Tuesday, 9 October 2007



As each day passes, a small yet significant piece of me withers and dies. And nothing replaces it.
Like painting a picture without any paint.
every moment is less fulfilling than the last.

in a sea of yellow rape-seed, i am the lonely brown tree.

i am a fading relic of an artistic past, where summers were long and the barcode did not run our lives.

i am in a box
i am made of cloth and stuffed, with a china head which is cracked and that has only one strand of white hair and one dark eye with rotting eyelashes.

Each of the 13 kANE's owned a 3.76999 share of the ONE known as JOShUA.

i have now finished boring the small holes. Yesterday I purchased 3 telescopes and a microscope. I now only eat honey.

I met a woman known as MiSTY, she took me to her secret place. She led me down a corridor, where each door had a name plate attached to it.

Mrs Araminta Hollander.
Captain Berkley Brotherton.
Mrs Pansy Adeane.
Mr. Kane. (4)
Miss Joan Scott.
Lord. C. Muddle.

From some of the rooms came the sounds of small afflictions, the clearing of throats, humming, a voice crying softly into a telephone.
At an umarked door. I hear chanting. Eye listen.

" 49 pickles 49 pies 49 pins in 49 eyes 49 living 49 dead 49 black 49 red".

My eyes are dark and narrowed and scary. My lips move ever so carefully and I pronounce every word with thoughtful consideration. I used to think that I had some serious problems because I can only remember my childhood in bits and pieces. I realize how much I can identify with it. I sometimes feel like I am living the same day. I know what I want for the future and I can see it far off in the distance. Then a sharp burning sensation explodes over my body. I was lying on the floor of a dark room. I watched; I listened, but I held my silence. I kept it all inside. Inside I was screaming, yet I uttered not a word. Sometimes when I think of where else I could be right now, and what else I could be doing, I want to laugh and cry and bang my head against the wall, all at the same time. The past is the past, and the future is not what I expected it to be. Sometimes you don't get what you wish for. Then you'll realize there's nothing left to do, nothing left to look for. Everything's been done before; even things you're doing now that you think are new. I've done them all before. Waiting for someone is a strange thing. To be trapped from the very beginning and to remain trapped to the very end. I didn't know what to do, my mind groped for sanity. Just believe in the silence and it will tell you what to do.

I like things that can't think. But it is still thought on a Human Level. I always told myself that looking deep into my problems initially created even more of them; however it is near impossible to stop realizing that my world is surrounded by endless amounts of misery. Sweat drips down my forehead, my whole body aches. I feel so tired. I smell the strong aroma of flowers. Dead flowers. My stomach feels as if I have been dining on broken glass. I am having a bad day. This is not right, I know it can't be. I’m being too pessimistic again....

There is a point in your life when you get that feeling telling you enough is enough, and when you have this feeling, the time has come to make a change and do something about getting your life back. One question after another with no answer in sight. The one thing I do know for certain is that I can no longer bear this pain. I know what needs to be done.

I had recollections of what had happened in the previous day. I lived my life backwards remembering every flicker of emotion in the people's eyes around me. I saw yesterday in slow motion. I awoke to the sound of flies buzzing around my head. They say I am sick. I'm not wondering where or when life went downhill. I'm wondering why I'm still here. What my purpose is to continue to be here. No one even knows I exist. There was a sudden rush of adrenaline all through my body, burning me, making my mind jolt in all directions. My eyes tightened, forcing tears to roll through my sweaty skin. My nails dug into my face as an unbearable headache originated in the centre of my head expanding towards the outside. It was wrong, it was unfair, and it was unnecessary. I can no longer hear the screams. I can no longer feel the pain I know is there and wonder if my memories are trying to take over. The eyes in my head and the eyes of my mind are both closed. I think of Bread, chicken, cheese and mayonnaise. I need some more whiskey. I put the bottle next to the glass, and look up into the mirror. I stare at myself for a moment, and then I lift the glass up into my line of vision, partially blocking the reflection of my face and distorting the rest. Closing my eyes, I drink it down in one gulp. I thought I was going to start bleeding. I've always been afraid; afraid of making mistakes, of being confused, or indecisive.
The only thing I could do was retreat to a place I thought was safe, and I found myself alone in my room, solitary blackness.

Where was I? What was I thinking!?

The dark clouds always seem to find me. I have always felt that the dark clouds were always there, somewhere, waiting for me. I feel that I must have done something in my life, that I deserve to have them hang over me. Forever.
I needed to relax. I needed to take a deep breath. I needed a cigarette. I was pacing insanely back and forth. Who am I? Then my world collapsed. Total black.
An eternal existence in the void of my mind. In loneliness. In anguish. In misery.

I am floating. I hope to die in a most horrific and mesmerizing death. My life is an endless cycle of decay and renewal. I feel eternally lost and, there in the dark, depression covers me and floods my mind with despair. Common, routine tasks are done robotically. I’ve been so isolated that people around me accept my behaviour as normal. I feel sick inside - the kind of sickness that I will never recover from. I can hear them. They're in my head screaming. I can hear them. They're in my head screaming again. I have tried to make them go away. But, they won’t leave me alone. Have I taken my medicine today? I am slowly losing my mind and I realise that I must do something before it is too late.

It was always like this. Emptiness is filling me.

Time is winding down for me. I can't feel anything anymore. All I can observe is the light being coloured red all around me. The light streaming towards my face in a hazy shade of red. I feed on it. I bathe in it. I breathe in it. Everything looks brighter.

My tongue feels like sandpaper. This feeling I can do without. I think of myself as a haggis.

Wash stomach; rub with salt, and rinse. Remove membranes and fat. Soak in cold salted water for several hours. Turn stomach inside out for stuffing.
Cover heart and liver with cold water, bring to a boil, reduce heat, cover and simmer for 30 minutes. Chop heart and coarsely grate liver. Toast oatmeal in skillet on top of stove, stirring frequently until golden brown. Combine all ingredients and mix well. Loosely pack mix into stomach, remember oatmeal expands in cooking. Press any air out of stomach and truss securely. Put into boiling water to cover. Simmer for three hours uncovered, adding more water as needed to maintain water level. Prick stomach several times with a sharp needle when it begins to swell: this keeps the bag from bursting. Place on a hot platter, removing trussing strings. Serve with a spoon.

Sometimes I think I am a human being, but living as part of an experiment. The disintegration of my life is anguished pain. Drowning in sorrow I hate this life. Something's happened to me. I realise in the deepest corners of my mind that it no longer matters and never will again. Nothing will ever matter. What was it all for? I cannot escape from this darkness called life. The more I try to struggle away from it, the stronger it becomes. The darkness. pulling at me with all its strength. To resist is useless. My soul is tortured, wounded; my spirit is being crushed. I can't really concentrate anymore. I am no longer the man I once was. The disquieting sensations of loneliness, shame, and insignificance I feel rising within me daily. Death creeps slowly when you're addicted to sadness.

I feel an insane kind of satisfaction. There are no more decisions to make; it has all been done for me. I am free, invincible even. I am Joshua Kane number 13.

My last day on earth.

The End.



Joshua Kane (number 12) is in the currents of unconsciousness. As he struggle into consciousness, each morning, a self-erasing mechanism destroys memories of dreams; only vague and vivid snippets remain as clues. But how many of the other Joshua Kane’s are able recall dreams that were not dreams at all? Joshua Kane (12) recalls for hours and days afterwards, of these impositions, unlike the general amnesia accompanying most of the dreams of the other Joshua Kane’s. Joshua Kane (12) can assure all, that he has shockingly unlearned all Jungian and Freudian concepts of dreams. It's only the human language's impotence, calling these realities, dreams.The Eskimos have myriad words for snow. Joshua Kane (12) only has one for dreams that often are not dreams, which he himself generates. His experiences, in the extreme, illustrate this indigestible possibility.

