Pythonism

writing about my life

Archive for the ‘Prose’ Category

Spontaneity

leave a comment »

When you hear something or read something you want to spout out the associations it brings, spout them out like liquid from a jug.

Read the rest of this entry »

Advertisements

Written by Luke Dunn

November 9, 2017 at 8:31 am

Posted in Prose

Raising a Hand

leave a comment »

Submissiveness is not weak but meek. Perhaps because I held the opposite view, I have intimidated some people in my life without knowing I was doing it. You can learn better communication skills with animals.

With the rats, raising a hand suddenly will scare them.

The body is its own transmitter – and people are no different !
Read the rest of this entry »

Written by Luke Dunn

November 9, 2017 at 8:25 am

Posted in Prose

Saddo

leave a comment »

Dear Steve,

Waking up in the morning fresh from a dream. Stumble to the kitchen for coffee and later take a dump which burns from curry night before. Why oh why oh why can I not get the words out fast enough? I have constipation, but of a mental variety. Last night I dreamed I was “called” to go back to my old school and teach. There were secrets in catacombs under the cathedral. I am not American, I do not speak in a torrent of mixed colourful images, and I don’t spell it “colorful” either. I am dreamer of things that the busy world does not touch. I have lived at night where the astral is not full of the emanations of ordinary people in their ordinary worlds.

Read the rest of this entry »

Written by Luke Dunn

November 8, 2017 at 7:10 am

Posted in Prose

Shop Psychology

leave a comment »

Dear Steve,

I spent a day in bed in order to reduce stress and thus go without alcohol. It worked well.

I got to co-op, site of so many illusory experiences. A man joining the queue frowns at me as he passes and moves into place behind me. He then makes a snorting sound and my hyper attuned observation skills are set in motion. “Is he trying to diss me, or be contemptuous?” I wonder, rather like Reggie Kray. I won’t describe it as paranoid because I don’t want to lose the psychic confrontation by being down on myself at all. As I leave I catch his eye and there is a look of grim triumph on his features. “Does he think he has beaten me, does he think he is better looking than me because the woman behind smiled at him?” I wonder.

Read the rest of this entry »

Written by Luke Dunn

November 7, 2017 at 7:23 am

Posted in Prose

Real Horrorshow

leave a comment »

I am out on a limb. I have taken risks with my heart. I do not have a map of the land I am lost in. I now know why women sometimes cut up photographs of old lovers. They need to excise the thought of any remaining connection. The worst thought is to hear that lovers voice on the pillow at night when you are safe.

I can feel PelĂ©’s scissors mutilating my face. A cutout form remains where my image once was, a hole, leading into nothingness.

my memory is not treasured as I would wish but reviled.

Read the rest of this entry »

Written by Luke Dunn

November 6, 2017 at 8:37 am

Posted in Prose

Scarabs and invented languages

leave a comment »

I am out for a walk, longing for the feeling of long legged fitness and good muscle tone. I have lured myself out with a promise of a mega breakfast at some cafe or other in Margate.

The thing about walking on the beach is that dog-walkers are usually a little friendlier than most, being ready to exchange a smile or a joke when their dog runs up to you. It’s easy to raise a pleasant encounter if you compliment the dog. It’s been said that British people love their pets more than each other, but that’s fine with me.

At the end of my walk lies the mysterious Moncrieff Zone, where semi human monkeys cling to banisters and ceiling ornaments chattering and occasionally hurling rotten fruit at people. The worst of the chatterers make crude jokes in a grunting patois I possess no dictionary for. You can tell the approximate meaning by the leering tone of the grunts though.

Read the rest of this entry »

Written by Luke Dunn

November 6, 2017 at 8:27 am

Posted in Prose

Faust Complex

leave a comment »

Dear Steve,

I am off the Codeine

But I have had to go onto booze to achieve this. I have drunk every day bar about 3 for months now.

And when I am sitting alone, drunk in the bat-cave during the evening, I entertain dark thoughts. I am paranoid and believe I am under persecution, at times from humans at times from powerful spiritual forces. I send texts to Bill, the only person I can guarantee will listen, about serving Satan. I curse and rage at Martin, in reality a puppy who couldn’t hurt a fly. I seethe with anger at Ian who I imagine trying to dominate and castrate me. When will this end?

Read the rest of this entry »

Written by Luke Dunn

November 5, 2017 at 7:00 am

Posted in Prose