Sitting in Liverpool Street Station,befuddled by hubbub,the toing and froing of anonymous bodies in suspension,strange flesh and alien consciousness blurring into chaos and occasionally resolving itself into harmonies and patterns,I drift in a fog,benumbed,inhuman.
Walking through rain,I am invisible,absorbed into the plangent puddle streets.When will the hidden be uncovered? When will suffering be redeemed? I have pawned my days in the backstreets of the mind,with no hope of recovery.
Glance from a girl on a tube train sparks through Babylonian darkness,excites cruel fantasies.Insular under a clean white shirt and well-pressed suit, my plump white flesh quivers with embarrassed pride.
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