ONE OF ThE THiRTEEN (?)

ONE OF ThE THiRTEEN



I wish I could forget everything. I wish every time something happened it would be swallowed up in the void of my short-term memory. I wish I couldn’t think. I wish I knew what I was doing. I wish for an excuse. I wish I were a serial killer. I would still be killing and bathing in the blood. I want to shed my ageing skin and become new flesh, become another Joshua Kane. I am one of the thirteen and I have no past, and I have no future. My mind's abyss is filled with memories, memories that are not mine. They are of the thirteen and I have forgotten which one I am. Sometimes I think I see the faceless one’s, but it is unfamiliar, and it seems to stare at me as if I am nothing. I am nothing. In the void of normality, I knew I wasn’t one of the THEY. I am the bad man, I am a good man, and I am one of the thirteen. But I am not part of the OTHERS, those that drift around on this world, pretending that they exist for a reason. I drag hard on my cigarette, I want blissful ignorance again. I am a man of code and I live in a murkyworld that no one understands, except FOR mister Zero. I stare out of the window and I wonder if I should escape from this web and become a creative person once again.Lost, like a forgotten homeless person, I don’t know where I’m going. Blind, I stumble around the gloomy streets, trying to avoid my anger and rage, but end up hugging it as I feed my urges. I want to release my hatred and my vile bile upon the flesh of young teenage girls and middle aged housewives, stuff their knickers into their dirty slut mouths and abuse their dry cunts and assholes with my cock and kitchen utensils, tie them up in barbed wire and cut bits of their skin off and feed the flesh to the dogs. I want to slit the throats of middle aged suited men, who strut around ‘doing business’, I want to watch them slowly bleed and force the teenage male scum to drink the blood then film them as they are gang raped by perverts and wooden sticks. I want that awful SCUM to suffer endless pain and an eternity of torture. But I am still not brave enough to release myself from the boundaries of the human.

As my tutor, my mentor of the streets, TronMan, hides in the shadows, watching, waiting and sharpening his big blade of Tron, to cut into the children as they are whooping and giggling, I smile because I know they have no future, they are just future SCUM and they will fucking die! I witness untold and exciting horrors that I could ever see. TronMan hands me the blade
“You are immortal, mister Kane. Just let go. They are only human.”

Only human. I live by those two words, and I shall learn how to make a human bleed and feel fear, I shall become the thing that makes me scream in my dreams. Then I am awake; I am beside half-naked girls and dead bodies. Sometimes I find that I am not truly awake, but I inhale the stink flesh aroma of anal sex, cunt juices, and lacy church dresses, sickeningly pastel. I remember giggling helplessly over nothing, and wearing mother’s high heels, tripping continuously, but always getting back up to try again. Lacy pink heart Valentines, and rainbows drawn in marker, goodnight kisses, sleepovers, and anorexic Barbie dolls who were always willing to suck cock and finger fuck their asshole for a line of cocaine and some wine. On the darker days. I would Embrace the stereotypes, putting everyone in a category, everyone in a clique, as I tried to fit into the exact proportions of the female that wanted to have a serious relationship with me, like a bad soap opera actor, I would tell them what they wanted to hear and think something else in my twisted mind. I am Joshua Kane, I am one of the thirteen, and I have forgotten which one I am. I am asleep, I am awake. I am not really sure.

