The Sour Milk Suck Experience


Dead dragonfly on the drain. Young girls trying to look old. Good boys trying to look bad. Old girls trying to young. Bad boys trying to look good. All round blown out stomachs. Strip searches conducted in public. Keep new car stolen sungazes on indoors. Shopping centre containing fat heads and no taste. Food courts. Sneeze guard buffet bars containing chewed olive pits, brown lettuce and dandruff shaved semen sprayed crouton creaser salads. Stand on the death trip mechanical riser steps. In front lips are shaped and sucking like leaves tearing in the wind. Disgusting tongue juicy sluice sound bouncing off mirrors reflecting us moving up. She’s got a broken nose. He’s in a neck brace. They push bacteria ridden lips together, apart, then back again. Smearing her red orifice paint across his dirty slash mouth. Bodies lumped like an eighth graders fucked up pottery project. Then the warm spot falls on her head. Yellow runs down her hair, across her powder punted cheek. Look up to see a flash of bright green pop back over the rail above. Before the slobs break, the gob rivers down onto their lips. Slammed shut love locked eyes open sudden, sudden, and turn upwards in a childhood retelling of chicken little. The sky is falling. FUCK! Whip wiping heads the couple rush up. Looking for the culpable culprit. Good luck. Rising from the quicksand stairs and she’s smile standing next to a sign saying super sale on stained slash smashed stock. Can’t. Believe it. Hello. Hello. How have you been? Alright, you? Had a good sleep. Looks like it. You’ve gotten, older. You’re just as stupid. Fuck you. And still as disgusting. Whatever. Hungry? Only for one thing. Don’t start. Want to hug but can’t. Her hair has gotten greener, less hot anger in the corner of her eyes but more real stuff in her semi clenching hands. Few more and few less piercings. Eating something purple and shaved in bread. There was a priest, he’d come and read Biblical messages each day to all the sleepy heads like you, You were asleep for two and a half years. What happened to mum and dad? They changed names and moved, after the events. You still see them? Sometimes. Did you get a job while I was under? Yeah, one but I got fired. Why? Some bullshit, but really it was cause I went to the doctor’s then came back and got caught looking at rare disease victim pictures on the net, the manager got scared. Fair enough, anything wrong with you? Nup, just like looking at them. You want to go get drunk? I shouldn’t stay out to long. Why? I just shouldn’t. Soon swigging from a bottle of Merchant’s Machine scotch I pass it to her. She says no. Then swigs from her own bottle of vanilla Vikaran Vodka we march out into the open guts of an imploded, collapsed building with a cartoon character mouth painted outside. Start to pass out. The smell of sulphurous mess rises up from outside. She says something about never dying. I ask her if my favourite band still exists? Think so, I hate their music, they’re just third rate copies of a second generation clone. Well, a trend is a trend, is a trend, is a trend. Yeah, that makes sense. It does, snide sarcasm aside. Ye -. Suddenly sneeze tuna everywhere. What the fuck was that? Looks like fish. That is the most disgusting thing ever! Momormore slap burning slosh drinkson down. Night. Ugly drunk language. Twisted face splatter slurs a drool of Hell’s English. Nacken sla sla. Nuba non nel? So trit blim da. For a second we are both beautiful, not just her. Forgotten. Fufuhfalllling Blublublublack.


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