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"Jonah" by Redd

An autobiographical story at least in part, this is an halucinogenic story that has little respect for the rules but somehow manages not to transgress too many,it was pretty much the first thing I wrote and you can tick the boxes easier when you havn't unlearnt how to transgress them. No doubt some people will understand and like it and others will spitefully slate it, possibly having got a bad review. Anyway, I'm confident in it. I'm happy that the peoples work I respect give the best reviews.

Category: Short Story

Tags: urban, descriptive, experimental

You can do an inline review of this work in the review tab.

Jonah

Happy twentieth to me.

Don’t call me John, call me Jonah. I am the Jonah. Ribs of metal and concrete bind me. I am in the belly of a prison.

When I don’t risk the jibes, the every day slugs, the awaiting razor in a toothbrush, the batteries cosh, the stench of maleness, then I dream.

I want to write about the dreams. Dreams that have become more real than the realness of this absurd Hell, which is so real to the senses, so unreal in my ability to accept it. I don’t want to wake; I want to live in a dream. When I can’t sleep anymore, I will think about the dreams and the good times.

Last night I dreamt……..

I could see a hut from the outside; it is small and made of flaky white punk wood. There is something fleshy about the wood and there are worms eating their way through it. There are two windows, one on each side of a door, giving the impression of an eyes and nose of a face. It is set in dark red sand.

I suddenly feel myself inside the hut, sitting upright in a four poster bed, with my wrinkled peach skinned and recently deceased grandmother. We are eating kidney beans in a spicy sauce from battered tin plates; they are hard to swallow, sticking in the throat with a burning sensation.

I stand up from the bed and my feet sink several inches into the floor. I have the feeling of being very tall in the rather small hut. I feel solid and muscular like an Adonis. I am wearing only blue striped pyjama bottoms. I walk to the door, the boards give and crumble under my feet, leaving foot prints of powdered wood in the floor, the floor is very cold and my feet squeak like walking on snow.

I close the door of the hut which seems to echo into laughter. The red sand I am standing on is very hot but cooler and darker underneath. I strip off my pyjamas to my swimming trunks with haste, as I spot a beach with bathers and a sea in the distance.

Although the red sand makes everything look rather dull and dark, the sea is a contrasting electric blue, and looks very inviting, with the flick of a sea snakes tail it swishes in and out, it glistens in a way that is totally inviting, almost as if it was singing to me. My one desire is to get down to the beach and swim in it.

I make my way down to the sea for some time but it never gets any nearer.I am aware to some extent that this is a dream, so I try concentrating on making it to the sea, across the sand, which is hot as mercury’s ashes. I am leaving dark footprints behind me.

I have made it to the populated part of the beach but something is strange. The woman who is at my feet in a blue bikini is a little strange, as if she was stiff and filled with air, like a sex doll. The muscular man in the black trunks, starring at the sea, is a little crumbly, as if he was made out of old used chewing gum.

Then there is the sea.

The tide, I now see, is not coming in and out in the normal fashion. One second it is in, the next it is out. Bathers and people in boats seem oblivious to the danger. As the tide runs out, uncaring, happy people and small boats fall and are dashed on the rocks. I seem to zoom in on some of the worst incidents. A bright yellow wooden rowing boat is smashed on the rocks as it falls ten feet, the sea is in again, then out, and a group of children swimming with a ball, fall awkwardly on twisted limbs. There is nothing I can do, I look away.

I walk aimlessly along the beach. My feet just in the water when the tide is in, which I find very cool and sensual to be wrapped in liquid. The sea though appears to be ever so slowly turning pink.

I now find myself not walking along the sea but along the side of a brook. It is all so bright, like some one has been out with a pot and brush and given it a lick of paint. I am happy now.

On the side of me is the water, shining like mercury, on the other a barbed wire fence and the occasional tree along the path. Behind me some distance away, a family is walking up the path, they consist of a man, a woman, a small male child and two Labrador dogs. Then I notice the family are wearing police helmets and I turn to run and get away, but my hand is caught in some barbed wire, it is razor wire, it snags and pulls under the skin of my hand like hooks. I find I am loosing my balance and fall and snag my other hand, my arms are wide apart as I try to keep balance, I am now in a crucifixion position on the wire, and I have to keep on my toes so that the snagging of my hands doesn’t hurt as much. The police family has reached me, the police woman tells me not to worry, I won’t get much time for what I’ve done this time. But I can’t do any more time.

