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Bouquets

on November 15, 2015

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Une ideologie mitotique?

Mashriq doublespeak? Bouquets burn brighter than grenades.

2015

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A Letter to My Daughter as a Seventies Slasher

To my final girl, tilted towards a telephone, throwing interrogatives into a refrigerator, apologising in an abattoir, shunning a chaperone, batting lashes at a billhook, berating a carburater. As regards a sepia Pierrot, geckoid greasepaint, jollily attired, I hereby itemise the number of stairs of false direction, and duly italicize the faint essence, cognate with matchsticks, that he wears. I do this, I realise, in service of my own contrition, because I am the scriptwriter for this Punchinello’s performance. All of his chainsaw transgressions, his rotary atrocities. I pen every pained libretto. I urge you shed my damselled trope and demur the appropriative machete, the appropriate response, without any corn-syrup requirement to endure the appellation that opens my correspondence. Here a pale of pig-blood jouissance, there adrenaline to take a pitchfork to all virginal or promiscuous requirements. Freely...

On Society

Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four. If that is granted, all else follows. George Orwell I agree that two times two makes four is an excellent thing; but if we are dispensing praise, then two times two makes five is sometimes a most charming little thing as well. Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Left Luggage

Suitcase the First A toothbrush, each bristle a hair of Methuselah’s beard. Shaving cream, brown as heroin. Four serrated teeth of a Great White. Liberation Through Hearing During the Intermediate State, for the train. My two corneas. Socks. Inhibitions, for exhibitions. Wooden beams. The curdled milk of Cleopatra; suncream. Frederick the First's love of Equus. Carrion, as currency. The puzzlement of a parentless toddler at a closed supermarket. Board games. A comb in the shape of a Claudius smile. A towel for sunbathing in Golgotha. Suitcase the Second A toothbrush, each bristle the laughter of antediluvians. The bovine frustration and hedonistic inclination of tourists. The sandals of pilgrims. The screams of a Burundi transit centre. The whispers of Stalinist Russia, for my hair. People in glass houses. Water wings, one for each concentric circle. National debt. Bill Buckley's unfinished cryptic crosswords. Carry-on A round of drinks. A ...

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