Unattainable fantasies of death, murder and dark violent sex acts with willing slut whores, who are dirty talking and fuck nasty, I am truly awake now and realise that everything I think, everything I believe, everything I see, everything I touch and everyone I hurt is all a dream! I once again roam the seedy streets and Peek into tattoo parlours and plan the thousands of ink drawings that will cover their bodies, as soon as I find the perfect girl.
And I immerse myself in the musky scent of blood and unwashed people. My cock is erect and I ache to masturbate and cum all over the face of Alice White.I have had women hand me their hearts on a string, literally, before falling down onto the plastic sheets, stumbling, and begging whispers for mercy and release. I stare at the still bleeding cuts, where broken ribs jut out at grotesque angles. In a rush of adrenaline I cut into their begging bodies, leaving them choking on their own blood, as I sprint away and huddle in lonely corners. My mind, though eaten by darkness, is disturbed. I want to kill again. To drown the noises in my head with the screams and suffering of the Others! Goodbye, I whisper to my sorrows, and they would float away on the wind, black butterflies, and their wings glinting like Venetian glass in the twilight. I am Joshua Kane and I am one of the thirteen, but I have forgotten which one I am. I awake once more; I am in a cobbled alleyway lying in a pool of piss and puke. I am dirty and soiled, I have had another dream, another nightmare, what is real? What is fantasy? I no longer am able to tell the difference. I just know that I must get home and clean the stink of me. It is surprising how quickly I am able to revive myself. I have masturbated in a graveyard; I have ass fucked 18-year-old virgin girls, who then beg for it to be done to them again and again. I could be a serial killer if I wanted, I’ve used the blood of animals on my art canvases and I have bitten into the flesh of a stranger. I have even stalked a woman and stolen her soiled underwear. Her panties smell divine and I carry them everywhere I go. A time will come when I shall be the voice of the fire, I shall be everyone and I shall be everywhere, for I am one of the thirteen. On a whim I tell TronMan that I’m going to commit suicide. Chuckling, he reminds me that I can’t die because I do not really exist, and frustrated I tell him that I know that. But I might as well try. I stab myself in the heart, the blade glinting at me, winking, as it passes through my body, and blood fills my mouth, the sharp tang of new pennies, yet I do not die, I am disappointed. I hurl my fists onto the concrete, Falling, to the ground screaming and miserable, I am no-one, and I remember that nothing is new, nothing is real and I am not real. Neon purple lights light up above me, the doorway to hell is opening, and I swerve down the streets like a drunk, losing my equilibrium and my mind and I crash onto cement in a fit of giggles. I erase at all my unwanted memories, but they are tricks, persistently flickering back on. The knife still juts out of my chest, an unfulfilled promise. I leave it there. I walk the streets with the blade still staining my breast, but no one notices, because they cannot see me because I am in the dream world.

Soon I shall awake again into the murkyworld of Joshua Kane. I am one of the thirteen and when I awake, my existence will start all over again. For I am number six.

Be seeing you.

ThE ENd.

ONE OF ThE THiRTEEN (5)

ONE OF ThE THiRTEEN (number 5)

Joshua Kane (number 5) is somewhere else and his feet are touching the floor. As they touch the floor, his soles feeling the wood, conforming to every ridge in the finely grained oak wood. He closes his eyes, feeling the universe under his feet. He closes his eyes, listening to the voices in his mind, creeping through his memories like an uncontrolled vine. Under his rotting skin, he embraces his bones in a sliding caress as he falls through his feet. He is part of the wood floor now, no, he is part of the ceiling. He passes through wires like electricity, the electricity passing through his body in showers of neon-white sparks raining down into space to compete with the brightness of all the stars. Below, Mister Zero sits in a wooden rocking chair.
Mister Zero sits in a wooden rocking chair, wearing impeccably ironed trousers and a crisp new shirt, which is blending into the wood it presses against. Joshua Kane (5) is the walls, the four corners wrapped around this terrible place, his only illumination the thick blue glow of a television screen which makes a sound that will eventually kill Mister Zero.

Joshua Kane (5) is now in the tiles on the floor, he has become the rockers of the wooden rocking chair. The rockers are curved like bows, bowing under the weight of Mister Zero who sits there, his wrinkled skin pulled tight over his face in homage to death and exfoliation. Mister Zero is chanting. Joshua Kane watches and listens. “ Muck and pain, toil and strain. Children’s tongues. Use the cane. Look in the cellar for things long forgotten. Deep frowns and long bellows and thoughts that are rotten.” Mister Zero starts to giggle and increases his rocking, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, increasing the pace, rocking and giggling. Rocking and giggling.