Then with a silvery splash that sends globules into the air, the two black Labradors leap into the water, and out of the water comes-two pink flamingos! Were there. Dripping shades of pink Icarus! Were there. My heart beating in unison with their wings, as I realise, ‘I must be dreaming’, I am lucid, I am in control. I can make things so much better now.

I free myself and punch the male officer in the face with a crunch, the soft sponginess and the crunch again as my fist goes straight through his head. I shake the bone and brains off, then I turn to the police woman, she is turning to run with an “Ugh”, I stretch her neck, expanding it like rubber between my hands until it is giraffe like, I then tie it in a knot, the child is crying snap my fingers and make it disappear.

Then I make it autumn and the leaves fell off the trees and gilded the ground. I make it autumn for she is autumn. Autumn in her auburn hair, autumn in years, autumn in her soul. I need autumn to make her appear (she is also autumn as bringing death to everything.).She appears. I beg her forgiveness for the violence I portrayed against her and my rival, for I adore her truly and do not know how to live without her. She takes a bitchy step back and scowls, then with authority smiles. I take this as forgiveness and we fly off into the air together and everything is just our toys beneath us as I promise to show her my night time creations, on the island of blue vinyl peacock women. Then I woke up.

Having awoke and written my account. I now turn to happier days, the last happy, drug filled days. When for a while at the bail hostel, my new soul mate and saviour Kurt took my mind off the misery and repentance that now fills my days.

The sounds and murmurs of the mechanisms of the train as it croaked and stuttered like a strange symphony, tickled my ears, for I was stoned. Outside the darkening window a late rabbit bounced along, I laughed at the thought of a late white rabbit. I looked at Kurt, his handsome face like the moon with a ginger quiff,”You stoned cha?” he said as he smiled manically and warmly.

As we pulled into Blackburn after our trip to our home town Kurt said “I think wed better get a taxi to the hostel, we cant walk up the hill in this state.”, ”No,I think we’d better” I said. “Should we?” Kurt asked “Yeh I can’t walk.” I sighed. We stumbled up to the taxi rank like two lost and thirsty travellers in the Sahara dessert, although we were hungry from cannabis rather than thirsty.

When we got back to the hostel and paid the taxi I remember Kurt got on my back and I swayed with him into the hostel. The other residents were watching ‘The Bill’ down stairs so we went to our room, on the way upstairs Kurt said “Can you believe how stupid they are, they’re watching ‘The Bill’ “That’s nothing.” I said,” They were watching ‘Crime Watch’ the other night.” I suppose at least you can get tips and spot your mates with that.” ”I hadn’t thought of that.” I conceded. “It’s alright neither have they.” Kurt said and we laughed.

We creaked the door open to the kitchen come lounge area and immediately became Inspector Clouseu and his Chinese Kung Fu companion Kato. A series of pulled blows and bear hugs all over the flat ended with me in the bedroom on my bed (one of three) crying out from a nipple twist.

“I’m still hungry I’ve got the munchies.” I said panting.

“Let’s raid the fridge cha.” said Kurt beaming.

So we got some stolen ice cream Mars bars and Turkish Delight and munched desperately. The items had been stolen easily. It was Kurt’s idea. We simply went into the supermarket with empty bags on the back of a trolley, filled them up with chickens, munches and other expensive stuff, and paid for a loaf of bread on the way out.

It was time to get stoned again, really stoned. Kurt made a pipe out of a toilet roll and a piece of tin foil. ”Hows that cha!” he said when he’d finished, holding his hands in the air in a ‘howszat’ gesture. “Depends how it smokes.” I said.

He filled it up and offered it to me. “Cover the end up of the tube with your hand and suck hard when I light it.” he said.

I did and filled my lungs to bursting with Gods favourite herb. I let it out again as slowly as I could. I looked at the embers as they went out and said. “As the embers go out I make myself feel more obliterated.” As my head started to masturbate my brain.

“That’s a good thing to do cha.” Said Kurt.

Kurt held up a playing card off the table and laughed child like. The colours seemed so vivid. Kurt filled the pipe up for himself and sucked up as I lit it with a match. I felt even more stoned myself as the ways I saw Kurt changed before me picture flick book fashion-flick-my wild eyed saviour-flick-a small child-flick-the man on the moon with jutting chin-flick-a jester as he put his hands in the air again.

