Saturday, 27 December 2014

Help

The internet isn’t helping.

The internet—like a cat—has no eyelids. That is, it can’t be blinked away. The internet is sticky.

When you wake up on a cold morning and removing your flesh from the duvet is impossible, the internet is a hot pocket of air you curl your toes inside.

The internet will be better this year. Other things that will be better this year include:

headwear / appetiser selections / the weather in fall / your allergies / the traffic on the way to most major appointments / rap music / motivation / the muscles in your lower back / sex

It’s been three days in a row I’ve promised to paint my toenails and

I’ve forgotten, I’ve forgotten, I’ve forgotten

My feet are boring. The days contract. It’s winter and

I’ve barely emerged when it’s already dark, when the sun submerges.

When the hot pocket of duvet beckons.

The internet isn’t to blame, but

I can’t help but wonder what a winter would look like all stretched out

Without a single web-peg to ground me.

You eat the chilli because you’re bored. I can’t blame you.

Your mouth becomes swollen. Your drool is thin and slick.

Maybe I’ll kiss you.

Maybe I’ll let myself become unmoored; I have no need of tethers.

The internet suggests cableties as a cure for everything:

lost keys / loneliness / shelving brackets

But the internet doesn’t know shit.

Bored of Saturdays, I roll a dice and pack a wet sack and blink three times.

When you wake up on a cold morning and escape outside.

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