and the new day forms
like a china cup
hard, cream-coloured, unbreakable
even in our travels
— Adrienne Rich
Whatever else requires a lightness.
The man with the vacuum is making love among dust in the corridor, a clack clack clack that wakes me each Wednesday, before my time.
To fuck in the dirt, the dirt. To forgive.
I am crawling around the floor at work, the shadows pressing into me. In the dream I cannot access the glass of water I want. The ice coruscates, tumbles over and over in a distant machine. Its absent-presence smoothes me, the creases in these dreams; once the ice went missing, we had to replenish. We have ran out of the beer she likes and she is twisting my arm and when I wake I cannot move it for half an hour.
Whatever else of lightness.
I smell the metallic tang of me. The perfect little cigarette you rolled, like you’d preserved a secret wave from the sea, a roll of paper and salt-clung thought. I’m trying so hard to be sweet for the world.
The ice is a panorama of what’s happening. I catch a landscape and watch till it melts into memory. Mottlings of familiar tulip glass. The peach-struck colours recede into this chiaroscuro of hills, mist of sky and sheep. They are the blurry insistence of words, each one a cloud, a bleat. They emblemise time.
To say it lightly, I love you.
There are two songs called ‘Heavy Water’. One works like this: ‘We bully clouds now’; the other, ‘I want the love I fought to say’. I leave one zone for another and sometimes bring you. Bring little motes of dust, and so struggle to breathe.
The air here is heavy.
I am dragging myself up out of dreamtime, requirements of lightness. You drift as snow, your water is crystal. It tessellates, the shape of your thought which is silver. The sound of silver.
Autumn is restless, there is more of it in me.
How the wind came, named with volition, stealing the limbs of the trees! I felt good in all the arboreal catastrophe, I relished the chaos. It beat the blood back into my cheeks. Climbing the hill at the park. Air sign. I sent letters, felt better. I arrived at the bar and asked for a double.
To write of starry-eyed narrators, textual chalices.
‘If you can look across the distance without wanting to close it up, if you can own your longing in the same way that you own the beauty of that blue that can never be possessed?’ (Rebecca Solnit).
My best clause is a blue you can’t see.
We look for each other in mysticism, she seizes us. When I inched my way to the moss and felt the fronds of that fern betwixt my fingers, when my own skin became mycological x-ray. We look for the eye that already recedes, a flash in the room, twinned in blue. Verisimilitude.
We floated ideas like spores. Those songs were both tender and epic.
I am going to take a fresh notebook and paint every page blue before I write in it. The watercolour tinge will be green on blue, a cool viridian. To swirl, then invite lines.
Each page like a pool you can swim in.
You walk along the river and walk along life. I am so drowsy I can’t feel time, excepting the hour of sunlight this morning. The permanent sofa. I’d rather be sleeping. This is not to say, I won’t cherish a week, a week to come. I hope despite blood this one’s a good one.
To suck out the essence like liquorice.
In the shower the dream water came gushing reams of hail. My skin red raw and amazing. I notice the spidery cracks on the back of his hand, how they make a sort of Pier Kirkeby sketching pattern, a blueprinting cobweb. He pours pints like a pro. We are clean out of work but otherwise dirty.
I would like to be ‘splashed and held’, like Schuyler’s bluet.
Paring acoustic versions of old Kinks songs, leaving the core of my sadness around the room in plural, like apples. To say thank you and mean it, there is always a breaking, the lit parts eking their news into juice and crunch.
I need a day elsewhere.
The dark is just circumstance when you touched my shoulders, a situation thinks its way out of the rainbow. I find them now scattered on cream plaster walls, and twilight is terror. The reflection just happens, occurs in circles. Somebody comes to mop it up. The upside smile.
This is a shimmer. It stirs in me.
Peter Mannerfelt – Shining Beacons of Light
The Jesus and Mary Chain – Blues From a Gun
Fred Thomas feat. Anna Burch – Altar
Lana Del Rey – Venice Bitch
Kurt Vile – Loading Zones
Beach House – Drunk in LA
Surgeon – Seven Peaceful Deities
Yves Tumor – Limerence
Sarah Davachi – Gilded
Thom Yorke – Suspirium
Peter Broderick – Two Balloons, Pt. 4
The Clientele – Losing Haringey
The Kinks – Days
Kiran Leonard – Unreflective Life
Jeff Buckley – I Want Someone Badly
Alice in Chains – No Excuses
Low – Rome (Always in the Dark)
Airiel – In Your Room
Hiro Kone, group A – Pure Expenditure
Tim Hecker – In Death Valley