Kurt started the cabbaging game where you have to keep making ridiculous statements, each person in turn. “I said I’ll have a white sliced loaf.” he said.Then he stopped, he looked ito my happy loving face.

“I know what your thinking.” He said tapping his head.” And I want you to know it’s alright. It’s alright to think that way.”

“Yeh” I said shyly. It was the new moon that looked like Kurt, I gazed up at his gleaming moon features, and his hyper blood red eyes rolled at me like buoys on the brain waves of a drug addled mind.

Kurt rummaged on the table, then started to role the biggest spliff I had ever seen, it was at least four skins long, Kurt prepared the skins in a special way, and burnt off the bits he didn’t want, which burnt down to the gum and went out. When it was finished it was conical with a big flat end which had a taper. It looked like Flash Gordon’s rocket ship.

“Won’t Flash Gordon want it back?” I asked.

“He’ll have to catch me first cha.” said Kurt.

He zoomed the rocket around the room and in my mind I snapped a picture of him forever with his hand in the air, a small mischievous child playing with his 1:10 scale NASA moon rocket.

We got some ice cream gateau out of the fridge and dived into it, I stooped to smell it, it was like skiing down a slope, when I tasted it, I was aware of the tastes and textures far more than usual.

After the gateau came the giant joint, we had to smoke half each without a break. I smoked in silence, after I had smoked what I considered to be half of it, I handed it back and not before time, “Bloody Christ that’s got me.” I croaked, banging my chest with my fist.

I felt a little withdrawn, but very stoned and sensual, I saw myself as a wild man of the woods, breathing the air with great lungs of steel.

Although we were happy and very stoned, we seemed to be entering a serious phase. I could tell Kurt felt it too. After a while Kurt asked “How did you get those scars on your arms John?” Sonic Youths ‘star power’ was playing on the tape deck and I let it finish before I answered, I was drawn into the coldness and spatiality of the song and I lived an entire lifetime in one song.

“I was scratched by a cat.” I said.

“A cat wouldn’t do all that.” said Kurt.

“It was a Jaguar and it nearly ran me over.” I said.

“As I escaped from a squat minus my Sonic Youth t-shirt.”

“Did you?”

“I did.” I said.

“And the scratches?”

“Oh just some self harming I did when some thing I did made me hate myself.”

“You shouldn’t cut yourself up in any sense John.”

“I know.” I said.

“People are just dicks John.”

Kurt took me by the hands and said “Stand here and I’ll take your hands and lower you and you’ll fall through the floor as I drop you.”

So I fell through the floor and back into my cell.

It’s a day since I wrote last, what a dream I had last night and what a sense of loss I woke up with.

I dreamt I was round at Theresa’s, several of her female friends were there, and of course her son Matthew, now ten, but only about six in this dream. About the age I started babysitting.

I was talking to Theresa whilst playing with Matthew, who was swinging in my arms and doing impossible acrobatics, like a plastic monkey on a stick. One of Theresa’s friends whispered in my ear. We’re going to bake Theresa a cake, come and help us.”

So April and two other of Theresa’s friends went into the kitchen with me and Matthew to bake a cake. On the side table next to the cooker was a cook book which appeared to be made out of lard, it was soft and greasy and textured to feel with print engraved on it. April tore a page out and put it in a large pot. Then she said to me “Some of the ingredients are missing, why don’t you take Matthew up town and bring them back.”

So me and Matthew left the house hand in hand, and turned the next corner in to town. Which was deserted, but the shops were open with attendants. On our way to the bakery I felt my hair, which is a habit with me, but this time I felt a bald spot, my hair felt soft, my scalp felt strangely pneumatic ,I asked Matthew how it looked because I felt a sense of loss and needed reassurance, Matthew said not to worry and it would grow back.

We entered the bakery and what was on display looked delicious, plump pies with a varnished look, cream cakes overflowing with cream and sugar crystals that sparkled. I bet down to have a look and suddenly I felt a raw pain burning on my head. I felt my hair and instead put my fingers in a bloody mess. My scalp was completely gone. In grief and panic I vainly scoured the floor, my fingers skipping and skating in the grease, the dirt filling my finger nails but no hair.

