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  • Exclamation.

    11. Mai. 2010, 19:11




    Some of the days that go by should have exclamation marks after them.
    Yesterday had photorealistic houses but painted flames coming from the roofs.
    I saw it from up on the hill!
  • Some Nuclear Reactors.

    10. Mai. 2010, 14:56




    The latitude of the Palo Verde nuclear reactor in Arizona is minus eighty-seven point one three one oh five. The longitude is thirty-four point three eight seven five oh. In California, the Diablo Canyon reactor is minus one hundred and twenty point eight five five four five, then thirty-five point two one one four two. In Florida, Turkey Point is minus eighty point three three one six eight by twenty-five point four three six oh four.

    My own location is not so precise. I'm sitting in a chair and I'm staring at the wall.
  • Head and Shoulders.

    9. Mai. 2010, 8:03




    When I moved to my new flat I was very happy but when I worked out that the whispering voices that I can hear when I put my head under the water in the bath belong to dead people I wasn't happy any longer, particularly because I realised that every time I put my head under the water when I had a bath the voices were slightly louder than the time before.
    I tried not putting my head under the water when I had a bath but every fucking time curiosity got the better of me and I had to try it just for a second just to check and of course, even half a second of that sort of thing would bother anyone.
    I keep asking the landlord to put a shower in but he prevaricates and says things like what do you want a shower for thats a lovely old bath thats an antique that is look at it it's Victorian you'd pay top dollar for one of those at the reclamation yard.
    It's all right for him. He hasn't got fucking dead people talking to him every time he washes his hair.
  • Nearly Got.

    8. Mai. 2010, 15:09




    One night I am alone in my house, compliling lists of friends from the past. It grows dark, and I begin to wish for company. The list sits before me on the table, reproaching me with intimations of missed opportunities and regretful abandonments.
    There is a scratching at the window, and absently I open it, assuming that one of my cats is feeling lonely too. To my dismay, a small devil-creature, salivating with anticipation, leaps squatly into the room. I recognise it immediately as being of the type to possess the soul without hesitation. Backing away from its gleaming eyes, I consider my options. With a flash of intelligence, I announce to the devil-creature that it is yesterday, and today I am dead.
    The creature looks quizzically at me. I insist that it has made an error - it is yesterday, and later this evening I kill myself with a large, sharp kitchen knife. I am dead. My soul has gone. The devil-creature is too late. It looks puzzled, but I explain, with placatory hand movements, that this is really a simple matter. As I am already dead, there is no point in attempting to take my soul. Come back in a week, I tell the devil-creature. The landlord will have re-let the house, and there will be fresh prey. Huffing and puffing, the creature waddles back to the window, and lurches off into the night.
    Congratulating myself on my quick thinking, I close the window. I sit down once more in front of my list, and it is with a heavy heart that I wander into the kitchen and begin rifling through the knife drawer.