text: anna mccarthy
made for SHELTERS, SHACKS, AND SHANTIES
Cancel my flights if you think it's worthwhile. Don't speak to me when you look at that gummy stump. Torrential tearing emits from your upper crust and all I can do is think of my cheese sandwich. Freeway, aquapur, siempre, fairglobe. I have seen documentaries, they're the worst, like lake victoria stops me buying fish fingers in LIDL. Würli says he can't watch them anymore, it makes him puke. Let's all puke together, mushroom pies and quiches, fill the world up with grey vomit till we drown in it and shit. Mushroom day so far away, if there were another way. To get her out – I'd do it. If this is made of plastic I will eat my hat. Let's bet. I can't pay though. It's a second death I meant. Plants have feelings too but you still eat those. But guacamole is good today. It makes me happy to look into the green and rub the leftover pip along my lip. Clouds clouds go away, come again some other day, put the ringer on silent today. The arrows are definitely more precise nowadays, they may look alike but the other one is much more modest. Which is witch ? No hair. Red hair. Bride mystics. A weep in the birch with a white silver fox slinking around your ankles like a frog, pre-middle-age giggles, tongues lash at another, coiled around the other, whilst others fuck in the corner. They love to touch the tips covered in cheese and to put paper bags over their heads, hiding your ugly mug, you cheap jack-shit piece-of-nothing. I can see you in the mirror, you know I can."Tiger-lily luhau bruha", I tell you, leaning up against that tree. Don't need to wait for much longer little one, the shitstorm's a-brewing out yonder. Ships on stormy seas, lights blink at your wedding, whilst the pig burns and animal hangs on to all four corners of the tent. The water is churning and all the young girls are yearning. Summer so far, no fur, how lucky they are. Arrows turned, your eyes are now stuck like that, you crosseyed contender. Hot ash swirls in your black matte exhaust fumes, burn baby sunburns, take off your string tanga, feel the hot glowing ash fall on to your metal back. Tramp stamp. The serpent's got a hold on you, jumped you from atop a tree. The grasshopper landed on you during world football. She's not crossing no boarders, ebola checkpoint is too tough tonight and your temporary white baby passport has expired. Split me in two and send me through without shoes, why don't you ? If you don't go mad, I will. Feel the petals on my elbow. Do not lean out. Keep calm in case of shutdown. Hear the scream outside my window, hear you fall and your bones smash to chicken pieces. I collect them and put 'em in plastic bags and them behind blinds and flower bouquets. Ring-a-ding the dead. Auf wiedersehen. Ah stop burning now, stop burning now. And others that just died, I prophecied, just clamp metal teeth to cablecar wires and sail carefree down to valley. Kan a kiss be evil ? Whatever's next. Just move around the edges is what I apply. If I get you a fresh stack of potatoes what will I get in return ? Hoard, stockpile, squirrel your toilet paper and hang crows upside down to scare off the others. Bahamas made up of bones. Bones, bones are good for your heart, teabags and teabells all wrapped up in daisies, covered in cream – these are a few of my favourite things. Freckles and sunburns on soft flesh skin, carve out the freckles with help from your elders – these are a few of my favourite things. Keys to the city, keys to the country, hang the key to the universe around eight necks, one covered in silver, the others in gold, only one can be the lucky one – these are a few of my favourite things. Can't get that fucking earworm out of my head... Can't think, need to move, need fresh air, get it out. Run little one run run run, rid your skin of burns from apples made of metal. I'm infected like all the others, falling down down down into the carpal tunnel o-o-o-of l-o-o-o-ove. Let me masturbate to that tune, make the eruption feel real. Dingle dangle in the breeze. Bow down bardarbunga, bow down to the goddess of nature and cheap products, suck on her dried eggs and souvenirs, drive up her motorway nose and take the aeroplane ticket going somewhere. What would you take with you on a desert island and what does that say about you ? I hope everybody dies. I hope you die. Make the sun stand still. Make the sun a blood red one and black ash clouds sweep over the lake like 1783. A fourteen year-old wrote me a log and told me all about it: "It's a a self-fulfilling prophecy", she said. Paperclip to safety pin. Let me go, let me fall and mount the four horses. I'll straddle 'em, I say, between my two meaty thighs and hang my belly low, drawn and sixteenthed on dragstrip to a tattoo on the nape of my neck and a selfie of me. In hot stinking pools of sulphur the gold will begin to rust, where legs are half shaven and armpits waxed, the red will rub off on my skin and the crackle nailpolish will not leave my keratin. Horns, nails, claws and hooves covered in it forevermore. I put on the TV and what do I see – naked and afraids have hurt their feet and knee. This reality bites and "We're not ready", Mr Norman presumes. Split me in two why don't you, let's make him seek and hide – "I'd rather be in heaven than it be like this". Put your sunglasses on and look up. Keep your eye on the sky. The day came and it was like no other. The girl with the two coloured eyes and velvety skin was there and said: "Good morning, what shall we have for breakfast – cream cheese and puff pastry ?"
So that's that, I suppose, I will make do.
See you soon and please do not forget to R.S.V.P.
Tagar-ian harmonic tremors.