/lit/ - Literature

Ey I wrote a thing. Slate me or summin. Or give me advice. Pic unrelated.


I remain cautious. The busy men opposite have red bloated faces and their suits melt into the zebra crossing. Above, two pigeons are nested being a wire fence intended to keep their sorts out of the rafters. One may eat the other or perhaps they are in love and this is just what they’d hoped for. Pigeons are expected to mate for life. I expect the same outcome wither way. I shouldn’t be here. It is impossible to entertain these thoughts without feeling bystander. People’s eyes dwell on you they look at you if you haven’t got a purpose. The old look at you. The can peer into your nervous little eyes and tell that you’re not really there.

I have a watch on. It is a watch I’ve refused to look at for the sake of all the other clocks around. There are a phenomenal number of clocks in the city. I can see them from my window, tens of them. More clocks than any sane and sensible group of people would ever require or ever ask for and thats me. Sensible.

They don’t talk to each other - The Clock Placers. They’re the ones who decide this space or that space requires a clock, they don’t communicate with the lookers. We’re the lookers. The ones in constant reception. Hong Kong, Land’s End, Petersburg, WHO KNOWS where they’re shipping in from. Deployed here and there, to enforce my time, where I don’t want it, or when I want to be away from it, for at least an hour.

It tears at my skull and blisters my fingers. No. It blisters my skull and tears at my fingertips. No. I am useless and I need a fix. To be fixed. There has been far too much self reflection here. Self reflection doesn’t count for anything. I need action. I need youth. I need to find someone. Anybody. An intravenous bag with a face drawn on it. I am desperate and quiet. I need my eyes steamed. I wouldn’t be in this trouble were it not for all the damned time. Though I complain, I wouldn’t dare have it any other way, no. If only I wasn’t being constantly reminded that this was the wrong way to be going about it. As if theres something there to be used up. There’s nothing to be used up. We’ve used up the past so why do we need to keep tabs on it!