thiasus

OTHER PEOPLE

Lying in your bed munching gravel til my eyes

  split

the sheets must be pink and there's a hole in the middle, begging for it, the dog comes, imbecilic, whining dada. I think your pillow hates me. “Oh we were dipped in it this morning!” What's passing behind the inside of your pretty nose as you read this crap? What's past is supposedly remembered as purposeful, as essential, part of the tapestry. Your head tremors for a second. Next day we float down Smith St, throw our socks at shopkeepers, discuss our theses loudly: “there's an art space in your hair!” & “I've been planting snow peas!” Above, China bulges. I realise I'm a consequentialist and you read sci-fi. Both John Cage's face and EXACTLY WHAT YOU'RE THINKING are put on the page. Ehr. Your hair's uncombed. The plane explodes! “Ooooh there's so many things at once my dear, I fear it’s the very last sun-drop.” The dog remonstrates that coffee stains your teeth, coffee literally gives you hypertension, coffee is made by slaves in the moon, coffee originally came from the Scots, no one speaks. The attention turns, dully.

“Imagine if that happened” & then it happens. We realise we'd been tricked since forever, that there simply are no other people or invisible hands, that a bad thing can outweigh a good thing in the end. Finally I see how lovely tea can be. You find yourself pressed between two large cannonballs which it later turns out weren't there. Another movement, sticky pearls on your book. A friend has died. You enter past tense, it was a tasteful world.