Wet Sun

11.6

i stir like a teaspoon in a hot latte. just to pass this time we now have. could a summer ever be so grey and stormy? or did the rain stow away with me to vienna?
it’s still muggy though, a shy and awkward heat. the rain is only a little cooling.

what limbo-like fate it is that inhabits us on such dreamy mornings. what a hollow purgatory. reanimated by the sudden urgency to open the godforsaken window just to let some fucking air in.
i’m sweating uncomfortably and the shower here is nothing but a wet rag.

beautiful vienna, your toilets are so grotesque. your air is so heavy like a thick head of hair. i scrape my skin till there is a wound then
i offer you a cigarette. we smoke in a brilliant silence and finally crush the stubs in another glass ashtray. you never took the little blue one from the nextdoor table outside the restaurant like you said you would. but i was too tired anyway to remind you.

13.6

on the train to prague.
my long awaited sweet prague.
kafka’s town. kafka’s grave.
will it appear to me like an apparition? or slowly, a creeping and sneaking fog that pools cooly around my ankles before it travels up to my navel and then my chin. following the contours of my spine.
what is the call to prague?
i fear i romanticise even crumbs but prague is no crumb.
i hate being a tourist.
i want to speak the language and know all the local vulgarities. accepted by tongue. or the way i count using fingers.
trains are a comfort to me. enveloped in the daydreams of passing towns and chased by the serenity of farm fields and european houses. it reminds me of the vague and desperate embrace of life and death and me, their sweet baby looks on from my crib.
i must first visit prague, father. i must bask in trainviews and make lewd pictures from the clouds. the vastness of green and blue evokes illustrations of rosy cheeked blonde cherubs. children clasping hands and falling over one another in a gorgeous fit of giggles. i picture small town suicides the romance and the tragedy of a blood soaked bath mat. it is immaculate country here. pristine and preserved in my mind as fairy tales are etched in gold trim.
but i am only a pervert here. a delusional voyeur.

17.6

the clouds appear a light lavender grey against a midnight sky. they carry the thunderstorms of tomorrow. i smoke a slim vogue in the dark, like i will when the rain comes the next day in the shelter of one of pragues many arches. my mind winds like a strangling vine. trying desperately to get ahead. to reach that life giving sun. we all just want a taste of her, all us condemned angels.

when i cry now its like a rapid which i am tumbling into and drowns me. its like the burst of thunder that will shake and open the sky to
a downpour of flood water. swift as a crocodile. unsuspecting as a swamp. these stars will always remember this moment and they will always remember us. the clouds glaze my eyes, pretty and full of dew and a sorrow of poets and whale song.

there is a thickness in my throat, but its just you.
the stickiness of goodbyes and of memory grave digging.
blood pours out of me.
i am an empty vessel again and again to be refilled with the rain and the humid hungry summer. this cycle consumes me. the moon knows only of my weeping and she will keep my secrets safe in her round belly. till the time comes...
i have to be candid. mostly because there is nothing else left to impersonate but myself and the spiky, sour truth. my lungs are full of clouds. they keep me warm when i forget my jacket like i will in the morning. again and again.

18.6

people watching.
i peer ruthlessly from behind my darkened eyes. observing and absorbing like film. make an impression i am begging you, look into the blazing sun of my face and seek out my sunken eyes and caress me with a little supervision, hold me in your heart for a precious moment, my sweet passer-by.
i wont mind if you’re ugly or scared, that makes you all the more gentle in this summer light.
no dont come any closer!
i’ll be frightened and hole away inside my cave. just watch me and i will reflect your gaze and we will be in a beautiful bubble of only us and i will build a home out of mud and straw that we can bake in until the rains come to wash our little world away. on you go, unbothered by my childish games. untethered by my wistful gaze.
it was just for a lark. dont be upset with me.
who next shall fall prey to me, eyes hunting in the crowd for a face, full and lonely as my own.
one misstep and its a hefty plunge of shame. a pain of eyes groping me amidst the dumb and careless crowd.
i pretend i am the slinking hungry cat, but in my core lives a dreaming mouse.

19.6

final day in prague.
goodbye to the black and white cobblestones. to the patterns they make and the bruises they leave on the soles of my soft feet. love bites and goodnight kisses.
and to the cathedrals and churches and their regal decorated organs
i bid you farewell. to the turrets and fortresses of a rich brown brick, their gold trims and flirtations. goodbye to the saints and sinners of prague.
goodbye to kafka and his cubist grave. to all the cubist graves and names that rest here.
goodbye to conversations and the tears that accompanied them. i beg us to depart.
goodbye to the thunderstorms and to the shelter we took within them. i am full of you, prague. full to the edge of my limits and it is almost sickly. i love you and your gently carved innards. the beige and yellows of their hues. i took pictures of even the dog shits left in your most feminine streets.
to remember even the smells and pornography i met here in such a monumental town.
goodbye i wave with tears in my misty eyes, like any fanciful tourist. goodbye in english, since i don’t know the words in czech.

23.6

timid and gentle as a rabbit, i was holed in my darkened burrow while the sky shook the walls around me and performed its fabulous disaster for us. such little creatures we are in the face of the opening clouds and the tremendous roar that escapes wet and despairing jaws. the room flickers nervously, my eyes seem to short circuit and you are laughing like a maniac.

i love this moment. this night so full and alive, refusing slumber.
i want to swim in the drenched sky and drown above the city of berlin and you would watch the show from these trembling windows. i love to perform for you.
when the guy at the hostel came up to me and warned me of a great storm i knew the seeds of panic and beauty were sown. the perfect conditions for mania and drama. and i ran giggling back to the cabin to prepare for passage to another blessed plane.

24.6

at an art show rave in berlin.
theres a cow made of metal with a latex pussy and anus cut out and gloves and lube so you can fist it and squelch your hands in its guts. it stands solo in the middle of the dance floor. i watch people one
by one don the sleeve-length plastic glove and plunge up to their shoulders into the indifferent cow.
i want to go near it myself but im enjoying my wall flowering.
my documentation.
to my right there are a few people doing lines of speed off an iphone. they cut and cough. cut and cough.
the cow is a silent figure through it all.
a photo of paris hilton, poster-sized, leans on a shelf behind the bar. she wears a corset and gazes down at us seductively from under the glow of red lights.
further along a crack in the bathroom door reveals a line of blue which emanates toward the dance floor. the air is hot with drug bodies and laughter and the fans work hard to suppress the fever, which is sure only to grow and burn faster as the night deepens.
the cow will not run in the face of flickering flames.

3.7

sitting in the oude kerk. it’s the last day.

and to spend at least a little while in such a heavenly place. sculpted right out of shimmering waves of stone. its old wooden curves remember an evolution of dutch faces in prayer.
this is my favourite church. lets leave a few cells here. the tip of my pinky fingernail. let them multiply until a little fleshy form has taken shape. taken residence in the stormy floor.

this place is elemental.
wide and empty. it dwarfs me until i am so small that you can finally just pick me up between your thumb and forefinger and swallow me whole. ill be warm and safe in your pink insides and then we’ll never have to part.
wooden beams stretch over us. weathered from the flooding tears
of god as he looks down upon all the lovers who love each other so much that they must return one another to the wild of their free and lonely lives.
he watches and weeps. he mustn’t ever turn away.
the earth is big but his church is bigger. it holds in its impossible hands all the oceans and licks the salty water.
i want to sleep here. curled up on the cold stone with not even as much as a blanket. and when i wake, covered in a brilliant array of bruises i will finally be holy.
baptised and pure of all the pain and love we have given one another.