A large black shapeless mass turns out the lights while IT is in the labyrinth of mazes and hallways en route to storage rooms. IT stands in the way of Mister Zero, Joshua Kane (12) and 6 teenage girls, the girls are dressed in black and red underwear, Joshua Kane (12) is laughing, a horrible cackling sound. There is a terror in the eyes of the girls and a strong wave of hatred felt towards them by Joshua Kane (12) and Mister Zero. The large black shapeless mass engulfs them all. Then the mass tries to retrace its way in the darkness, back towards the void, hugging the walls leaving black ooze behind it. It’s name is whispered into the ears of ZERO and KANE (12) their clothing is clutched and plucked at by unseen hands. The presence is large and blacker than the darkness surrounding the men of code; Zero and Kane feel a sense of being watched and sense waves of intense hatred, which is undeniable. Flashlights fail and dim and blink out when the 6 teenage girls re-appear naked, their flesh covered in cuts and bruises and snakes protruding from their vaginas and arseholes.

Suddenly, Girl (1) is attached painfully to Girl (3) by chains and wires, which rip through their flesh, blood splatters over the other 4 girls and Mister Zero fall to his knees, letting the blood spray over his face. Girl (5) and Girl (2) are then flung to the walls together by an unseen force, and they BOTH start to watch their limbs be bent and twisted out of shape, broken bones and twisted flesh is forced into their different body parts, so these 2 girls are intertwined, their blood is flowing and Joshua Kane (12) goes to the pulsing mass of 2 in 1 teenage flesh and starts to use a baseball bat handle, forcing it into their vagina’s. He screams in ecstasy as they scream endlessly. Girl (6) and Girl (4) try to struggle out of the razor thin fishhooks and wire that twirls around them, then as they spin together, wrapped in fish hooks and wire their flesh is ripped away from them, flying off them into the eyes and mouths of Joshua Kane (12) and Mister Zero, the mass then forms into an IT and bites into the flesh of ZERO and KANE (12). More fish hooks appear from the darkness and pierce the cheeks of Zero and Kane’s faces and tears deeply into their mouths and the fishhooks unseen, sink into their skins, biting deeper and more painfully into their flesh. They are marionettes impaled from face to scrotum and have wandered unknowing into this macramé of razorblade like fishhooks someone more evil than they must have concocted. The slightest movement brings sharp painful reminders that they are stuck fast and in a nightmarish predicament they cannot solve.

Joshua Kane (12) awakes. He is hot, sweaty and slightly out of breath. His sheets are damp and there is a sticky feeling between his legs. He lifts the bed sheets and looks at his naked body, his penis is hard and he is covered in his own sperm. He his thirsty, he is about to get out of bed, when his room which is normally empty of any possessions or books, or anything. This room of his that gives him solitude, has in it usually a large double bed, but at this moment, his room is no longer empty, for a dark figure is standing in the corner. He couldn't see who or what it was, but he gets out of his bed and walks towards it. It was wearing a long black cloak and as he got closer it turned around so that its face was away from him. The closer he got, the faster it would turn it head, like it was spinning, looking permanently blurred. Then all of a sudden it stopped moving, and there was a bright flash of light, an ear piecing screech, and that was the last thing Joshua Kane (12) remembers.

Joshua Kane (12) wakes in a brightly lit white metallic room.

He had opened his eyes and felt strangely rested. He allowed his retinas to adjust to the bright light and began to scrutinize his unexpected surroundings. He experienced a tinge of panic, as he did not know where he was, but also had absolutely no idea of how he got here. However as soon as the anxiety had risen it quickly faded and he became at ease with his dilemma. He purposefully studied the bright white, brightly lit metallic room. Yes, there was no doubt about it; he was in some sort of cell, no windows, and he was wrapped in something uncomfortable. He was alone and confused yet he did not feel afraid, in fact on the contrary Joshua Kane (12) felt remarkably tranquil. He looked down to see what he was wearing, and saw that he was strapped into a padded straight jacket with many chains and padlocks and this bemused him, for he had not worn such a thing in a long, long time. Joshua Kane (12) desperately attempted to concentrate on where he had been. And where he was meant to be going. He examined the beautifully inscribed numbers on the padlocks he had some vague slivers of memories that started to cluster coherently within his mind. Yes, he had started to remember! He closed his eyes as images of his anger and hatred for humanity replayed.

Thoughts flooded his mind as it did so often, as of yet he had not deciphered the meanings and cared not to do so. His mind flittered with thoughts so often, new ideas and old, brave and bold answers to age-old questions. Nobody cared, people left me long ago, not wanting me or my thoughts, my answers, my questions, my anger, my desires. I 'live' alone now but I don't truly believe I live. Numb my limbs lifeless only moving my tongue to brush the fly away from my eye. Things in the darkness speak, call to me, and beckon. I listen to them and ignore the images in my head that show me wanting to chocolate cake and drink ovaltine. The dark is the place for me, my mind is our own and no one can destroy this.I am, we are too much for them, the dark says that it calls to me in a silent whisper. I do not resist, my mind is my own, my mind is not my own, I am legion, I am many, I am no one and the shadows move, form shapes in the darkness. Sounds brush past me, not disturbing my mind, my being. Echoing whispers, silent whispers. They want us; they want me, us, and them. Her. Him, they, all, there are more of us now. My mind is home to many things
.”They have exiled me our mind is not mine. I exist now only in this small
corner leaving only ideas of complex thought in the mind. The darkness no longer
calls but taunts it knows I cannot win. Shadows form shapes. Shapes form
shadows. An endless cycle. So corrupt are the thoughts of ours, theirs the
darkness need only to swoop in and clutch my mind for themselves. I am Joshua
Kane number 12, and I am one of the thirteen and soon the others will come for

Joshua Kane watched another fly buzz around the room, next he peered satisfied at the empty space beside him and grinned as he whispered out loud

” I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly
again for breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast, I'll think
I'll have fly again for breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast,
I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for
breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast, KILL, I'll think I'll
have fly again for breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast, I'll
think I'll have fly again for breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for
breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast, IT, I'll think I'll
have fly again for breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast, I'll
think I'll have fly again for breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for
breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast ,BEFORE, I'll think I'll
have fly again for breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast, I'll
think I'll have fly again for breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for
breakfast, IT, I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast,
I'll think I'll
have fly again for breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast, I'll
think I'll have fly again for breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for
breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast, KILLS, I'll think I'll
have fly again for breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast, I'll
think I'll have fly again for breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for
breakfast, I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast, I'll think I'll have
fly again for breakfast, ME! I'll think I'll have fly again for breakfast.”



