15. The necessary drafting of maps of spech density, electricity, desire and disgust in relation to the city’s self-expression in the form of office equipment. Paul Weller is an arsehole. England is false memory syndrome, that is to say it looks better in my mouth than on the floor.
5. I am boastful, stupid and ugly, but because I have money I get to fuck till dawn and hands break. I am the most charming and powerful of men.
6. Which breaks the weather synapse in two, this network of cellules and meshes. No I do not have 30p, if I did I wouldn’t want to be on television.
2. Inside these opaque buildings, the opportunity to understand the heart as economy. All the better if bulging veins in the upper arm can reflect the triumph of privacy and the imperative to dwell inside inaccessible spaces.
25. Naked and marvelous as a critique of economy as alien to offical modes of thought as Tzara’s critique of gravity. As. As. As.
8. And begin to realise just how much the photocopier is the direct portal to unmediated life in the city, to secret expanses of hair and skin. The victorian railway stations have had their day.
24. We lay together for a long time without moving again. I turned to her and said “do you like this little earth”. We were slipped under the door of every office in the corridor. The black ink absorbed every echo.
35. Its 2.00 AM. I guess you’re in bed. Look at how quiet the world is. Ages, history, the whole cosmos.
36. Or are you about ready to shoot your load. Warm globs of black ink damp and aroused inside my body hair.
16. But what if you are just a system of unreflecting windows.
37. We’ve had enough of lazy sexual metaphors. It will not do to say fuck is broken glass and suck it like terror boys. Their dicks are tiny too. Give instead a stubborn shift of arched neuron: is poetry is spinal, give a wild wet sequence. Solution, concentration, saturation.
23. Sean Bonney, he died.