top of page
  • Writer's pictureAkademie ghost


He said He touched chat

He said He didn’t mean to

But the words came out in a fluorescent dribble

He said He felt his words often came out like vomit

Leaving people to fish for chunks of meaning afterwards

He said never mind a lot

He said He didn’t mind

Was indifferent

He said it won’t be as bad as you are making out

Things never are, it’s just the way

He said imagine a ceramic surface

And an orange towel

Chat to me about how…

He said language is a real pain for me


I wish I was a monument

To that chat we had about Shelley

‘Two vast and trunkless legs of stone stand in the desert’

He spoke

He slurred his words

He began to dribble saliva from each corner of his mouth

He began chewing on his words

As though his mouth were full

The sound of swilled marbles

His teeth clattered around each sentence

His mouth gave way to three small sculptures

Each of stone or pebble

And each in the shape of a limbless torso aside from one

Which was an egg

On one side printed yes

On the other no

Language is a problem for me

He hung up

He said in the age of opinion

He said I rounded its edges for you

All language communicates itself

The linguistic being of things

He said I have Chronic Rhinitis

It is worst in the morning

It effects my speech, my words are heavier

He said

I want to write a book

I will call it

Language, Catarrh and Sinusitis

33 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

the cling film

It’s a long feeling, possibly thin, walking down a street, the interactions are vague, the focus shot through with a membrane of something, micron thin. Walking towards, but not seeing, glassy eyed an


bottom of page