Monday, June 23, 2008

Trip Mckenzie and the empty sun

Aimless, restless.

Bleach burst my eyelids are burnt through, my brain sears. Waking up to this day after day brings on the manic. So I foil the windows;sheets of light are replaced with the tiniest pin pricks of day.

Down the centre of the main street, party children strung out all along the way, basking in the counterfeit excesses of the night before. Family addled youth, dream addled tourists and age addled aged all join them, the joys of the world cutting through each and every ugly compromise. You wander through this, stumble, untouched, cold shoulder to the world. Aimless fucked, you burn alone.

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Half a toy car, red with blue windows, juts out of the wall behind the bar, 20 centimetres below the spirit shelf. Aound it are tacked an assortment of drawings, newspaper clippings and half a credit card with the picture of a pretty Swedish girl in its top right corner. A well dressed man in the store he owns, a red car in front of a typically eurpean town house on a summers day, chocolate covered bacon, crudely penned faces and a karate dog. Also a handwritten list of takeaway numbers.

her hair, find and cut just below the shoulders is strawberry blonde. A loose, light cotton top, its sleeves short at the elbows, printed with a multiöcoloured Indian theme design. Primarily blue but with details in red, green, yellow, orange and light brown. The top is thrown over, but with slight cling, comfortably tight black jeans. On her feet emerald green hi cut converse boots. Around her neck she wears a gold chain and her name celebrated in the Simon and Garfunkel song. This is the same girl whose face appears on the credit card tacked to the wall.
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