Let's compare notes. There are gaps between the teeth. Riddles. Screensavers change like the seasons, the leaves of a calendar fluttering in a movie montage whose purpose is to denote the passage of time. For I would serenade with the flowers. I am a sort of scientist.

last chance saloon

I just want you to talk to me and let me know how you're getting on. We are in a sort of natural cathedral illuminated by the sun and the weather. There are only so many hours in the day. The bees covet their honey, the stars examine their fragile margins with knitted brows. It was as if there was a hidden centre of gravity we'd occasionally become aware of suddenly, in the way you sometimes become aware of your own scent. And so we row like oarsmen against the current or the wind.


You prefer a certain amount of change and variety and become dissatisfied when hemmed in by restrictions and limitations. Sometimes you make an effort to smile and nod at colleagues and acquaintances when you pass them by, while other times you brood and mull over the big safe themes, mortality and beauty and so forth. So the clever crosshatchings of (for want of a better word) the soul throw their arms in the air and up and leave in favour of safe clean industries in satellite towns. And we are left with bold acrylic tones. One girds up one's loins. Pared down and pollarded. I never said I wanted all this anyway.

a word in your ear

She came on the spur of the moment, and the hollow dreamers and politicians all find subtle reasons for that, slender enough to pass through the eye of a needle. She balances the estates like glass bottles on a wall; little mother. Flimflam men, pre-emptively caught in a jam-jar, monkey business up their sleeve. It will all come back to you in a moment. This conversation may be recorded.


The affair is an impenetrable chaos, and there is in the conduct of the Empress a contradiction in which no one can understand anything. The argument is as effervescent as the set of an adult film: the furniture hollow and grainless, the light bleached as cheap white bread, merely a pretext for a pretext. Last week a man married a dog to appease his ancestors. They say that the lighthouse disappeared into the sea.

     Joe Dresner 2011