Joshua Kane (5) flows through the wood, becoming the wood becoming the floor and being part of past crimes as he tastes the stale blood and flesh of the dead one’s, who’s memories and fear linger in the grain. Deep in the basement. Joshua Kane (5) watches Mister Zero rocking in the chair. Then he melts and meditates into the sky. He floats, he melts, and he fades into the green earth, the dark and stinking earth. Joshua Kane (5) savours every moment, every taste, every perfume, the stink of death and the maggots of life.

The earth has become dry. It has not rained, and he creeps through the dried mud, Joshua Kane (5) can see the under the soil, he can see through the soil. He is the ground covering the decaying corpse of a woman who stares back at him "my name is Amanda, are you lonely today? Do all the living annoy you? Lets play a game," she whispers to Joshua Kane (5). Her mouth does not move, her eyes have no life; in his mind he sees her point towards a monstrous assembly of cold, beautiful steel that is hidden in a locked room of the basement. The basement where Mister Zero rocks on the rocking chair. Joshua Kane (5) is the dark oil staining the ground, he can smell the odour of warm rubber and oil, sweet and piercing and nauseating. Amanda’s dead eyes stare at Joshua Kane (5) "Clickety Klack, Klickety Clack! Don’t look back, don’t look back. Don’t look forwards either, Kane. All that’s there is muck and pain.” Amanda fades into the distance as Joshua Kane (5) creeps on, spreading himself further into the earth, into the concrete, into the MurkyWorld of Mister Zero. Joshua Kane (5) can still hear the corpse of Amanda whisper to him, fading, her voice fading.

“ Klicketyklack, klicketyklack, on the bus, on the train, all day at work, then do it again. Tomorrow………”

Joshua Kane (5) is now miles under the earth, tumbling fluidly in a sea of molten stone. He glides through the waves; the currents push him toward the surface. He is the liquid lava becoming flesh, becoming corruptible as he enters into the shape of a tower that covers a few dirty rags spread lightly on the basement floor on which a young woman sleeps. Then her eyes open, she looks through him, he is not there, she cannot see him, yet he is there and he feels her pain.
Dirty rags are one with the earth; they are not separate, therefore they are light. They are what they lie on. All the colours of the rainbow, the hues, dimmed and warmed by the coupling with the earth. They are perfect.

The curve of a wineglass lying discarded on the floor sparkles in the light, the light from a small, so very very small stained glass window, scattering rays that flash about the room before piercing her eyes. "I used to be a little girl." She says to no one, yet she senses him there. She is tied and bound, her mascara from tears long dried, stains her face. "Why is beauty paired with pain?" She shakes her head, the motion turning hair into shimmering cascades of obsidian rippling with diamonds, each strand wrapping about her face as a thunderstorm crashes outside. The thunder invades the sky, concentric circles of sound spreading effortlessly, brushing clouds aside with ease. Mister Zero enters the room, he picks up the wineglass, and the remaining dark red liquid touches his lips.

The dark red liquid touches his lips and silently gurgles like a mountain stream over his teeth like pebbles, the stream sliding over the rough riverbed of his tongue before falling down his throat. The girl watches Mister Zero. Mister Zero gazes at her, and speaks to her in an angry and sinister tone.

“ I AM DROWNING IN THE SWILL OF CHOPPED UP HOGS. I AM HALF THE ANCHOVY BURIED IN THE CONGEALED CHEESE OF POPULAR CULTURE.”

Then he unzips his crisply ironed trousers and takes out his penis and starts to urinate over the young woman. The woman accepts this indignation, drinking the urine, licking the floor clean. Joshua Kane (5) watches. He is floating. He is air. He is a very naughty man. A spy! A subversive monkey man, with a mind concealed below the crusty subliminal wounds of this earth’s huge puss-filled arse.

