Category Archives: very short


In case of emergency I keep my address on a slip of paper. One never knows what direction a night might take. It is written in Braille; meaning it is for the blind. I keep it for when I take a taxi home, drunk, probably, and notice my driver can’t see. In this instance I can pass him the piece of paper.

It brings no guarantee of safe arrival.

mutual love

The woman next door masturbated every night. At 11:35 her vibrator clicked on and he very clearly heard what was happening. He was too embarrassed to knock on the wall, to let her know he could hear. Instead he started to masturbate as well, from 11:35, in the hope she would hear him and realise how clearly sound was transmitted through the wall. They pleasured themselves in concert for several months until he realised he could no longer hear her. He masturbated louder and more demonstratively every night in the hope she would join him once again. One day he realised she’d gone.


There was a moment one morning, as he walked home from a night out(,) that could be called spectacular. He crossed the Jardin de Luxembourg at about 8:30, or there abouts, heading for a cafe in Cluny of all places. As he reached Rue des Ecoles for a period of time, probably no more than a second, he looked around and saw the entirety of the cosmos expressed in the things around him. The trees, the cars, the sunlight, the buildings all existed inside the vast context of the eleven dimensions of the universe. It was deeply improbable. He was left with the sensation of hideousness, perhaps at the impossibility of living within this reality at all times, but then laughed to himself, and thought about two young women he’d left in bed and the approaching coffee.

with a suck not a clap

She shook when kissed and the light fell down to crack the windows and send the pop-winged pigeons into a spiral. They are killing on the quai, on the cobbles, slipping the knife into joints that open with a suck not a clap. There is not enough gore anymore, but for the smell that hides between her thighs and along the nape of her neck, when it comes to that. I lick the sour milk smell from her skin, from her, and she vibrates. The blood falls out quick, pumped round and sticks. There isn’t enough blood these days, the old men say to each other, they bend, smear their faces. The thing with beauty is it makes me smile, even if it is so hard to say even one word. Some things are so personal they’re better kept to yourself.