Windows 95

He's playing guitar in a Garbage cover band.

He is a Russell Athletic brand ambassador.

He makes keening noises for his girlfriend.

It's autumn, everything is fine.

Blue skies, leaves, blues jeans.

A Specific Refutation of the Consolations of Ecstatic Infatuation

I
wish I
could
stop

thinking about
you

The Dreadful Legs of the Goose

As I languish in this exquisite purgatory
As I succumb to profound melancholy
As I travel through the Irish countryside
As I'm denied red wine in a supermarket before 10am
As I'm besieged by daydreams of you
As everything seems dismal
As everything shines with grandeur

Nice Fires

I chew gum and message comrades
as I wait for you on the corner of Albert Street and Leith Walk.
I see you in the distance wearing red blouse and black cardigan, an angelic vision in hellish Leith. An hallucination of feminine beauty.

We ascend Calton hill together. I
hold your bag whilst you remove your cardigan on this humid evening.
We find a free bench on the other side of the monument. It's quieter
here and we've a perfect view of the castle ready
for the imminent firework display.

We talk about our grandparents for a while and zip up our coats as night
grows cool. Teenagers experiencing vodka for perhaps
the first time become violent nearby. We sit close together on the top of the bench, sometimes
standing for a better view.

Back down in Leith we enter a bar on Elm Row. I grasp your thigh as I
push past you to go to the toilet. I experience a similar
sensation as to that of ingesting MDMA; everything becomes hazy &
there's that sick feeling of coming up. We decide

That you shouldn't call in sick to work
Tomorrow as you're too conscientious and responsible.

This morning the ecstatic seagulls seemed
to mirror my mania.

Process

Green curtains are closed
Green curtains are opened
Sunlight enters
Wind moves green curtains
And suspended light shade

Permit me to be unambiguous
I'm immensely fond of you

Sublime Despair

as I'm struck by a lightning bolt
of manic infatuation I try
not to scream in ecstatic
agony, a feat which proves somewhat difficult
Spanish angels take flight from
the hospitals of Edinburgh
transmitting manic romantic daydreams
across pink skies

The Configuration of Melancholy

one requires ecstatic greco-roman endurance
to withstand your ecstatic ineffability
the moon's aura hypnotises you in the park
it's 10pm and unseasonably mild
we're sharing a bottle of Italian beer
on a metal bench
you turn to me in slow-motion
awakened from our lunar reverie
by the offer of a sweet sip of continental lager

The Consolations of Wind & Prayer

The consolations of wind and prayer are sufficient (sometimes)

And yet we do seek refuge in the depot

Inebriation is swift and total
Eyes closed, singing softly
The jacket is impossible to adorn
The keys are elusive
The stairway is problematic
The polite grin wavers
It'll flicker out soon when
You tell me you want
to forget all this

Trailing

A dripping maroon sadness
ensconced
in summer mist, stuff
that billows.
Refunded orgasms,
refuted sadness
trailing
a dismal watercolour.
The sky is a turd
lost beneath a stagnant heat.

Grey Afternoon

This grey afternoon

reminds me

of a German language exam

circa 1998

the colours

of the flag

the monotony

of the recorded accents

a certain pureness

a certain monolithic clamour

Alan's Descent into the Sadness Garden was not without Precedent

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.

We feed on her majestic mist trails. Humbling confessions of weariness and ineptitude. Someone grins in our general direction, prophesying an ambiguous Edinburgh.

Slinking into sunsets. Feeding alien sunsets into historical simulations, the objective being to increase the probability of inaccuracy.

Wintry juice is maroon by default and my limbs are conveyed by horrific magnetic influences, as a matter of course.

"You actually wrote this pish?" he queries, incredulous, disdainful. "Aye," I murmur. My gestures, demeanor and tone of voice convey insurmountable lethargy.

(Fade out to overcast morning, ominous synthesizer tones).

Crawl into the Traps that you set for yourself suggested the Father

Orange streetlamp light reflected in a rain puddle on an overcast morning (circa perhaps 10am).

Glum laddies and glum ladies piroutte with the utmost elegance, exhibiting an indelible faith in rainshowers. Most unfortunate.

Rodriguez crashing through unfathomable corridors, repeating his name. Emergencies in the blackness of night.

Exhibiting an hallucinogenic hologram of a psuedo-neighbour in various states of ire and confusion. Rapturous applause.

The symbolic father shifts its gaze downwards. Scenes of grey weather; shifting clouds accompanied by ominous synthesizer music.

Something is occurring.

The Gardens of Preposterously Exquisite Melancholy

The melancholy is too exquisite,
I can't stand it,
he shrieked.
I'll evaporate now,
he supposed.

He was mistaken.
There was still plenty of
mirthful dancing
to be performed in summer's
gardens of unfathomable sadness.

Haunted by Sudden Donation of Prawn Sandwich

A prawn sandwich
donation occurred

You have no idea.

I've been
sympathetic

to men who've consumed
extremely spicy meals

much to their surprised gratitude.

As if
they expected
to be goaded or

worse.

The Regrettable Multiplication of the Theatre of the Grotesque

Nights gleaming with potency
Amber lights loom
As we endure the invincibility
of infinity
of gleaming nights
of unfathomable melancholy.

The grotesque theatre multiplies
as we applaud reluctantly.
We, so feckless!
Applauded as we writhe
in shallow rain puddles
which reflect that gruesome
amber light.