The liquid falls to Joshua Kane’s (5) feet, each toe tingling in its separateness from the others, and air currents brush softly against his skin. His feet touch the floor, every beat of his heart pushing his blood under his feet, into the earth.
His feet touch the floor. He fades away. He is one of the thirteen and he is number five. He awakes in his own home, in his own bed; he can still taste the blood and the piss. He can see her, the young woman, and a slave to Mister Zero. Joshua Kane (5) considers phoning Mister Zero, when his mobile phone suddenly beeps. He picks it up, looks at it and sees that he has received a text message from Mister Zero.

ARE YOU SICK AND TWISTED? I AM.

Joshua Kane (5) smiles. Yes. Joshua Kane (5) agrees with the question. He is sick and twisted, for he is one of the thirteen and there was much to do. He texts back to Mister Zero.

LISTEN. LISTEN. THE NOISE WILL NOT KILL YOU. IF YOU DO NOT LISTEN. THE NOISE WILL KILL YOU. MARGARET FRIGHT LOVES YOU.

Joshua Kane (5) thinks of the young woman, her name is known to him. He imagines strangling her. He imagines pissing on her and then he falls asleep.

ThE ENd

ONE OF ThE THiRTEEN (4)

ONE OF ThE THiRTEEN. (Number 4)


It took a while before Joshua Kane (number 4) realised what IT was. IT had caught his eye as he padded through the soft undergrowth. Initially, it was just a flash of white in his blurred vision, but as he took a few more steps towards IT and peered more closely, he realised what IT was.She lay there, naked, completely still. Barely covered with fallen foliage from the bushes and trees. At first he thought she was asleep but as he got even closer, it became clear that the figure lying before him was dead. He looked around and seeing that he was quite alone, he approached her body with some excitement and caution, tentative steps at first and then more assured as he got nearer and the form took proper shape; definition creeping in. He saw that she was young, slim and dark, not dark skinned but dark featured; her face peaceful with no sign of trauma save for a deep red mark round her neck.His body was shaking, sweating, the palms of his hands sticky and he felt strange, his head spinning, his eyes felt tight and his mouth was dry. He stood still and stared at her, he calmed himself and once the feelings that overwhelmed him subsided he began to grow more relaxed and confident in her presence. She looked so peaceful lying there, and brushing her long hair away from her face, he realised that she was in fact quite beautiful. He knew what to do. The voices told him to take photographs with his camera phone, the voices told him to touch her dead skin and the voices told him to kiss her. But, another part of him urged calm; do nothing, and just gaze upon this rare beauty. He was sure, convinced, that he had never been this close to such a beauty. This was to Joshua Kane (4) a murky discovery. And that was just it. It was a murky discovery, his discovery, his prize and he didn’t want the others, the scum, the awful, swarming around her poking and prodding. She looked at peace. He wanted to enjoy that peace and inhale her beauty.He sat down next to her, slowly and quietly, as if not to disturb her. He was in awe of her delicate face and perfect skin and he felt a certain amount of reverence towards this creature that lay so still, so wonderfully sublime on the soft moss. He wondered about the likely identity of this dead young woman. He gave her a name, he called her MISTY. He gave her an occupation, she was a chambermaid, he created her hobbies, her likes and dislikes, her favourite books, her favourite films, and by the time he finished, he knew that MISTY was his soul mate. They had so much in common. He wanted her to talk to him, to hold him. He tried to bring her back to life, opening her mouth and breathing into her, pressing onto her heart and chest, pumping her, as he had seen on television. Yet, she lay dormant and dead. Joshua Kane (4) felt a vast sadness within him and shed some tears. He attempted to breath life into her again by making her seem more real, removing her cold anonymity. He massaged her, he spoke to her, and he told her of the thirteen and the many secrets.
He kissed her face, he kissed her eyes and he held her head in his arms. Then he sat with her. Gazing at the sky and listening to the sounds of the nature that was around them. The perfect moment, for the perfect couple.After about an hour of sitting, staring and imagining, he slowly reached out to touch her upper arm. He drew his fingers back, quickly, the chill of her body shocking him. He reached out again, this time prepared for the cold. Once used to this he became intoxicated, sliding his hands up and down her slim arm. Eventually, touching her more sensually, firmly, erotically, he put his hand behind her neck and gently lifted her head from the ground. Her hair stuck to the clammy undergrowth and, using his other hand, he pulled it out from behind her head, spreading it out above her. Placing her head gently back on the ground, he admired her beauty once again. He fixed a few hairs here and there and when he was finished he took a step back. Her hair fanning out behind her, catching now and again in the wind the wafted through the woods, he thought she looked almost alive, the wind imbuing her once more with life. His touch, he decided, was making her more animated, more alive.He had been close to many a naked woman before, but not as one as sensual and beautiful as this one, the sexy and delectable MISTY. He longed for her touch but what she could not give; he decided he had to take. He looked around his surroundings, checking that no one was around; he wanted to ensure that they had their privacy, MISTY and he. He noticed a small, secluded bank not far away and gently taking both her ankles, he dragged her through. He couldn’t look at her as he did this, feeling that he was treating her beautiful form with a casual brutality, which her perfection did not deserve. But it was necessary if they were to have the privacy they both craved.After he had got her in the position he wanted, her arms back down by her sides, hair fanning out around her head, he stopped and contemplated about the thirteen and the voices, the insistent voices in his head. So many voices, so many ideas and suggestions. He knew it was wrong to ignore them. But, he had his own ideas and the thirteen were not like him, Joshua Kane (4) was a true romantic, he looked upon MISTY and felt his love surround them, he could hear gentle music and a choir of angels sing to them, he craved her contact. Looking the way she did and sharing the same social skills as Joshua Kane (4), MISTY was his ideal partner, his mate for life, oh how he loved her, with all his heart and soul.

