AMP: Artists' Meeting Place and Resource Collective

Monday, 24 July 2006 12:30pm

I hate you. I fucking hate you. You are a withered elephant with a flaccid penis for a trunk and a hollow, rotten squash for a head. Butternut. Every time I walk past you I feel an urge to cave your rotten melon with my fist - an urge so strong that I actually see a translucent 'ghost' of my own hand come out of my body and clock you in your gurgling, whimpering skull. I can even feel the moment of contact. There are parallel universes. In one of those parallel universes there is a man with a bloody, broken hand. He has just lost his job, and he is about to be arrested. And he's smiling.