Stille Nacht

So we hustled a creature into a car slamming doors the storm and the cold etc. And drove through black night and glimmersilk day etc. Then we ordered a creature out into that strange calm with flakes of snow falling in our heads. And we felt so heavy and weightless. And there was this smell of chips and she puked up her guts. And for several days we were asleep or dreaming of sleep and my eyes had turned to glass and my feet to seaweed. So we fucking uselessness of art aesthetic theory above vulgar objects of use scraggy neck lips like medicine. And he lay face down on the earth howling for the sheer hurt of hurt and gulped booze and puked up his guts and even puke and shit and piss are recuperable as art loveable as materials of pornography. Then we lifted our exhausted heads from the ground and looked up into the vast blank of a night sky and stormy clouds and here and there stars ripped from the cloth. And we went into a small shop and bought some Christmas cards and for several days smelling of chips the day black as her pale throat in love making her lips thin and. Slamming doors the storm and the cold. And we walked out into the middle of the field and begged them to shoot us to put fucking bullets through our fucking heads. And we drank supermarket vodka on the train out of there etc. and some cunt looked at us and we said we’ll fucking throw you out of the train and night came along the tracks silkglimmering and so beautiful it made us pray. And for several days we were like in a dream only we had nothing to eat and our guts ached and she crossed the bridge to the other platform and the train pulled in and the train looked so small from where we were hanging from the rafters. And there was this old fellow collected the cards of prostitutes from London telephone boxes 16 years ago and he would walk out into the early winter mornings sockless in his shoes and read the messages out loud and we gulped booze and crouched in underground stations and listened to the echoes smelling of chips and the pure wordless snow.


So we hustled a creature into a car slamming doors the cold and the storm etc. And drove through a blue night and a dull day etc. Then we helped a creature out into that strange calm with flakes of snow falling into our hands. And we felt so happy and weightless. And there was this smell of chips and I puked up my guts. And for several days we were asleep or dreaming of eyes turned to glass and feet to seaweed. Above vulgar objects of use lips like metal. And he lay face down on the earth howling for the sheer hurt of hurt and gulped puke and shit and piss recuperable as art loveable as materials of prayer. Then we lifted our exhausted heads and looked up into stormy clouds and here and there stars ripped from the cloth. And we went into a small shop and bought some Christmas cards and for several days smelling of chips her pale throat in love making her lips thin and chewed. Slamming doors the cold and the storm. And we walked out into the middle of a field and begged them to shoot us to put bullets through our heads. And we drank supermarket vodka on the train out of there etc. and smiled at us and said we’ll fucking throw you out of the train and night came along the tracks silkglimmering and so beautiful it made us nothing. And for several days we were like in a dream we had nothing to eat and she crossed the bridge to the other platform and the train pulled out and the train looked so small from where we were hanging from the rafters. And there was this fellow collected the cards of prostitutes from London telephone boxes 16 years ago and he would walk out into winter mornings sockless and read the messages to himself and we gulped booze and crouched in underground stations and listened to the echoes smelling of chips and the pure worldless snow.