I looked up and noticed Matthew had gone, I felt a second sense of loss and I ran out looking for him. The streets were no longer deserted but full of people, and yet there was a strange spectacle, there was something sheep like in their faces and eyes, and in fact I noticed they had wool. It seemed that where ever they were in the streets, they were drawn in the same direction by the nose. They were following an invisible sign, pulled along. I searched for Matthew in vain and then woke up in a panic feeling my loss.

My loss is heavy; I do not want it anymore. It is myself I have lost.

That is why I am tightening this noose I have made with strips of my bed clothes and I am going to sleep forever, and who knows, I may even dream.


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Category Name: My Thoughts

I did not enjoy this story. I am not even sure what problem the protagonist faced. This story was okay. The story would have been better if the author had introduced the problem differently and made it feel more pressing. I really enjoyed this story. The author did a good job pulling me into the story by introducing an immediate and important problem for the protagonist.

This section is for overall comments and general ideas. The score should reflect how much you enjoyed the story.

Category Name: Character Development

The characters were not dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable or unique. I don’t care about or understand the characters because they were poorly developed. The characters were somewhat dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I partially understood the thoughts, feelings, and actions of the characters. I somewhat connected with and care about the characters. The characters were very dynamic, credible, interesting, memorable and unique. I thoroughly understood their thoughts, feelings and actions. I felt connected with and cared about the characters.

This is act of bringing a character to life on the page. It is a combination of the author’s description of the character and the character’s dialog, action, and thoughts. Though all characters should be believable, the protagonist and antagonist are usually the most developed characters.

Category Name: Plot

I finished reading the story so the plot must have unfolded, but I am not sure what the plot was. The characters did not achieve or grow by solving the problems they faced in this story. There were definite wrinkles in the way the plot unfolded leading to the final conflict. The plot was loosely tied to the achievement and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame some of the problems flowed unnaturally with the story. I could see the plot unfolding through a series of escalating problems that lead to the final conflict. The plot helped me understand the achievements and growth of the characters. The way the protagonist overcame the problems flowed naturally with the st

In fiction a plot is all the events in a story, particularly rendered towards the achievement of some particular artistic or emotional effect. In other words it's what mostly happened in the story. The plot draws the reader into the character's lives and helps the reader understand the choices that the characters make.

Category Name: Dialog

The dialog seemed like cold words on paper. I had a hard time following it. I didn’t learn very much about the characters through the dialog. Through the dialog I could sometimes see the characters learn and grow while occasionally discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was generally consistent with the character. Through the dialog I could see the characters learn and grow while simultaneously discovering new facets of their personalities. The dialog was true to the character and it helped me understand the characters emotions.

Category Name: Setting

The setting created a haze in my mind that detracted from the story. I am lost in time and space because I don’t know when or where this story takes place. The setting was described adequately, but not well enough to bring it to life in my mind. The setting did not add to or detract from the story. I am pretty sure I know when and where the story takes place. The author engaged all of my senses while vividly describing the setting. The setting helped me better understand the setting and plot. I know when and where this story takes place.

The setting is where a story takes place. The choice of setting and its description helps the story come alive in the mind of the reader. Appropriate setting contributes to the plot and mood of the story.

Category Name: Mechanics

The story contained so many mechanical errors that it was hard to follow the plot or understand certain sentences or paragraphs. Occasional mechanical errors were distracting, but these errors did not inhibit me from being able to understand the plot or connect with characters in the story. I rarely if ever noticed mechanical errors. As far as I could tell, the writing was clear and correct.

Mechanics includes sentence structure, verb agreement, grammar, spelling, voice, punctuation and aspects of basic style.

Note: The purpose of ReviewFuse reviews is NOT to provide comprehensive copy editing, but rather to "ignite creativity." Reviewers should not feel obliged to point out every grammar or spelling error (though they certainly can if they wish), but should focus on this area only to the degree that errors make a story hard to follow or understand.

Inline comments are the most helpful and important aspects of your review.

Click on a paragraph or highlight text from the paragraph to provide inline comments. While detailed grammar correction is welcome, the purpose of inline commenting is to spark the author's creativity. This is best done by expressing feelings, questions, and concerns you have about the story while you are reading.

1. Jonah

2. Happy twentieth to me.

3. Don’t call me John, call me Jonah. I am the Jonah. Ribs of metal and concrete bind me. I am in the belly of a prison.

4. When I don’t risk the jibes, the every day slugs, the awaiting razor in a toothbrush, the batteries cosh, the stench of maleness, then I dream.

