tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89777018667459245622024-03-08T09:16:43.717-08:00Mature, Lonely, and Out of ControlJonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8977701866745924562.post-47760593886032719922017-01-20T03:35:00.002-08:002017-01-20T03:36:51.851-08:00Windows 95He's playing guitar in a Garbage cover band.<br />
<br />
He is a Russell Athletic brand ambassador.<br />
<br />
He makes keening noises for his girlfriend.<br />
<br />
It's autumn, everything is fine.<br />
<br />
Blue skies, leaves, blues jeans.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8977701866745924562.post-75063195100224430582016-10-19T18:11:00.000-07:002016-10-19T18:12:12.529-07:00A Specific Refutation of the Consolations of Ecstatic Infatuation<p>I<br>
wish I<br>
could<br>
stop<br>
</p><p>
thinking about<br>
you</PJonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8977701866745924562.post-66432797656732668412016-10-03T14:59:00.001-07:002016-10-03T14:59:28.405-07:00The Dreadful Legs of the GooseAs I languish in this exquisite purgatory<br>As I succumb to profound melancholy<br>As I travel through the Irish countryside<br>As I'm denied red wine in a supermarket before 10am<br>As I'm besieged by daydreams of you<br>As everything seems dismal<br>As everything shines with grandeurJonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8977701866745924562.post-27011060796247136752016-08-30T10:26:00.000-07:002016-08-30T10:26:37.980-07:00Nice Fires<p>I chew gum and message comrades<br>
as I wait for you on the corner of Albert Street and Leith Walk.<br>
I see you in the distance wearing red blouse and black cardigan, an angelic vision in hellish Leith. An hallucination of feminine beauty.
</p><p>
We ascend Calton hill together. I<br>
hold your bag whilst you remove your cardigan on this humid evening.<br>
We find a free bench on the other side of the monument. It's quieter<br>
here and we've a perfect view of the castle ready<br>
for the imminent firework display.
</p><p>
We talk about our grandparents for a while and zip up our coats as night<br>
grows cool. Teenagers experiencing vodka for perhaps<br>
the first time become violent nearby. We sit close together on the top of the bench, sometimes<br>
standing for a better view.
</p><P>
Back down in Leith we enter a bar on Elm Row. I grasp your thigh as I<br>
push past you to go to the toilet. I experience a similar<br>
sensation as to that of ingesting MDMA; everything becomes hazy &<br>
there's that sick feeling of coming up. We decide
</p><p>
That you shouldn't call in sick to work<br>
Tomorrow as you're too conscientious and responsible.
</p><P>
This morning the ecstatic seagulls seemed<br>
to mirror my mania.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8977701866745924562.post-58745390126217828992016-08-28T02:50:00.001-07:002016-08-28T02:50:58.069-07:00Process<p>Green curtains are closed<br>Green curtains are opened<br>Sunlight enters<br>Wind moves green curtains<br>And suspended light shade</p><p>Permit me to be unambiguous<br>I'm immensely fond of you</p>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8977701866745924562.post-9650869357684690762016-08-23T05:46:00.003-07:002016-08-23T05:46:57.386-07:00Sublime Despairas I'm struck by a lightning bolt<br>
of manic infatuation I try<br>
not to scream in ecstatic<br>
agony, a feat which proves somewhat difficult<br>
Spanish angels take flight from<br>
the hospitals of Edinburgh<br>
transmitting manic romantic daydreams<br>
across pink skiesJonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8977701866745924562.post-12753507594905320162016-08-23T05:46:00.001-07:002016-08-23T05:46:31.303-07:00The Configuration of Melancholy<p>one requires ecstatic greco-roman endurance<br>
to withstand your ecstatic ineffability<br>
the moon's aura hypnotises you in the park<br>
it's 10pm and unseasonably mild<br>
we're sharing a bottle of Italian beer<br>
on a metal bench<br>
you turn to me in slow-motion<br>
awakened from our lunar reverie<br>
by the offer of a sweet sip of continental lager</p>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8977701866745924562.post-9762119920124365982016-08-23T05:45:00.001-07:002016-08-23T05:45:55.601-07:00The Consolations of Wind & Prayer<p>The consolations of wind and prayer are sufficient (sometimes)
</p><p>
And yet we do seek refuge in the depot
</p><p>
Inebriation is swift and total<br>
Eyes closed, singing softly<br>
The jacket is impossible to adorn<br>
The keys are elusive<br>
The stairway is problematic<br>
The polite grin wavers<br>
It'll flicker out soon when<br>
You tell me you want<br>
to forget all thisJonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8977701866745924562.post-86813913666025314692016-08-23T05:41:00.004-07:002016-08-23T05:41:54.602-07:00TrailingA dripping maroon sadness<br>
ensconced<br>
in summer mist, stuff<br>
that billows.<br>
Refunded orgasms,<br>
refuted sadness<br>
trailing<br>
a dismal watercolour.<br>
The sky is a turd<br>
lost beneath a stagnant heat.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8977701866745924562.post-86917819449240231002016-08-23T05:41:00.001-07:002016-08-23T05:41:20.299-07:00Grey Afternoon<p>This grey afternoon</p><p>
reminds me</p><p>
of a German language exam</p><p>
circa 1998</p><p>
the colours</p><p>
of the flag</p><p>
the monotony</p><p>
of the recorded accents</p><p>
a certain pureness</p><p>
a certain monolithic clamour</p>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8977701866745924562.post-51438721915082756852016-08-23T05:39:00.000-07:002016-08-23T05:39:08.954-07:00Alan's Descent into the Sadness Garden was not without Precedent<p>When my lips become maroon perhaps my other limbs will stand a chance, the objective being erosion. The way things stand. Perhaps I have become prone. After all.