ONE OF ThE ThiRTEEN. (Number 11)

A smile that has long gone, tries to remerge as I stand quietly against the cold wall, and I can't help but wonder how my life has gone so astray. My stomach feels like it is eating itself, and I'm cringing in my own skin. The silence of the room is mocking me, daring me to take action, but I don't move, I prefer to stand completely still, in the hope that I will fade away into the plastered walls.On the surface, I hide my hatred, my anger, my resentments and my pain rather well, but underneath my mask to this tiny world, there is a fury that cannot and never will be calmed. Much like a hurricane, I am in a state of absolute frenzy as my skin wills to escape the storm inside me, but there are times of brief tranquillity when I am able to convince myself that everything will be splendid and wonderful. Unfortunately, that peace of mind is always swallowed by the tidal wave of depression that overwhelms me like a curse of the scum.I crave for the inferno inside my skull to end, begging my screeching mind to match the silence of the room, but every crying plea is met with denial. My brain is acting like broken down and ancient home computer that cannot process the multitude of thoughts that was stored in it. The only way to clear my mind would be to release myself from life. This miserable existence.Somewhere between the innocence of my early years and the agony that I now endure, the realization of my misery grabbed on with its venomous grasp. I'm overflowing with poisonous blood, and it stings my very core as it circles my ageing body. All I want to do is throw my useless existence away for good. I don't give a damn anymore about anything, what a waste of my free-spirited potential, I am a man of code and the code has been broken. I have been broken, beyond repair. You would think with the billions of stars out there and the infinite design of the universe, those wondrous mysteries of existence would give me some purpose, some meaning. But. In my case, ignorance would really be bliss.I assume that I was just born in the wrong era, the wrong time, the wrong place and the wrong body, but this modern society that promotes freethinking and encourages greed is impossible to exist in as a broken man of code. Since I don't have the ability to pursue my dreams freely without being a consumer, or being consumed and the awful and the scum interfering with my very life and soul, ending it all seems a much more viable solution. Unfortunately, that requires action, and to every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. In my case, there may be a larger reaction of nothingness if I was to act on my desires, but my patience is waning thin. I long for the day that my own regret at living another day outweighs the regret I would feel for not immortalizing my misery onto the pages of books and into the minds of the others by giving them my hatred and disgust onto art and installations.Alas, that day is not yet here, that day I suspect will never come, but if it does come, I shall relish it and make the fuckers pay for their lies and conformities! Until then, the silence dangles the deadly notion in front of me like bait as it taunts my cowardice. I am one of the thirteen and I am Joshua Kane (number 11).



ONE OF ThE THiRTEEN (number 10)

Joshua Kane (number 10) was painting what he considered to be art, in his large and dingy warehouse studio apartment. It wasn’t a a pleasant or attractive place, and, in addition to being decrepit, the apartment was located in a terrible and violent part of North London. The poverty of the area was so awful and the condition of the scum that lived there was so hideous that the teenagers who mugged the old age pensioners were in turn mugged by primary school ‘hoodies’. The streets and pavements were cracked and the roads and houses were crumbling travesties of poor craftmanship and cheap supplies. Aspiring artists usually live in poverty, and those who lack talent can’t afford poverty and have to rent a room above a butchers shop. Joshua Kane (10) was one of the lucky one’s, although he despised the others of the thirteen, he was more than happy to accept their money, when it would arrive by postal order, every Friday morning, from joshua kane’s (number 3 and number 7). Although recently, some of his post and the postal orders had gone missing, which meant he would to have to contact the post office and fill out forms for compensation at royal mail. He did not enjoy these interactions and would find that he would be without money for weeks until his claim was processed. To stop from starving , he would roam the streets rummaging through litter bins searching for food, and spend some of his nights sleeping on concrete under bridges instead of his wooden floor.

Joshua Kane (number 10) demonstrated his lack of skill by hanging all of his works, which resembled shit stained nappies of assorted colours, on his apartment space walls. The vast space was bare, except for an easel, a broken female shop dummy, missing an eye and an arm, some rotting canvases, an old and damaged leather sofa, and many tins of discounted house paints (obscure designer colours only, such as sushi pink or brimstone black. But, there was something missing, the colour that eluded him, a colour that he was yet to define, to use, to create and that missing colour was driving him mad!).There were also dozens upon dozens of empty marmalade jars. Scattered around his hovel. There were even more in the kitchen. He could never part with these jars, they had the perfect shape that pleased him and they would be put to good use, when he had finally blended the colour, that damned colour which eluded him.

There was suddenly a loud banging on his front door, which surprised Joshua Kane as he never received visitors or socialised with anyone (except for Mister Zero), number 10 did not even mix with the other Joshua Kane’s (he may be one of the thirteen, but he certainly did not like them or want any of them as friends, and numbers 11, 8 and 12 scared him too much!).

Joshua Kane (10) went to the door and opened it. Standing in front of him was CANdY CAiNE, drug addict, teenage prostitute and part time slave and his next door neighbour. She shoved Joshua Kane (10) out the way and stomped into his studio. He was about to say something profound, when she advanced upon him demanding money or she would cut him open like a frog. Brandishing in her hand and waving it in front of his face a large and sharp kitchen knife, it glinted at him and he imagined blood, a lot of blood, everywhere. He felt faint and mildly fearful. Joshua Kane (10) did not have any money, the next postal order was due in 5 days time and the absence of it caused him to grab CANdY CAiNE by her wrists, stopping her from stabbing or cutting him. He pushed her with such violence and force into the wall, that even he was surprised by his own strength and the early stirrings of an erection between his legs.
Holding her firm against the wall and twisting her wrist to release the knife, it dropped to the floor, blade end down and twanged into the wooden floor, wobbling and stuck, a slight musical tome emmitting from it. She glared at him angrily and struggled, he slapped her hard across her face and then gripped her tightly around her throat, she tried to kick him, but he used his left hand to squeeze and hold her vagina, tightly and painfully.So she was unable to move. She gasped, she choked, tears were forming in her eyes, when, Joshua Kane (10) made a startling discovery. “You know,” he said, “Your physique and face make you the perfect model.”
“urchreallyuhhh?” she choked back at him. He released the pressure on her neck and cunt.
“Yes. I must paint you. You must be my muse.”
“All right”. She said. “But promise you will give me some money and cocaine afterwards?”
“I promise,” He replied. the two-shook hands, she stripped to her dirty and filthy underwear, went to the sofa and started to pose for him and the painting began.
The atmosphere was quiet and relaxed, occasionally interrupted with dirty talking banter, which both parties felt they were obligated to continue. “How long have you been a whore?,” Joshua Kane (10) asked,
“Two years, since I was 15 years old”, she replied. “ I started sucking cock when I was 11 and took it in my cunt and ass when I was 13, usually after a night out on the piss and snorting coke.”
“How long have you been a knife wielding maniac?” He asked, trying to ignore his very hard erection.
She smiled at him, “For a while now. Doing drugs and getting paid to be a slut has its ups and downs, but now, with the current economy, I barely get by.”
“But you still manage to exercise and keep in shape?” He admired her body, his cock throbbing, his eyes unable to stop staring at her breasts and pussy. His thoughts becoming more wild and disgusting, now all he had to do was to put what he thought and saw onto the canvas.
“Oh, I have to, the better and younger I look, the more the dirty old fuckers want me, do you find me attractive? Do you think I’m sexy?” she purred. “do you want to touch my bum? Want to See how firm and small it is, like a peach it is, men love It.” She leered at him. “I love eating peaches myself, mmmm.”

Joshua Kane (10) said nothing, he was too busy creating and painting to allow himself any distractions, he tried his best to concentrate, but he saw that his hands were shaking and he could feel his erection pulsating through his baggy linen trousers.

CANdY CaiNE laughed, She could see his cock straining through the linen. So she started to fondle her large breasts and tweak her thick pink nipples, pouting at him, her eyes large and naughty. “I’m a very bad girl, a very very bad girl, do you want to punish me?” she giggled at him. Joshua Kane (10) stared at her. His mind filled with cruel thoughts and desires, he felt disgust , he felt ashamed, he felt hard, he felt moist, he felt an overload to his senses. He went over to her and gripped her by the throat, pulling her hair. He turned her over roughly, so he could see her back and bottom. He ripped off her underwear and forced them into her rather willing mouth. Then he admired her beauty, her small firm bottom, which she raised into the air slightly, so he could have a better view of her arse and cunt. He sat on top of her, then he and whispered into her ear.
“lie very still, you are my model, say nothing, do nothing, do not move.” He moved away from her. “be very still, I just need to add something to make this more of a still life image for me.” Then he went to where the knife was stiuck in the wooden floorboard. He pulled it out, and went back to her. She watched him, her eyes never leaving him, she was smiling and moaning. He went back to her and started to cut and shred the sofa around where she lay. The stuffing and springs bursting through, covering her body and the floor. The he used the tip of the blade on her shoulder, cutting gently, 6 lines into her skin, her blood slowly trickled out of the wounds and then he placed the knife into her left hand and placed her left arm down towards the floor. He went back to the easel and continued painting.

After two hours of brush strokes and splattered colors Joshua Kane (10) nodded his head in approval. “Would you like to see?” he asked her.
“mmmmphmmph” she replied. Her underwear still in her mouth, she got up from the sofa and walked towards the canvas. Joshua Kane turned the canvas toward her and said to her, “I had to resign myself, many years ago, that I'm not too articulate when it comes to explaining how I feel about things. But my art does it for me, it really does.” Candy Caine, removed the underwear from her mouth, placed the knife on the easel, her flesh was stained with the dried blood from her arms, her eyes were wild and her smile was coy. “I am a slave to love” she touched his face with her badly manicured fingers.
“I do not paint, no. I go to galleries.” CANdY CaiNE said and she leant towards him and placed her mouth over his, she kissed him, a delicate and passionate kiss. Joshua Kane (10) returned the kiss, wet, warm and withtongues. He felt excitement, he felt desire, he felt love and he felt something else, something odd, something sinister and creeping its way into his brain. She broke away from him and looked up into his dark dead eyes.
“It's fabulous when I can do that, when I discover somebody who I like, when I feel those kind of feelings, even though I can act them out better than saying them .” She whispered, she rubbed his cock and dropped to her knees, pulling his cock out and preparing to put it in her whore mouth.
“That’s right,” said Joshua Kane (10) with a sinister grin, “Words can be very powerful. I find them very difficult.” But he let her continue, enjoying this moment, for it had been some time since anyone had touched him, sucked him or kissed him. He thought back to Alice White and how Joshua Kane (1) had managed to make her his own. As CANdY CAiNE sucked and swallowed his meat, his thoughts and the images in his mind, drifted, changed, twisted and turned and instead of letting his mind and body relax into ejaculating into her mouth, he found himself holding the kitchen knife in his right hand, and pulling her hair, pulling as tight as he could with his left hand, forcing her head and mouth to suck and swallow faster and harder. He found himself slicing the knife across her throat, his cock still in her mouth, he held her head firmly as she bled all over his legs, all over her breasts, all over her flesh and onto the wooden floor.Then he pulled his cock out of her mouth, she was staring at him, her blood spraying like a fine water shower as he sliced her throat again, a bigger and deeper cut, then he used his fingers to open the wound a little bigger, she moaned, and watched him, as he slid his hard cock deep into the gash, the warm blood enveloped his penis, he started to fuck her the hole in her neck, fuck her with frenzy he had never known before and then he pulled out, releasing his spunk over her face, his sperm mixing with her blood. Then he let her collapse to the floor. He watched as she slowly died, her eyes still open, her mouth smiling. He gently said.”I love you.” And he watched her life leave this small island called earth.

He picked up his medium paint brush. He dipped the brush into her open wound and mixed the spunk and blood onto the bristles and put the finishing touches to his painting.

Joshua Kane (10) had at last realised his true passion: violence, murderous sex, and he had finally discovered the colour, the missing colour that was needed for all his work. He also knew that he needed to always live alone. He understood, that he was no different to any of the others of the thirteen, in fact he may be the worst of them all, but he did not care, now that he knew what he could do and how he could progress with his art, he knew that he needed to make a new start, move to a new city, Paris perhaps, or maybe even Berlin. He lay down next to the dead body of CANdY CaiNE and made love to her throat again and again, until he had no more energy left,he lay in a pool of blood and spunk and satred at the ceiling.

He got up and he collected 60 the empty marmalade jars from his kitchen and filled them with his spunk and her blood. He called the colour, ‘lifeless red’. Joshua Kane (10) only had one real friend, he did not contact him often, but he knew that he could rely on his discretion and help. He phoned Mister Zero, Joshua Kane (10), needed help to dispose of the body and Mister Zero had a basement and septic tank that could be used.

Six months later,Joshua Kane (10) sold the painting of CANdY CaiNE at his final exhibition in London. Nobody ever wondered or cared about CANdY CaiNE, or where she had dissappeared to, just another missing person. She had no real family or friends.

Unknown to Joshua Kane (10) , one person did miss her, and that was Mr Mundy from Saffron Walden, Essex. He was a local fruit and vegetable seller and he enjoyed CANdY CaiNE’s company , when she would come and visit on every Friday, she always had some cash on Fridays and she would like to purchase clothes from the little shop of twine that was a few doors away from Mundy’s own store ‘I LOVE MUNDY’S’ ,(his wife had named the place, he hated it, one day he would divorce the bitch and be a free man again.) then CANdY CaiNE would come to meet Mundy at a local bed and breakfast, where she would show him her new outfits and tell him of her adventures with strange men and the way she flirted and teased the weirdo in the little shop of twine where she purchased her outfits from and finally she always allowed Mundy to insert fruit and vegetables into her asshole, her mouth and her cunt so he could eat them out of her, for a fee of £1,500 and a bag of peaches. Mister Mundy, would wonder about her and miss her every Friday for many months, until one day he watched the strange and sinister owner of the little shop of twine, go for a drink with a wonderful red headed girl. Mundy was captivated by her beauty, her shape, her legs and her face. He followed them, and watched their every move. So even Mister Mundy eventually forgot about CANdY CaiNE, when he decided that he must get to know this red head girl and find out where she lived and what sort of fruit and vegetables she liked.

Joshua Kane (10) travelled throughout europe and finally settling in Paris, where he was able to purchase a wonderful house and separate studio, with a newly refurbished basement. His exhibitions were endlessly successful and the demand for his work was becoming impossible to cope with. Joshua Kane was very happy with his success. Everyone commented on the vibrant colours, the dark colours, the unusual colours, especially the one he called,’lifeless red’. Everyone wanted to know how he mixed it, what he used, but that was his secret. There are some things worth hiding from the prying eyes and ears of the scum.

He went to his ‘special’ place to collect another marmalade jar. To his dismay, this was his last one. Soon, very soon, much sooner than he had realised, he would need to find another muse.



ONE OF ThE THiRTEEN (number 9)

I am Joshua Kane, I am one of the thirteen, I am number nine and don't try and trick me. I have many memories in my black weed heart. The dark hurts my eyes. I have to electrify. Now. There are powers. The cutlery box is locked. The cutlery is counted: each shiny, cold, steel piece. I am thinking. I am planning. Don't doubt it. I will be me again. To see each other. See between each other. Face to face.

They watch when I shit. The little square window is clean and shiny every day. They smile and watch. I squat and smile back. Their eyes are like bees: the bee’s knees. But I know them. The pyjama people watch. I know them. I have the gift. I swim into their minds and slush through their words. I stack it all up in my computer and index, codex, reflex.

I watch the clock. Every half hour I stare at the locked cupboard on the wall. Steel. THEY open it and give me a cigarette. If I stretch my brain and squint I can make the hands do what I want and make my spunk splatter against the wall. I'd have to say that is for certain. They don’t like me playing with my penis.

There's a fat Italian girl. She says:
I want to get out. I want my family. I want to die.
I thought she was here for humorous relief. So I laugh. Especially when I watch her burn her large breasts with a cigarette and she asks me to bite on her nipples with my lizard like teeth. She comes to me at night and screams rape in the morning. I know the doors are locked. There is a bed. And white plaster and grey lino and a single round light and a little square window in the locked door. They watch but I know what's on their minds.

I have my exercises. I do not ignore my peril. THEY Watch me pissing. I can still fill up my cupped hand with piss to drink and keep the circle. No pain, no gain, no rain, no shame. I just know. I am not stupid. I know. I have the synthesis. Synthesis.

Kane kanf kang kanh kani kanj kank kanl kanm kann kano kanp kanq kanr kans kant kanu kanv kanw kanx kany kanz.

I am a man of code.

They stopped me speaking. They took away my pencil. The fuckers. You see I have seen tiled confessionals streaked with rivers of dry cum. I have licked the walls clean of its putrid sperm and stale shit! The inheritance of pain is punishment. Don't talk to me about nursery rhymes. I have gone beyond the city walls and smelt funeral pyres, dung hills and corpses without pennies.
To reveal, conceal, heal. I've committed it to memory anyway. But I've posted it to the Queen, the Pope and the Lord Mayor and I talked about it with Mister Zero outside the lingerie shop.
Adorned with widow's weeds,repository of divinised memories.At a society danceup and down the bordersvacuous vassals jerk.Fiery sermons on our shoulders,pissshitwankfuck in our dens we lurk.With the dry creek beforeand solitary city behindand overthrown hedges ablaze.Urbi et orbi pyresconsume filthiness and spentpiss and sweat and cum. Staring eyes without cold penniesFor the train conductor's last ride home, no longer comprehendingmere nostalgic nursery rhymes:It's no wonder in the murkyworld, bodies are hacked asunderWhen there's a font of melancholia in the breasts of Alice white.

Humiliated, bitch whores banish springseeking a different heart.The hidden pantheon is scattered.Ascend triumphant, not to startwithout a struggle, inglorious.Farewell my mystery cunts,Farewell my teenage whores.

To love the destroyer, angel child.To love IT as Thou art.Pay the whore to say I love you now fuck me hard in my dirty slut asshole.There is an unholy chair that cannot leave this room,rotting in the commingled blood of wayward schoolgirlsCall unfortunate the man who is not dead.

In ungodly twilight of darkling fears embrace Tronman with erect intentand firm hands tolook him in the eyeand chant unblinking a lullaby,a threnodic epithalamion.Is it not so?'Das man hier alles durfen darf.'Is it not?The truth liesnaked, it lies thereon.Is it not so?The tron sword bleeds and flays.All is possible but all is not.Expediently a forgotten onecreeps home with bloody footprintsand the severed head of a ghastly child killallthelittlefuckersandfeedthemtotheobesewomenofengland!!!

Only breaking glass will tell.

See? See. I've seen gods die, grandmothers finger themselves, the scum rot in plagues and I've heard children cry as they plead for their pathetic lives. I tell the truth except for when I lie.
I am the voice of the fire and I am blazing. I will not die without fire. It is assigned. I must take the destroyer angel, a silent young girl. I shall cut out her tongue and eat it with raw. A flat. A railway. A factory. My prick erect. I must caress her throat. I have my orders. Death row dress circle. It is the greatest gift to lay down. I am. I do. I am the avenging angel: the prick, priest, prince, and prophet.

I will not be calm.

Too many voices, now. Same old questions. Too many sins of omission, commission, permission. And the truth lies.

Dead bed lights out. I see. I hear. Just a little bit of peace and quiet. But there's an unholy chair, which never leaves this room. Riot. Bloody. Words in the dark. Gaps in the silence. I want to kill and I want to inflict pain. And there's always the sound of shattering glass. I shall be free and join again the thirteen.

I am Joshua Kane. I am one of the thirteen and I am number 9.

Be seeing you.



ONE OF ThE THiRTEEN. (Number 8)

Hiding in the shadows, Joshua Kane (8), his penis erect and his mind alert, his body tense. Watches HER, as she walks around the apartment. She does not sense his eyes stalking her. She is just another teenage girl, living in shared rooms, with 3 other little sluts; they are students of art, design and fashion. Joshua Kane (8) has been watching them for some time now, and knows all their little ways, habits and rituals. But this one, stands out, she possesses a quality that the other 3 do not have. She looks like an angel, she dresses like an innocent and her voice is soft, her manner elegant. In the 5 months he has been watching these 4 girls. This particular one had no sexual relationships with any other human being. She did not spend her time the way the others did, going clubbing, drinking vast amounts of alcohol in bars or shopping for pointless products. This One liked to attend church, help old people, volunteer at her local charity shop and pray to her God, 3 times a day. This one he knew, he sensed, was still a virgin. She was someone that Joshua Kane (8) felt the need to possess, he longed to feel her body in his arms. His eyes pierce through her flesh …… and then there they are, dull at first but increasing in volume. Little whispers that weave their sadistic intents within his head. He was one of the thirteen and he heard them, clearly. And knew what he had to do. Sometimes he wants to scream as the voices in his head become too loud, too unbearable, too much, so many voices ALL wanting him to do something awful and painful to this god loving girl. Joshua Kane (8) drops down to his knees, tears of crystallized drug abuse rapidly descending. Darkness grips his soul, the thirteen in his head guide him towards her ...... combining the murkiness into one. She carries on strutting around the apartment, cleaning tidying and humming a hymn. He watches her, his face twisted in pain, his eyes large and filled with a lust that wasn’t human and an erection that would carve her innocent vagina into a bleeding mass of fleshy pulp. She flicks her long, blond hair over one shoulder as she’s walking towards her car, unaware of the horrors of that awaits her. In the backseat Joshua Kane (8) hides, lost in a blackened cage that keeps him from her as she slides in behind the steering wheel. She is about to start the car and then decides to turn on the CD player; he listens to her sing along with the choral choir and wonders how she will sound when she has no tongue. The thirteen fill his mind. "Attack her now. Grab the fucking stupid little bint, we want to torture her, punish her for being such a good little girl. We want to hurt her and make her bleed ...c’mon. Force her to her house, lets have some catholic fun tonight." The blade glistens in dull lamplight, a simple mask hiding his face. Swiftly, his black gloved hand clamps tightly over her mouth, pulling back her head. His body shakes as he imagines slicing her jugular--drinking her pulsing life force. He slowly places the blade against the soft flesh of her throat, savouring the moment--her fear. He is in control, one slice could mean her death and he smiles at the thought. She is thrown into spasms as she writhes against a murky force, her body close to his. HE wants so much to slice her open now, to bathe inside her warm carcass but now is not the time nor place. "Do what you must..." the voices urge. "Take her ,fuck her, torture her, kill her...kill … her..."Tears fall from her frightened eyes as he slides the blade harder across her throat, causing her muffled cries to cease, a whimper simpers from her beautiful mouth."Invite me to your house as if I am a close friend...." he whispers in her ear. "I will not hurt you, this knife is just a friendly reminder, do what I say and no harm shall come to you."Slowly, Joshua Kane (8) and the girl get out of the car, onto a shadowed road with nothing but the trees to bare witness to this brutal, ghastly crime. The trees arch and twist, skeleton like in appearance over the road, reaching for them and hungering for blood. Tips of branches scratch the air as the wind increases slightly, and Joshua Kane (8) leads her back to the apartment."This is it, the moment you've been waiting for. Make us proud, take your knife and make her pay!" the voices sneer. "You're family was never proud of you but WE ARE! Mutilate away your pain, we will help guide you, be there for you, take care of you." Joshua Kane (8) shakes his head, the throbbing on the front of his forehead clearly visible."Hurry up Amanda”. He says to her. As she starts weep more loudly, he violently grabs her arm to keep her from running, threatening her with the knife to show he is in control.” I know everything about you my little virgin.” He sneers at her. The cold night air nips at their skin; both shiver, with the cold and one with fear and one with excitement and anticipation. The voices wind themselves around his darkened thoughts; madness suffocating all that was ever left of a sane Joshua Kane (8). She fumbles with her keys, her breathing heavy. He can smell the fear, wanting so much to lick the sweat off her skin, to take his blade and purify her of her sins, to help her meet God and he hisses to her. “Oh Amanda, do you want to be saved?”
He feels his erection throbbing and he knows that he must set this innocent angel free of her bondage and bleed out all her charming perfections. As the door opens, they make their way to her bedroom where he forces her down on to her front. "Bind her, gag her, skin that filthy whore...,” the voices scream. "Butcher and bleed her dry, cut her cunt up, stab her asshole with the knife, chop her up, chop her up!" He can hear her muffled sobs as she tries so hard to keep Joshua Kane from ripping off her clothes, but he is one of the thirteen and is unstoppable, her clothes rip easily, exposing her flesh and her firm round buttocks. He cuts her knickers and rips them off, bringing them up to his face, so he can smell her scent. He opens up a bag he had brought with him, she whimpers and she prays to God, how powerful this makes him feel. He cannot wait to break her virgin flesh in, with his battery-operated screwdriver and multi headed drill. He pushes her face deep into the pillow and starts to finger fuck her little arsehole she struggles, but he is forceful and cruel, he can hear her muffled cries and he becomes more excited. Sitting on her, watching his fingers, first one, then, two, then three, and finally his fist, his whole fist, going in and out of her arse, fist fucking her as hard as he can, her muffled cries and sobs, just make him go harder and his erect penis swells hard and glorious. His fist fucking starts to slow as with his free hand, he takes from his pocket a large handled screwdriver and as his fist remains in her butt hole, the screwdriver handle is rammed hard into her vagina. He hears a sound of skin breaking. He smiles. And licks his lips as she starts to bleed and her muffled screams are louder and obviously she is in more pain. He leans down towards her head and says into her ears “where’s you almighty God now, you simpering little shit. You religious little slut, I know you thought about doing this, having me fuck you, hurt you, abuse you and make you bleed until you cannot take any more and cum all over my fist, my fingers, my cock. I know you want this. Because, Jesus doesn’t love you, but I do Amanda, I love you.”She hears the zipper of his trousers as he pulls out his cock, and as he removes his fist from her shitty little arsehole, he then rams in his hard cock. He thrusts and he thrusts, as he thrusts into her arsehole, he also thrusts in the large handled screwdriver into her dry cunt, he grabs her by her hair, pulls her head back, tightly, she gasps for air and sees her face rigid with agony and pain as he starts to then throttle her by her throat, gripping onto her neck, squeezing tightly, then tighter as he fucks her holes. Then he suddenly stops, removes himself from her, she collapses onto the bed and sobs loudly, begging him not to hurt her anymore, telling him she won’t tell anyone about this, that God would forgive him. He laughs at her, he sniffs his fingers and sucks on them and thrusts his hard cock into her mouth, stuffing it all the way down her throat, so that she chokes and gags, as he once again grips her neck tightly. he holds her hair tightly, and roughly thrusts his cock in her mouth, making her moan and her tears flow even more. He pulls out when he finally releases his sperm into the back of her throat and he grips her mouth with his hands, forcing her to swallow his spunk. She wants to spit it out, but he then brings the blade of the knife up to her face, letting the tip draw blood above her right eyelid. She swallows his liquid and then collapses to the bed, sobbing into the pillow, shaking like a fallen leaf in the wind. He watches her for a few minutes then from the bag he brings out 13 long thin pieces of barbed wire perfectly cut for this occasion. He feels his black heart thump with excitement as he approaches her again, putting both her arms above her head. Slowly, painfully, he wraps one wrist tightly in barbed wire, watching as blood begins to arch down her arm as the steel cuts in. He then secures it to the bedpost, doing the same with her legs and other wrist. Sadistic longings devours his soul, takes him over to his murkyworld as she wails in pain, her agony adding to his ever-increasing pleasure. With each pain filled scream he has felt himself become a God, be a god, her God and she will worship him. She writhes and struggles, mutilating her wrists in the process, that poor sad innocent catholic girl. She mutters to herself, still praying for God and Jesus to save her. He takes his knife and presses it against her throat."KILL, KILL, KILL...do it now, dissect her, disembowel her." Voices taunt and torment his mind, twisting through into his deep desires and bringing them to life. A sound is heard, blade cutting away the remnants of her clothing, as he cuts away at her remaining shelter; exposing every ounce of flesh on that delicate body of hers. He feels another erection and he stares at her large, plump, perfectly formed breasts.She suddenly starts to scream, startling him away from his imagination. "Cunting bitch, SHUT UP!" He growls. From the bag he takes out a pair of his own soiled pants, using it to gag her. She lies there, displayed for him, so helpless and pathetic. Her arsehole bleeding, her cunt bleeding and her eyes, broken, her face horrified and her mouth stuffed with his own piss and shit stained pants, especially done just for her. In honour of her worship to him. Because Joshua Kane (8) wants to save this girl. He wants to love this girl. He wants this girl to worship him.Gently, he strokes her face with the gleaming silver knife, softly cooing to her. A sadistic grin spreads across his face as he traces the veins in her neck, watching her shudder and flinch. He’s methodical in this procedure, as one of the thirteen; they have done this many times before. The knife travels the length of her body, from throat to pelvis, teasing it over her skin. He does not cut, only hitting nerves--causing them to twitch and twist themselves in knots as she closes her eyes in horror. Tears force themselves from shut eyelids as he runs his hand through her tangled hair, dragging the knife from ear to ear. No cuts are visible, for this is just for show, to tease her, to woo her. Her body shakes uncontrollably beneath him. Joshua Kane (8) knows that he has her respect; she knows she belongs to him now. HE can do whatever he wants with her now. He lets the blade dance and flit across her skin some more, dragging it down her smooth, soft belly once again. There are many sensitive areas along there and he watches her shudder as he starts to masturbate in front her."Dissect her, DO IT!" the thirteen shrill into his head, frantic, screaming, yelling. "KILL THE FUCKING SILLY LITTLE BITCH.""SHUT THE FUCK UP! FUCK YOU ALL, I am not like you!" He screams at the voices inside his head. Inside his mind, body and soul. The girl beneath him goes frigid with fear as he continues dragging the knife, over her body. He feels her flinch as he carefully pierces her nipples, there is silence now for him, so very silent now. He begins to carve, taking chunks of meat from her body, listening to her sobs of pain. Just like all the other murders that the thirteen have encouraged, bloodlust takes over and another killing gets out of control. Joshua Kane (8) loses himself within the blood, needing to taste her, feel its warmth liquid languish on his tongue. "Come on now, you know you want to, YOU MUST consume her! Consume her, consume her, consume her!!!" the thirteen chant as he raises the blade above his head and plunges it deep into her belly, slicing through her twitching muscles. Her screams echoes off the walls into the very inner sanctum of his mind, the mental torture chamber that is his murkyworld, his very existence and as he drags the knife down, opening up her gaping wounds. His fingers wander her body, finding their way between her legs, rubbing her blood soaked clitoris. He works the blade inside her carcass, covering himself and his surroundings in blood and dripping puss. He removes his gloves to feel her innards, slippery in his tightened grasp. Her intestines feel heavy as he pushes his way through fatty tissue to get to all her organs. Deeper now he thrusts is hands into her as he works her towards an orgasm. He lowers his face to drink her blood, and sink his teeth into her ribs He bites harder and harder, chewing his way through tissue and skin, feeling it peel off in his mouth, such a softened texture. He works his way to her breasts, violently biting and ripping her open. He gently sucks on her nipples, tasting her sweet and bitter blood from the previous knife wounds. Bestial impulse takes control and he is tearing into her, eating the fatty substance and drinking himself to a sated desire.His cock begins to grow hard once more, and hearing her heavy breathing. Realising that there is still some life left in her. He thrusts his erect cock between her legs, ignoring her whimpered cries and final pleas. He wraps his hands around her throat, squeezing harder and harder, making her eyes bulge. A gasp, struggles out of her as he pounds into her cunt like a crazed animal. Her face starts to turn a bright red as she chokes...just before she loses consciousness; He lets her go and removes the gag. She's weaker now from loss of blood, but still alive—and Joshua Kane (8) wants more. He reaches inside her once again, and plays inside her visceral. He pulls out intestines but doesn’t detach them; He wants her to see how disgusting she is. He holds them close to her face, letting the blood drip in her eyes, blinding her. Finally, He says his last goodbyes and grips his knife once again. He grabs a fistful of hair and pulls back her head, plunging the knife deep into her neck. Her blood spurts everywhere, over his face, chest and neck as arterial spray spurts forth, she's gagging and choking. He slices the blade across the centre of her throat, cutting through her windpipe and then ending at her right side. Blood bubbles from her wound, spurting above Joshua Kane’s (8) head as he opens his mouth to drink from this fountain of red. She writhes in the throes of death as He enters her cunt once again, fucking her for one last time. ”We are the voice of the fire, and we are no one, yet we are everywhere.” the voices say, fading into the distance. "You are one of us, one of the thirteen".

The ENd


JOShUA kANE (?): ONE OF ThE ThiRTEEN - In Thirty-six sections

”I am Joshua Kane, I am one of the thirteen. Which one I am I will not tell you, I cannot tell you.”
There are 36 sections of murkiness that exist in the thirteen.
1. There are two possibilities. Either
a) Joshua Kane is a sociopath; or
b) The house in which Joshua Kane lives is the sociopath.
Or both. It has always been so. Clickety - Clack, Clickety – Clack. No turning back.
2. Joshua Kane is puzzled by children as they enter a cinema multiplex and wriggle in their seats. They fold their dirty little hands into their laps. The lights dim to darkness. Whispers and giggles and stupid excited chatter fill the dome. On Screen, images fill the screen, another selection of shorts from Editor Zero; the children will not be so innocent after they have watched his visions of their existence. Clickety-Clack, Clickety-Clack, hear their small minds crack.
Mister Zero once cut up a cat
Joshua Kane spilled too much milk
Joshua Kane sleeps in the nude and dreams of blood.
Mister Zero likes to dress the wounds of the infirm.

Joshua Kane is keeping an awful secret – which he hides in the basement of his mind.
4. It is said that if you meet one of the thirteen, you will no longer see daylight.
But only if Joshua Kane sees you watching the thirteen, then, you will become part of his murkyworld .
Or will you? If you close your eyes in time, Joshua Kane becomes something else —
— It is unclear as to what he becomes. But some have said they have heard silent screams and hysterical sobbing.
5. Joshua Kane is no one, yet he is everywhere, the voice of the fire. Now imagine a man, with a distorted face, with no soul, with no thought, with no eyes, with no nose, just a slit in his face skin, where the mouth should be and teeth protruding from the slash. Clickety clack clickety clack clickety clack, chitter chatter chitter chatter, pointless natter, pitter-patter.
6. It is said that once you have glimpsed one of the thirteen, you become one the many. The darkness of the thirteen lingers in the mind's eye.
The touch, if by chance your fingers accidentally brush over the flesh or clothing of one of the thirteen. You become a figure upon the black velvet curtain of the thirteen’s eye.
7. Joshua Kane sometimes loses his way and forgets about the thing that he needed to remember. Now imagine a man, with a mask for a face, the only thing you see are his eyes. Eyes that are pitch black, with an uncaring stare and glare. They do not shine. They pierce you with anger and contempt. Clickety clack clickety clack, clackety click, clackety click, watch carefully you may miss the trick.
He is one of the thirteen! Which one could he be?
When he fell asleep in the arms of Miss White, and the bleeding became dreaming . . .

There are no facts. JOSHUA KANE IS DEFORMED. (He knew It. he knew it before he turned into one of the thirteen)
So. Joshua Kane is a deformity. Joshua Kane is a deformity. He chitter chatters, he clitter clatters. His words are too confused. His mind is everywhere and nowhere. His character is uncertain—there was talk of an accident; there was talk of a hospital; there was talk of a misshapen body somewhere in his past, her name is unknown and nobody knew her, but still they missed her glamorous smile. She would sell them ice-cold dreams and 99 flavoured desires.
Whispering in the ice cream shop. No one understood the sadness in her eyes.

It is said that the ice cream girl was badly charmed. She lay transfixed and strapped to a bed for weeks, her body covered in fruits and hot wax. When her inner fear was delivered from inside her, one of the thirteen saw it as the visage of that by which he'd been unsettled.

Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack
12. Joshua Kane paints and writes by lamplight in his world of deformity, his house that has nothing to do with him, it is only a place to hide, a place where he is covered in web and listens to the voices.
Joshua Kane’s face and skull and hips and limbs are all of normal formation. He has both eyelids and both earlobes, and all his toes and teeth, in all the right numbers and lengths, and flesh in the correct places, and clean gums. His posture is impeccable. He is one of the thirteen.
He can look in his pocket-glass and feel twisted in his blood filled stomach, knowing that if he chose to emerge from his darkness, into the places where people could see him, he would say 'Here I am, I am one of the thirteen, sound of limb, sound of spine; I only have one friend, a seller of twine.' He could hold is books of madness into the air and shout at the THEY that torment him 'These are the books, these are the books that I have been created from within my deformed mind; see that it is good, that I am one of the thirteen.'
The offending architecture of human existence and the life of the SCUM cannot coerce the benignity of the MurkyWorld of the thirteen.
13. He is one of the thirteen and he hides in his basement. The windowless basement until the stink of shit and piss becomes too awful. The glutinous odour stifles his senses. He must cleanse and scrub, cut and chop, then burn and bury the evidence of his despair. No one even knew.
The rampant screams swelled toward the ceiling.
Joshua Kane gasped for air, sucking and sucking with all his might.
He hears them calling his name, the pretty pretty pretties, who became his muses, who became his art. He stares at the canvases made from their flesh and their blood and he dances to the sound of the storms and the Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack and the thechoppetychopchoppetychopchoppetychopchoppetychopchoppetychop of past glories and the future pretties who will do all that he bids.

