11 Jan 2008

Dismal Shores

After my accident I began pissing emulsion paint: luxuriant limes and olives, mainly. Technicolor stains accumulated in my underpants and my social life suffered badly as a result. Colleagues at the Traffic Inspectorate mounted a hateful whispering campaign against me, putting both my livelihood and my life in jeopardy.

Pursued by an angry mob of farmers I leapt aboard a rail-less trolley-car that clattered over the moonlit cobble-stones of Lesserpool like a herd of miniature horses. The other passengers were narcoleptics, dozing fitfully in the flickering late autumn light, framed by broken trees. The driver had no eyes.

We passed abandoned milk-depots and rusting grain-silos; enormous statues of trilobites and pleiosaurs cast in molds of crumbling concrete. Melancholy accordion music played on the radio. The woman opposite me dribbled and talked in Morse Code in her sleep.

Five kilometers from Whitchurch we crashed into our own reflection and I staggered from the wreckage, my trousers soaked in khaki-coloured piss, as a fleet of hovercrafts arrived, their sirens sounding like the mating-calls of drunken cats. The medics whistled cheerful war-songs as they buried the survivors in burning mounds of molten clay. I crawled beneath a hedge and waited until the sun came up.

Later, I found sanctuary in a safe-house in Novia Scotia where I sit waiting for the rest of my life to arrive. If there’s a moral to this story, then it still eludes me.

Dismal shores. Fitzcarraldo in a spin-drier.


cocaine jesus said...

where to start?
where to end?
hooked on so many of these incredible lines. glad not to have met the woman who dribbles and talks in morse code while she sleeps.
sounds like the dischargers to me!

Lazare said...


Robert said...


weird coincidence...im from Nova Scotia

im serious


kek-w said...

*whistles theme from "Twlight Zone"*

Aaron Held said...

it's so hard to keep with all this great art

but thats not a bad thing.