5. I want to write about the dreams. Dreams that have become more real than the realness of this absurd Hell, which is so real to the senses, so unreal in my ability to accept it. I don’t want to wake; I want to live in a dream. When I can’t sleep anymore, I will think about the dreams and the good times.

6. Last night I dreamt……..

7. I could see a hut from the outside; it is small and made of flaky white punk wood. There is something fleshy about the wood and there are worms eating their way through it. There are two windows, one on each side of a door, giving the impression of an eyes and nose of a face. It is set in dark red sand.

8. I suddenly feel myself inside the hut, sitting upright in a four poster bed, with my wrinkled peach skinned and recently deceased grandmother. We are eating kidney beans in a spicy sauce from battered tin plates; they are hard to swallow, sticking in the throat with a burning sensation.

9. I stand up from the bed and my feet sink several inches into the floor. I have the feeling of being very tall in the rather small hut. I feel solid and muscular like an Adonis. I am wearing only blue striped pyjama bottoms. I walk to the door, the boards give and crumble under my feet, leaving foot prints of powdered wood in the floor, the floor is very cold and my feet squeak like walking on snow.

10. I close the door of the hut which seems to echo into laughter. The red sand I am standing on is very hot but cooler and darker underneath. I strip off my pyjamas to my swimming trunks with haste, as I spot a beach with bathers and a sea in the distance.

11. Although the red sand makes everything look rather dull and dark, the sea is a contrasting electric blue, and looks very inviting, with the flick of a sea snakes tail it swishes in and out, it glistens in a way that is totally inviting, almost as if it was singing to me. My one desire is to get down to the beach and swim in it.

12. I make my way down to the sea for some time but it never gets any nearer.I am aware to some extent that this is a dream, so I try concentrating on making it to the sea, across the sand, which is hot as mercury’s ashes. I am leaving dark footprints behind me.

13. I have made it to the populated part of the beach but something is strange. The woman who is at my feet in a blue bikini is a little strange, as if she was stiff and filled with air, like a sex doll. The muscular man in the black trunks, starring at the sea, is a little crumbly, as if he was made out of old used chewing gum.

14. Then there is the sea.

15. The tide, I now see, is not coming in and out in the normal fashion. One second it is in, the next it is out. Bathers and people in boats seem oblivious to the danger. As the tide runs out, uncaring, happy people and small boats fall and are dashed on the rocks. I seem to zoom in on some of the worst incidents. A bright yellow wooden rowing boat is smashed on the rocks as it falls ten feet, the sea is in again, then out, and a group of children swimming with a ball, fall awkwardly on twisted limbs. There is nothing I can do, I look away.

16. I walk aimlessly along the beach. My feet just in the water when the tide is in, which I find very cool and sensual to be wrapped in liquid. The sea though appears to be ever so slowly turning pink.

17. I now find myself not walking along the sea but along the side of a brook. It is all so bright, like some one has been out with a pot and brush and given it a lick of paint. I am happy now.

18. On the side of me is the water, shining like mercury, on the other a barbed wire fence and the occasional tree along the path. Behind me some distance away, a family is walking up the path, they consist of a man, a woman, a small male child and two Labrador dogs. Then I notice the family are wearing police helmets and I turn to run and get away, but my hand is caught in some barbed wire, it is razor wire, it snags and pulls under the skin of my hand like hooks. I find I am loosing my balance and fall and snag my other hand, my arms are wide apart as I try to keep balance, I am now in a crucifixion position on the wire, and I have to keep on my toes so that the snagging of my hands doesn’t hurt as much. The police family has reached me, the police woman tells me not to worry, I won’t get much time for what I’ve done this time. But I can’t do any more time.

19. Then with a silvery splash that sends globules into the air, the two black Labradors leap into the water, and out of the water comes-two pink flamingos! Were there. Dripping shades of pink Icarus! Were there. My heart beating in unison with their wings, as I realise, ‘I must be dreaming’, I am lucid, I am in control. I can make things so much better now.

20. I free myself and punch the male officer in the face with a crunch, the soft sponginess and the crunch again as my fist goes straight through his head. I shake the bone and brains off, then I turn to the police woman, she is turning to run with an “Ugh”, I stretch her neck, expanding it like rubber between my hands until it is giraffe like, I then tie it in a knot, the child is crying snap my fingers and make it disappear.

