Tits on it

It was dawn. Quiet. They had put up posters everywhere. Something about a ‘magnificent’ mystery. The poster had tits on it, obviously. That was only a hook, or so it said. This group, some Plato spin-off run by a used car salesman, they were coming to town with their pamphlets, tents and way to ‘maximise your potential’.
“Bunkum”, some bloke said on the evening news. I thought that was rather antiquated. I reckoned that he’d been wanting to use that word f
his entire life and he wasn’t about to lose his opportunity. I hated him.
At the cafe this morning, I laboured over my egg whites, rye toast and acai juice. An old man was reading a paper. He sighed, placed the rag upon the table and left.
I snatched the paper as the door tinkled shut.
There was an advert for the something. It had tits on it. Some group or another promised to ‘give you the life you always dreamed about’. Below the ad, someone had scribbled “the emperor isn’t wearing any clothes LOL!”
I farted.
And left.

Then I Remembered

I was listening to a radio programme. On the internet. They were playing these old soundtracks from the 70’s and the 80’s. The sort of thing we would have heard when we were kids. The sort of thing you used to love. And I thought of you when I heard it. I though ‘maybe I’ll send it to you’.

It’s like last night.

Saw this beautiful film. An animation; scratchy, heart-wrenchingly well observed. It was about a man and his dog. It was like they could read one another’s minds. And my heart ached with this distant, wayward kind of joy. Weird. Put me on the back foot. This joy that I’m on about, it carried a sadness with it. Like I’d dug up a grave and found two hearts, barely beating, lying side by side together at the bottom of a muddy grave. It had such a strange effect on me this film. The man reminded me of your Dad. The way he was. And the dog, an Alsatian, reminded me of your old dog. I remembered how me and you used to go out to the common and watch her jump into the long grass, biting the heads off the tulips. I remember how she would hurry back to us to check that we were still there. She seemed happy to find us there together. She seemed to smile.

And, yeah, as I watched this film I thought ‘maybe I’ll send it to you’.

And I would have done. I would. But then I remembered that I hated you.