There's a Ghost on the Horizon When I go to Bed

Last night
About two o'clock in the morning
I had a vision.
It began with a smell.
This smell of...I don't know. It was like an old round-pin plug that had been overloaded. The smell of burning wires. And I awoke sweating and looking like this.



I jumped out of my bed and wildly made a grab for my spectacles, but before I could find them I heard a scream. My radio alarm clock came on without me even touching it and the sound of Rufus Wainwright enveloped me. I can tell you now. It was real scary.
So, anyway, I finally located the light switch, clicked it on and there, oh my GOD! There, coming towards me was the most horrific naked figure. It was making a terrible groaning sound and when I looked down to his belly, suddenly his face was in mine, like this



I tried to scream, but he had his ugly fingers around my slim, feline neck. I felt sick. I felt the coldness of death seeping down my oesophagus and into my lungs, like a pint of warm brackish sea water.

Oh, oh, I forgot I left the iron on.

...

There. that's better.

I'm just fine now. Just fine. This spirit, this ghost or whatever seems to have decided to leave me for now. And I'm determined not to lose myself to it's deadly ways.
Tonight. I've set up a nightvision camera and I'm going to lay some traps, see if I can get any photos.

Love love

M xxxxxx

How often should one shoe-elipse

I thought to myself yesterday, 'my, aren't you getting tough'. I had just beaten up seven little rabbits and a man who said to me that if I didn't move my shoe out of his way he would be forced to move it for me...forcibly! This might sound like the precursor to some wild Hans Christian-Handerson type 'Fairy-Tale', but believe me it had far more to do with gritty urban realism than metaphorical historical tale. I looked up, there was a girl in a red jacket. I looked down, there was a tiny little ginger man. Yes. You might well think I'd fallen into some fictitious moralistic fable, but that girl was holding a crow-bar and that little ginger man had a scar down his cheek and a rough look to his eye. He said to me 'Pal. You've no been eatin properly have you?' and I said that I had been eating fine, my diet was fine, my diet was perfectly reasonable. He hated me then. He hated my gutsy guts. And in my own way I suppose I hated him. I suppose I did. But we all get on, don't we. WE all TRY our BEST to GET on. GOD! Goodness hell's sake.
O
oh
Oooh, I just pumped.

Oooh.

I'm only wearing a towel.
I suppose it's to be expected.



This kind of half-life.



I'm afraid I'm on morphine at the moment.
It's making my a little Wooozy.
A little laissez-faire.
Un petit peu triste.

So, maybe that's all for now.

I'm not dying of AIDS though.
Or any AIDS related illnesses.

love love

M xxx