21. Then I make it autumn and the leaves fell off the trees and gilded the ground. I make it autumn for she is autumn. Autumn in her auburn hair, autumn in years, autumn in her soul. I need autumn to make her appear (she is also autumn as bringing death to everything.).She appears. I beg her forgiveness for the violence I portrayed against her and my rival, for I adore her truly and do not know how to live without her. She takes a bitchy step back and scowls, then with authority smiles. I take this as forgiveness and we fly off into the air together and everything is just our toys beneath us as I promise to show her my night time creations, on the island of blue vinyl peacock women. Then I woke up.

22. Having awoke and written my account. I now turn to happier days, the last happy, drug filled days. When for a while at the bail hostel, my new soul mate and saviour Kurt took my mind off the misery and repentance that now fills my days.

23. The sounds and murmurs of the mechanisms of the train as it croaked and stuttered like a strange symphony, tickled my ears, for I was stoned. Outside the darkening window a late rabbit bounced along, I laughed at the thought of a late white rabbit. I looked at Kurt, his handsome face like the moon with a ginger quiff,”You stoned cha?” he said as he smiled manically and warmly.

24. As we pulled into Blackburn after our trip to our home town Kurt said “I think wed better get a taxi to the hostel, we cant walk up the hill in this state.”, ”No,I think we’d better” I said. “Should we?” Kurt asked “Yeh I can’t walk.” I sighed. We stumbled up to the taxi rank like two lost and thirsty travellers in the Sahara dessert, although we were hungry from cannabis rather than thirsty.

25. When we got back to the hostel and paid the taxi I remember Kurt got on my back and I swayed with him into the hostel. The other residents were watching ‘The Bill’ down stairs so we went to our room, on the way upstairs Kurt said “Can you believe how stupid they are, they’re watching ‘The Bill’ “That’s nothing.” I said,” They were watching ‘Crime Watch’ the other night.” I suppose at least you can get tips and spot your mates with that.” ”I hadn’t thought of that.” I conceded. “It’s alright neither have they.” Kurt said and we laughed.

26. We creaked the door open to the kitchen come lounge area and immediately became Inspector Clouseu and his Chinese Kung Fu companion Kato. A series of pulled blows and bear hugs all over the flat ended with me in the bedroom on my bed (one of three) crying out from a nipple twist.

27. “I’m still hungry I’ve got the munchies.” I said panting.

28. “Let’s raid the fridge cha.” said Kurt beaming.

29. So we got some stolen ice cream Mars bars and Turkish Delight and munched desperately. The items had been stolen easily. It was Kurt’s idea. We simply went into the supermarket with empty bags on the back of a trolley, filled them up with chickens, munches and other expensive stuff, and paid for a loaf of bread on the way out.

30. It was time to get stoned again, really stoned. Kurt made a pipe out of a toilet roll and a piece of tin foil. ”Hows that cha!” he said when he’d finished, holding his hands in the air in a ‘howszat’ gesture. “Depends how it smokes.” I said.

31. He filled it up and offered it to me. “Cover the end up of the tube with your hand and suck hard when I light it.” he said.

32. I did and filled my lungs to bursting with Gods favourite herb. I let it out again as slowly as I could. I looked at the embers as they went out and said. “As the embers go out I make myself feel more obliterated.” As my head started to masturbate my brain.

33. “That’s a good thing to do cha.” Said Kurt.

34. Kurt held up a playing card off the table and laughed child like. The colours seemed so vivid. Kurt filled the pipe up for himself and sucked up as I lit it with a match. I felt even more stoned myself as the ways I saw Kurt changed before me picture flick book fashion-flick-my wild eyed saviour-flick-a small child-flick-the man on the moon with jutting chin-flick-a jester as he put his hands in the air again.

35. Kurt started the cabbaging game where you have to keep making ridiculous statements, each person in turn. “I said I’ll have a white sliced loaf.” he said.Then he stopped, he looked ito my happy loving face.

36. “I know what your thinking.” He said tapping his head.” And I want you to know it’s alright. It’s alright to think that way.”

37. “Yeh” I said shyly. It was the new moon that looked like Kurt, I gazed up at his gleaming moon features, and his hyper blood red eyes rolled at me like buoys on the brain waves of a drug addled mind.

