completely out of our control.

i think of heroes,
i think of the shrapnel in Tony Stark's heart,
i think of emblems on the chest,
i think of your scars and of how deep they have cut into you.

i never had the guts to hear you say
that before 1948, the 5th July,
we may already have said goodbye.
it's hard to appreciate the miracles of science
when faced with a scalpel and a thousand tubes.

there is a set of hands
that can make ends meet,
but first they have to break my friend
and put her back together with wire and metal.
and when i think of her tomorrow morning
at 8am when they make the first incision,
she'll be splayed open on the operating table,
my beautiful friend,
ribs akimbo,
and they will begin.

they'll open her chest,
displaying her like a gaping flower,
like a window,
like a bloody well.

then they will stop her heart,
and for those minutes i will muster
all my residual superstitions and spiritual tendencies
in an attempt to steer fate towards excellent tailoring;
in an attempt to convince myself of some position of power.

burrow

into all important holes.
my inner t r a c t
that goes all the way to china.
thin streets through which glands, glands
eject mucus, mucus and detritus.
migrants forced through ducts, ducts
to return from whence they came, came.
all the tubes that lead to
cavities and echoes, echoes.
painted interiors of bright arteries
gushing towards punctures and orifice, orifice.
holy gravedigger, friend of the worms,
breathes shit and makes magic, magic
with buttons, stars and spirals;
the navel, asshole and ear.
children's pencils in nostril, nostril
for empty pocket hoop jumping.
a dark entrance to a rabbit hole
that gargles lint and spittle.
empty bellies rumble,
and wombs are v a c a n t.