Hi. Took me longer than I wanted to post. Blurted this one out this evening. Something more soon I hope. Blogrolling is fecked too - plan to un-link and new-link and re-link people soon.
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I’m in the supermarket looking for the stuff I need. I’ve bought some goat’s cheese already. I remember when I thought that was pretentious and inedible. I still think that in some ways – it makes it all taste better. I buy food for its adjectives a lot nowadays. I like to use these adjectives when I’m describing what I ate. It makes me feel like the food is right for me, like it fulfils more than my stomach.

This is a step too far away from the cave.

I’d never seen a dead body before. I had no idea, of course, that this would be far from the last. It’s seems since the first one I’ve been cursed to see them at increasingly accelerated rates. This one had his tongue protruded from his mouth, swollen like an aubergine, crude and defiant. When I walked by later it’d grown to twice the size. His tongue was a tumour cracking his mouth wide open. Like his dead face was giving birth to all his innards in a purple bag.

It sat me right at the back of the cave, shaking like a naked baby.

I thought it was spelled ‘portabello’ - like the market. I thought the last letter was ‘o’, but it’s ‘a’. It gives me some comfort to know there are things I don’t know. Especially with adjectives for food. I feel I can pronounce it better now when I’m melting the soft goat’s cheese on top with a cherry tomato wedged in. I now have to use sea salt to garnish.

I can barely see the cave at this moment.

Some workmen had finished their day’s work in the small graveyard. The digger was left with the door open. There were some bones in the dirt. I thought it must be a joke. Then I saw a skull grinning at me. Then another. Several in fact. One of them was dark brown and I don’t know why. The rest were muddy, but white. This one was brown and seemed all the more disgustingly dead because of it.

It scared me to think my brown skull might be dug up one day. Long after my bulbous, robber tongue has run off with my guts. Long, long after my last adjective laden meal.

I’ll never get out of this fucking place.