She hadn’t been dead that long. Since rigor mortis had not yet set in and her skin, although cold, was still soft to the touch. Determined not to be typical of the thirteen, he started to explore her body with his hands; every inch, every crevice was touched, stroked and savoured. He felt a charge rush through his body, a feeling that was alien to him; he felt dizzy, light-headed yet invigorated. He started to take his clothes off, whispering what he imagined were seductive words to MISTY. Slowly, gently, he lowered himself on top of her with all the style and panache of a middle-aged virgin. His nerves got the better of him and the voices were screaming in his head. It was difficult at first but once he was in, he lost all sense of self-consciousness and imagined himself the last of the great lovers. He ad-libbed her groans to match his. At first he felt awkward but gradually he got lost in this macabre love scene. He placed, with difficulty, her arms around his waist and imagined that he was her only one, the one she had waited all her life for and now, in these dark, dank woods, they had found each other.When he had finished, he got off her immediately, all the passion suddenly evaporating with his release. He was ashamed, disgusted and terrified. What had he done? What had he become? He knew it was by no means normal but still, on reflection, he felt that he deserved it; he was in some way entitled to it. Years of rejection had been leading to this point, the point where he had possessed the most beautiful figure he had ever seen. He had had no choice. What was expected of him? A life of loneliness, never knowing what it felt like to live a normal life? He looked down at her again, lying as still as she had before. His manipulations of her body during the act had convinced a part of him that she really had been reanimated by his lovemaking. Now? Now she was as she had been. Cold, pale, like a Victorian porcelain doll. He hurriedly put his clothes back on as reality started to flood back into his mind and bring him back to the moment. The voices were telling him what a good thing he had done, he was right to ignore them, being in love was better than being a master to a servant, even if she was only a chambermaid. He was not a freak. The voices told him so, the voices soothed him, and he felt like a great lover who had taken the virginity of an innocent loving girl. He bent down and kissed her cheek and whispered gently in her ear, “Same time, same place tomorrow sweet MISTY”? He covered her body with branches and leaves and left. Deciding to contact Mister Zero, to ask for help in removing her from the woods and taking her home to his studio. Where Joshua Kane (4) and MISTY could live forever in happiness. He hummed happily as he got closer to the road. He was one of the thirteen and he was number four, but he was content in knowing that compared to the others, he was a Joshua Kane that was loved.