Hide the dead. Chop them up before they go stiff. She has a funny smell, Joshua Kane, looks underneath the heel of one of her delectable feet, a spot of living mould, no bigger than a 1-euro coin.
A disfigured man crouches behind a grey building with a box of pictures by his side. His life is dead. He didn't wish to be seen. He was afraid he would be found with the pictures and punished, by one of the thirteen.
His head twisted suddenly; in the corner of his eye a shadow flitted across the wall of the building; he had glimpsed his future.
He was a victim of circumstance.

So sad, to watch a grown man cry.
The basement of Joshua Kane’s house is filled with this sadness. To handle the lacklustre flesh, to touch the frightened bundle of this forgotten one, is to sustain the limp heft of pity.
And even if he knew tat this is one of the thirteen would he still fear his own imagination? for just think how pitiful—that this man, this forgotten man thought so little of himself that he'd stoop to the level of manipulating Joshua Kane’s art, think of the awful deformed power he'd wield, trusting so blindly in being able to extort one of the thirteen, foolish hungry, starving fool. He will become part of the art and his box of stolen images shall be returned to their rightful place.
Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack
Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack hear the bones crack, watch the spine snap and feel the spray of warm blood splatter over the skin of one of the thirteen.
Could Joshua Kane look anyone clear in the eye and lie about his deeds?
And what about the deformity, the deformity of Joshua Kane, the house filled with murkiness and creativity, can he hide that as well?
Joshua Kane has terrible dreams. About death, murder, blood, flesh and killing. He wakes up sweating and screaming. He has no memory of himself. He has no thoughts that he can call his own. Only distant flashes of images that tell a story of one of the thirteen.
Or was it? It smelled so good, so fresh. The knife slices through the canvas like cutting a freshly baked loaf and plunges through the dried paint like butter.
Yet when Joshua Kane is enjoying creating, a letter always comes through the box. Always the telephone rings. Is something wrong with the way Joshua Kane perceives his life?
Whispering in the ice cream shop. Joshua Kane can hear the voices.
Weknowwhatyoudidweknowwhatyoudiddidshetastegoodinyourmouthandonyourtongueyesshediddidntsheheryoungfleshwassweetasyourtonguelingeredoverherstrappeddownandtiedtothebedbodythegaginhermouthstifledherscreamsandhereyespleadedwithyoutostopasyouforcedvarioustoolsandchiselsonhercuntandtitsshebledforyounicelydidntsheasyoufuckedherinherassandcutopenherthroatwiththemeatcleaver.yourCUMdribbledoutofhereveryholeasyoufuckedfordaysandweeksuntilshewasfinallydeadandyoufuckedherevenmore.Finallychoppingherupandblendingandgrindingherfleshandboneintoapulpofliquidmatterwhichyoublendedwithfruitsandyoghurtandcreamandsoldherassmoothiesto the ice cream shop.
A smell.
Tooth-in-an ice cream A horrible, horrible accident. Now the ice cream shop is closed and the owner is missing. She is wanted for being another Sweeney Todd.
21. Just take it—YOU BITCH, fucking stupid whore, just take IT, take one of the thirteen into your sluttish cunt and they might even be able to stomach the stench of your female fear. As long as you look like you are enjoying yourself. Or you will suffer Much worse, at least, to feel your pussy be gutted open like a trout and the razor edged teeth of one of the thirteen bite your disgusting mound open, ready for the rats to tunnel deeper into your sagging gaping vagina and eat deep into your fucking pointless life.
22. But—the thirteen simply do not want this relationship between the deformity of the ice cream owner’s cunt and the deformity of Joshua Kane to stop and end their pleasure. But like all good sweet things that taste so scrumptious, it has to end.
23. Joshua Kane needs to run and hide from himself. But, The train arrived late; and there were too many pretties travelling to Essex. He was not able to concentrate on who he was and what he could be.
Something whispered in his ear: It is said that in the old days they'd have beat him with sticks, till from out of the pummelling his true shape emerged.
24. Stoop. Hide. Mime. The blind tongue within Joshua Kane presses into his teeth with postures, and the gestures of the craft.




Stay on the track don’t look back


As each hour passes, a small yet significant piece of Joshua Kane withers and dies. And nothing replaces it.
Like painting a picture without any paint.
Every moment is less fulfilling than the last.

In a black and unending void, Joshua Kane is falling.

He is a fading relic of an artistic past, where summers were long and the barcode did not run his lives. He is one of the thirteen and he is escaping from himself.

He is in a box
He is made of cloth and rotting skin, he has a head, which is cracked, and peeling, the face of dead man that has only one strand of white hair and one dark eye with rotting eyelashes. He listens to the sound of the train and thinks of the pretty pretty pretties.

Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock.
Time is slow, Time is fast. Time is ageing him daily.

Clickety clack clackety click clickety clack

Tickety tock tockety tick tickety tock
Joshua Kane’s new face is melting. His face his rotting. The man who stole his art is having the last laugh.

29. The train is swelled to capacity; but the platform is empty, his mind is closed. Joshua Kane pushes his way along the aisle, to get to the toilet. He needs to lock himself in and flush away the fake skin and show his true face, a face of one of the thirteen. A mob of pretty pretty pretties watch him and imagines them whispering to him, strewing honey-scented knickers at him from their wicker baskets. He hears them telling him that they want to suck his cock and lick his tongue and taste his spunk. He stares straight ahead. He cannot be distracted. He must become new again.
30. The fingers he presses into his eyelids were somehow not enough; he could still see through them; it was like they were impalpable, translucent. He peeled off the mask of dead flesh and became Joshua Kane again. He washed his face and flushed the old face away. He looks at himself born again; and masturbates, thinking of the pretty pretty pretties. His creamy juices flow onto the palm of his hand and he licks it up and swallows it all. Savouring the creamy salty texture. He washed his hands again and again. 13 times. Until he is certain that he is clean.

31. “Don’t make me open my eyes, Alice, please. Don't ever make me reach out my hand, or I may hurt you and I don’t want to hurt you, I want you, I love you, you are my muse. Open your legs so I can see your juicy cunt and slide my fingers into it as you take my cock in your hand and wank me off to the sound of music, a soundtrack of misery and pain”.

Joshua Kane asleep in the carriage. He is dreaming again. He is dreaming about his obsession. The pretty pretty pretties have gone and He stares out of the window, watching nothing, seeing everything. Alice White, nothing but a distant fantasy, a regular dream that will never come true.


The destination is nearing. Saffron Walden beckons. Mister Zero can help him. Because the sound of the Television is slowly killing us all.


Mister Zero is not there. The tower of lost control is in darkness. There is a note on the door. He is unable to read it. The rain has smudged the words. Joshua Kane falls screaming to the ground. He has to catch another train, to another destination. Joshua Kane does not like trains.


Joshua Kane is one of the thirteen. He does really know which one he is, but he has the idea that perhaps he is better off pretending not to know. He is number seven.