38. Kurt rummaged on the table, then started to role the biggest spliff I had ever seen, it was at least four skins long, Kurt prepared the skins in a special way, and burnt off the bits he didn’t want, which burnt down to the gum and went out. When it was finished it was conical with a big flat end which had a taper. It looked like Flash Gordon’s rocket ship.

39. “Won’t Flash Gordon want it back?” I asked.

40. “He’ll have to catch me first cha.” said Kurt.

41. He zoomed the rocket around the room and in my mind I snapped a picture of him forever with his hand in the air, a small mischievous child playing with his 1:10 scale NASA moon rocket.

42. We got some ice cream gateau out of the fridge and dived into it, I stooped to smell it, it was like skiing down a slope, when I tasted it, I was aware of the tastes and textures far more than usual.

43. After the gateau came the giant joint, we had to smoke half each without a break. I smoked in silence, after I had smoked what I considered to be half of it, I handed it back and not before time, “Bloody Christ that’s got me.” I croaked, banging my chest with my fist.

44. I felt a little withdrawn, but very stoned and sensual, I saw myself as a wild man of the woods, breathing the air with great lungs of steel.

45. Although we were happy and very stoned, we seemed to be entering a serious phase. I could tell Kurt felt it too. After a while Kurt asked “How did you get those scars on your arms John?” Sonic Youths ‘star power’ was playing on the tape deck and I let it finish before I answered, I was drawn into the coldness and spatiality of the song and I lived an entire lifetime in one song.

46. “I was scratched by a cat.” I said.

47. “A cat wouldn’t do all that.” said Kurt.

48. “It was a Jaguar and it nearly ran me over.” I said.

49. “As I escaped from a squat minus my Sonic Youth t-shirt.”

50. “Did you?”

51. “I did.” I said.

52. “And the scratches?”

53. “Oh just some self harming I did when some thing I did made me hate myself.”

54. “You shouldn’t cut yourself up in any sense John.”

55. “I know.” I said.

56. “People are just dicks John.”

57. Kurt took me by the hands and said “Stand here and I’ll take your hands and lower you and you’ll fall through the floor as I drop you.”

58. So I fell through the floor and back into my cell.

59. It’s a day since I wrote last, what a dream I had last night and what a sense of loss I woke up with.

60. I dreamt I was round at Theresa’s, several of her female friends were there, and of course her son Matthew, now ten, but only about six in this dream. About the age I started babysitting.

61. I was talking to Theresa whilst playing with Matthew, who was swinging in my arms and doing impossible acrobatics, like a plastic monkey on a stick. One of Theresa’s friends whispered in my ear. We’re going to bake Theresa a cake, come and help us.”

62. So April and two other of Theresa’s friends went into the kitchen with me and Matthew to bake a cake. On the side table next to the cooker was a cook book which appeared to be made out of lard, it was soft and greasy and textured to feel with print engraved on it. April tore a page out and put it in a large pot. Then she said to me “Some of the ingredients are missing, why don’t you take Matthew up town and bring them back.”

63. So me and Matthew left the house hand in hand, and turned the next corner in to town. Which was deserted, but the shops were open with attendants. On our way to the bakery I felt my hair, which is a habit with me, but this time I felt a bald spot, my hair felt soft, my scalp felt strangely pneumatic ,I asked Matthew how it looked because I felt a sense of loss and needed reassurance, Matthew said not to worry and it would grow back.

64. We entered the bakery and what was on display looked delicious, plump pies with a varnished look, cream cakes overflowing with cream and sugar crystals that sparkled. I bet down to have a look and suddenly I felt a raw pain burning on my head. I felt my hair and instead put my fingers in a bloody mess. My scalp was completely gone. In grief and panic I vainly scoured the floor, my fingers skipping and skating in the grease, the dirt filling my finger nails but no hair.

65. I looked up and noticed Matthew had gone, I felt a second sense of loss and I ran out looking for him. The streets were no longer deserted but full of people, and yet there was a strange spectacle, there was something sheep like in their faces and eyes, and in fact I noticed they had wool. It seemed that where ever they were in the streets, they were drawn in the same direction by the nose. They were following an invisible sign, pulled along. I searched for Matthew in vain and then woke up in a panic feeling my loss.

66. My loss is heavy; I do not want it anymore. It is myself I have lost.

67. That is why I am tightening this noose I have made with strips of my bed clothes and I am going to sleep forever, and who knows, I may even dream.

68.

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