Deckchair For Your Ghost

from A short introduction to... by Thumpermonkey

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My deckchair's in the garden for the final show. Every suicide novella, ends as spiderlegged code - A vague scribble of confused intimacy. People like me, people who they say cannot love; it's gas like that which starts me thinking I should prove them all right in the most abominable ways. Long mindless tentacles of heat stretch from the sun, germinating some nameless desire I can’t fathom, 'til I close my eyes. If you populate your identical dreams with tiny creatures. they'll keep talking, and keep talking, and keep talking, and keep talking, every voice describes an asteroid colliding with the planet, somehow if it isn't my fault, then the story doesn't make sense. Then I feel them find you miles away and dig you up, and lock you in a vault: I've never been so scared I'll never find your body. Though i'm hiding in plain sight I can't remember why i'm hiding and I struggle to remember if I'm the one who killed you. It's a relief to know they can't hold me to ransom, cause what I did or didn't do doesn't matter; I'm not suicidal I just want to sit down. I've given up pretending memories retain any real authenticity I've set a deckchair for your ghost so that we can both watch flames lick at the celestial horizon....future kin will breathe our dust, uninformed. If you populate your identical dreams with tiny creatures. they'll keep talking, and keep talking, and keep talking. They can't help me to remember why I'm hiding, and I struggle to remember, and the story doesn't make sense. Then I feel them find you miles away and rouse you into preternatural life; somewhere that I can’t hear you. They can’t help me to remember why i'm hiding cos I struggle to remember if I'm the one who killed you. I'd rather lose the marrow inside my bones than an argument that I'll never understand.

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from A short introduction to..., released June 29, 2022

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Thumpermonkey London, UK

A person in space, walking, or adrift, but safe, exploring, freedom, discovery.

A clockwork piano contraption, like a giant ballerina box, but turning a big totem pole, around which smart office dressed people slowly dance with dead glazed eyes as a slightly out of tune slow Satie-like Lydian melody loops round.

White men in pith helmets hunting large animals to extinction. ... more

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