The End

ONE OF ThE THiRTEEN (3)

A STORY OF ONE OF ThE THiRTEEN.


Joshua Kane slowly approached the entrance to the basement. Tiny salty tears fell with each agonizing step that he took. Today was not a good day; the voices in his head were whispering terrible things to him. He did his best to ignore them yet not wanting to go on, he stopped and screamed for them to SHUT UP. Joshua Kane willed himself to open the door and take the long climb down the stairs to his sanctuary. His heart was breaking with each step he took downwards, for the memory of HER, would not fade from his mind. He was one of the thirteen, yet he was alone. He was Joshua Kane, he was no one, yet he was everywhere and he knew himself to be Number Three.He had known of HER for thirteen years, and had spent time with HER for the last nine. Sadly tonight Joshua Kane (3) finally came to the realization that he would never be with HER again. Still wearing the black suit from the funeral proceedings earlier in the day, Joshua Kane (3) crawled into the bed carefully; he did not want to lie on HER side. He positioned himself on his side, reached over, and picked up a pack of Tor Oriental cigarettes and his lighter, the one she gave him. He lit one and blew the fragrant smoke into the air. It was HER favourite brand. She loved the smell of them and he likes the way these cigarettes taste. He gently placed the tip of the cigarette to his lips, inhaled, and imagined HER, stroking the back of his head as he wrote his thoughts and idea’s into the black leather covered book as they lay in bed together. He placed the pack back in its original position. Then finished the cigarette, stubbed it out. He whispered a secret to HER as he closed his eyes, hoping that the voices would grant him a moment of peace. Joshua Kane (3) closed his eyes and then visions of HER began to overflow in his mind. All thoughts of the pain off loss and regret began to fade, as the vivid images of HER grew intense. A rush of excitement coursed through his dark heart, thinking of what sharing a bed with HER used to mean. Joshua Kane opened his eyes and glanced over to HER side of the bed and at HER smiling face. She flashed a smile as a single tear fell from her eyes and slowly slipped down her porcelain coloured cheeks. Joshua Kane (3) reached out to touch HER, when she burst into dark smoke and as vapour disappeared into the air.The sexual pressure began to well up inside of him, with each thought of what the nights used to be. Silently, Joshua Kane (3) asked the voices for one last touch, one last caress, and just one last kiss from HER. Tonight, he would not take no for an answer. A few moments have slowly passed by, the bedside clock, ticking away to the beat of his heart. Joshua Kane (3) is imagining what it felt like to be touched by HER and remembering what it was like to touch HER. When from the corner of his eye, he sees a shadow, eyes looking at him, moving slowly towards him. As the shape moves forward, it becomes a little clearer; a body is emerging from the shadows, HER body, and HER shape. It is HER. She glides towards the bed and climbs in with him. Joshua Kane (3) stares at HER, not sure if he is awake or asleep, when she gently, places her hands on her thighs and begins to move them slowly in a circular motion, just the way that she knew Joshua Kane (3) liked HER to do. With her left hand, she pulled the bottom of her nightdress up above her waist, and with her other hand, she grabbed the top of her panties. She removed them slowly, and put them into Joshua Kane’s (3) mouth. Without breaking the sexual tension that had built up in Joshua Kane’s (3) mind and body. His eyes were ready. His body was ready. Most importantly, his desire was now ready. She closed her eyes and placed her hand on her clitoris. She started to move her hand in a vivid, circular motion. The pleasure that she felt, caused her juices to flow from her body, the liquid oozing out of her. Staining the crisp Linen sheets. Joshua Kane (3) wanted to move, wanted to taste the liquid, wanted to touch HER, but the voices told him not to move. Be still. Be very still. Be silent.She moaned, her pleasure was almost too much for Joshua Kane (3) to bear, but he knew that he had to watch her, to remember her this way. Faster and faster, She played as if her vagina was the portal in which to bring herself back to life. Her body began to shake and her eyes rolled up into her head. Her climax was reached. