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Pages From the Gytrash: MY SEPTEMBER ISSUE

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Thursday, 1 October 2009. Why bruise a fresh fruit. If rotten pears fall alongside? A sleeping alpine, ablaze, breathes. Smoke into a new bloom. Withered, a petal falls,. Engulfed by brilliant arson. The mountains are testing,. Breaking open metal bonds. Ambushed, I stagger, blindly. Like a fool, grinning with red wet lips. Heart abeating, love and grease. Pump through a solid, molten core. Posted by BRIGHT EYED GYTRASH. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). DISH UPON A STAR. ENOUGH OF YOUR BOLLOCKS.

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Pages From the Gytrash: February 2009

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Thursday, 12 February 2009. I am in the kitchen. The kitchen, littered with coffee filters,. Stark tiles, strip lights, grated cheese. Gordon's paper bags and floppy disks. Where I have summarised,. Where I have been taught to hate you,. You and your sticky salt water fish eyes. Where I measure myself against the big, black void of the plastic bin,. Where I wait for Terri to stop delivering,. To come back and show me pictures of plastic surgery. The nail in her tyre,. The dog in the street, rescued.

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Pages From the Gytrash: October 2009

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Thursday, 1 October 2009. DESPISE, LOVE, HE TRIES. When will a fresh leaf. Turn in to brown,. You leave me bludgeoned,. My wires snapped,. My skin, torn at it’s golden mouldy seams. This season is acrid,. I smell a storm ahead-. Mildew blasts through your halo. Made of wool, wire and string. I am eating away at my own memories;. Too scared to stop. Too alive to drink. Friction heats my anger,. A longing of tear upon tear. For a mere hour when we could- -. Gravy skin and upturned funghi. Despise you, oh -.

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Pages From the Gytrash: This Night

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Saturday, 21 November 2009. I am lost in this world. My others are quenched. With salt water,. It is neither folly nor pain,. Just two hands on the face,. You may be eclipsed. A kingdom of cloud thickens our page. An empire of thunder. Sits under my age,. On the land of our love. Or, at least, soon to be. If not just a rotten taste. In your wild jaws. You stalk less like me,. But more like she. With her wrinkly eyes. And those constant flies. That flood her perfect personality. A wittled witch,.

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When you dish upon a star: March 2015

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When you dish upon a star. Tuesday, 31 March 2015. Coffing up the patriarchy. Watching the last episode in the season of Girls today I was dismayed to hear Jessa instruct a whimpering man to "BE A MAN". Don't you mean be an adult Jessa? She meant he needed to take responsibility for the situation. When people say someone is being a girl, they mean child. Shying away from a hard, scary, dirty situation. Man equals strength, pride and mastery. Or whatever mocha has in it. I'm going to start reclaiming all ...

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Pages From the Gytrash: November 2009

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Saturday, 21 November 2009. I am lost in this world. My others are quenched. With salt water,. It is neither folly nor pain,. Just two hands on the face,. You may be eclipsed. A kingdom of cloud thickens our page. An empire of thunder. Sits under my age,. On the land of our love. Or, at least, soon to be. If not just a rotten taste. In your wild jaws. You stalk less like me,. But more like she. With her wrinkly eyes. And those constant flies. That flood her perfect personality. A wittled witch,.

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Pages From the Gytrash: EXQUISITE TORTURE

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Thursday, 1 October 2009. This, unknown to me. Has crippled the glass. A shard, benign in texture,. Soft to the lips,. Has embedded it’s smell. On black brushed fur. Oh, this dull ache,. Rich with puzzled steam,. Releases a haze, an image of you. Screaming to be true,. He struggles through suits. Send me your smell,. Pocket it, envelope it and. Lick the neck of a picture postcard. You seem so shy, by and by,. Happy again, playing by Canadian rules. To taste your skin,. Akin to the skier’s pillow.

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Pages From the Gytrash: THE NIGHT WOLF

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Thursday, 1 October 2009. Oh Dear wolf, you seem to have come back to me through a fiery haze of blue. Your officers have eaten half of the moon. It appears to me with overflowing light; a blur on the sky line of London. I heard a bat earlier, was it you? The vampire you are, come and suck my blood once more, twice, thrice - make it last forever. Bite me again, drink me dry, consume my person and be as one. We can be one tree, one autumn leaf, one frightening prospect of love. Drop me to the floor, pull ...

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Pages From the Gytrash: February 2010

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Monday, 22 February 2010. I've not updated for a long time. This is because I'm currently researching for my novel set in Victorian London. I'll be back soon. Posted by BRIGHT EYED GYTRASH. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). DISH UPON A STAR. ENOUGH OF YOUR BOLLOCKS.

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Pages From the Gytrash: April 2009

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Monday, 27 April 2009. Posted by BRIGHT EYED GYTRASH. Twenty years. Ten years of dismembered memories. I wonder who this woman is, this mask of wood and golden nails. One day I’ll remove this mask and find the wood decomposed, the nails rusted. Perfection is obsolete. Your mask hides reality, reality that I will never know. I do not know who you are, who you were, who we are. I cannot find the words to write about you. Posted by BRIGHT EYED GYTRASH. Friday, 17 April 2009. A work in progress.