Friday, 10 June 2011

Muttonboot manskin

Your eyeballs have gone italic. You look better like that.

Italic eyeball (left). Italic eyeball (right). Italic eyeball (middle).

If I was a bottle, you'd drink me with your italic mouth and your bold italic lips.

If you were a bottle, I'd punch you in the neck.

You'd make an ineffective handmaiden because you have ineffective hands. You'd be an ineffective superhero. Mutton-hand man. Handhand man. Man-muttonman-handman.

I have tiny razorblades embedded in fingerprint grooves. You should be flinching.

You love car crash television. You love the bit where the public votes on the make of car, method of collision and how many limbs get mangled in the crushed metal.

The metal: you love the metal. Window light casts italic reflections: you watch the metal until sundown.

Your skin is like old boots.

Your skin is made from old boots.

You have boots where your skin should be.

If you were a bottle, I'd smash you over yourself. Your muttonboot manskin would bleed italic blood.

Your italic eyeballs, your mutton hands, skin like boots: you're a freak, but it suits you.

I'm glad we had this conversation.

No comments:

Post a Comment