<p></p>
We feed on her majestic mist trails. Humbling confessions of weariness and ineptitude. Someone grins in our general direction, prophesying an ambiguous Edinburgh.
<p></p>
Slinking into sunsets. Feeding alien sunsets into historical simulations, the objective being to increase the probability of inaccuracy.
<p></p>
Wintry juice is maroon by default and my limbs are conveyed by horrific magnetic influences, as a matter of course.
<p></p>
"You actually wrote this pish?" he queries, incredulous, disdainful. "Aye," I murmur. My gestures, demeanor and tone of voice convey insurmountable lethargy.
<p></p>
(Fade out to overcast morning, ominous synthesizer tones).</p>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8977701866745924562.post-10667712964610898662016-08-23T05:37:00.001-07:002016-08-23T05:37:49.020-07:00Crawl into the Traps that you set for yourself suggested the Father<p>Orange streetlamp light reflected in a rain puddle on an overcast morning (circa perhaps 10am).
</p><p>
Glum laddies and glum ladies piroutte with the utmost elegance, exhibiting an indelible faith in rainshowers. Most unfortunate.
</p><p>
Rodriguez crashing through unfathomable corridors, repeating his name. Emergencies in the blackness of night.
</p><p>
Exhibiting an hallucinogenic hologram of a psuedo-neighbour in various states of ire and confusion. Rapturous applause.
</p><p>
The symbolic father shifts its gaze downwards. Scenes of grey weather; shifting clouds accompanied by ominous synthesizer music.
</p><p>
Something is occurring.</p>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8977701866745924562.post-26411575211929387102016-08-23T05:36:00.002-07:002016-08-23T05:36:34.902-07:00The Gardens of Preposterously Exquisite Melancholy<p>The melancholy is too exquisite,<br>
I can't stand it,<br>
he shrieked.<br>
I'll evaporate now,<br>
he supposed.</p><p>
He was mistaken.<br>
There was still plenty of<br>
mirthful dancing<br>
to be performed in summer's<br>
gardens of unfathomable sadness.</p>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8977701866745924562.post-14585636273640481652016-08-23T05:35:00.001-07:002016-08-23T05:35:31.992-07:00Haunted by Sudden Donation of Prawn Sandwich<p>A prawn sandwich<br>
donation occurred
</p><p>
You have no idea.
</p><p>
I've been<br>
sympathetic
</p><p>
to men who've consumed<br>
extremely spicy meals
</p><p>
much
to their surprised gratitude.
</p><p>
As if<br>
they expected<br>
to be goaded or
</p><p>
worse.</p>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8977701866745924562.post-7491599290088350892016-08-23T05:34:00.002-07:002016-08-23T05:34:12.414-07:00The Regrettable Multiplication of the Theatre of the Grotesque<p>Nights gleaming with potency<br>
Amber lights loom<br>
As we endure the invincibility<br>
of infinity<br>
of gleaming nights<br>
of unfathomable melancholy.<br></p><p>
The grotesque theatre multiplies<br>
as we applaud reluctantly.<br>
We, so feckless!<br>
Applauded as we writhe<br>
in shallow rain puddles<br>
which reflect that gruesome<br>
amber light.</p>Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11278379227899648708noreply@blogger.com0