Because fucked up. And pushing 50. And classical class system and stunt your desire and don’t you know don’t you know don’t you know, stealing grave tributes to build a weird shrine in the house. Because of an equation between boys with motorbikes. Because girls are defined in the first place by a lack. Because streetlamps and long motorway journeys and because Elvis only stopped here on the way to somewhere else. Because Drug Squad stake out @ Leicester Forest East. Because Service Stations of the Cross. Because. Because. Because. Remember that story you read of as a child: saying: if women are a mystery then men are a crime story.

*

Miranda. (WRONG NAME).

Carmen. Carmen stood in the hallway of Holloway. Hell of Hallway. Listening to the phone.

EnDLAND. cut. paste.

0111101010111101001110001110011010100101

*

NO SUCH THING AS STORIES JUST A COLLECTION OF INDIVIDUALS.

*

Each game pulls twds its own edges.

Each body also.

*

Because exploded, because Exploded.

Because.

You a bunch of liars and murderers.

Listen to ‘sad music’ © in your night. Forget about anything.

Because sentimental panto piano tunes. Cheggers plays pop. Kareoke bar with insects.

Ever have the feeling?

*

Carmen. CAR. MEN . . .

Funny mane (name) if u break it down like that.

Got the shits, Got the shots.

Got the hump. Got the bone. Got the point.

Got the loss.

Got nothing.

Got lost.

*

Carmen.

*

TELL THIS STORY TO ALL YOUNG CHILDREN ANYWHERE.

Tell them how she walked past the last street lamp and into the dark or got in a taxi and never ‘was’ again.

That’s the real jailbreak.

Tell your kids that the voice they hear in the cellar is hers, that the night voice is hers, that what they hear from the wardrobe in their hurtable hurtable dreams is Carmen whispering, Carmen talking on, with her whisper of Endland’s blood and history.

TELL THEM CARMEN comes to get those kids that never do their homework.

Tell them that.

Tell them anything.

Tell them this:

THE HUMAN SOUL IS NOTHING BUT A BAR-CODE

A dead man’s eyes are a curse to those that behold them.

I am gone from here.

I am out of here, man.

I say: later guys, later.

The pub fills up with miners, whippets, pit-bulls and prole new home-owners.

Bloke at the bar says ”Oh fuck, it’s really starting to stink of realism in here”

The travellers pull on their antiquated hats and capes. They exeunt.

Carmen (a remix) is playing on the fruitmachine.

TELL THIS STORY TO ALL KIDS ANYWHERE.

Call it a historectomy of Endland (sic).

They get you most all gone when you always alone

They get you most all gone when you always alone

a short sad story of a poor good neighbour in endland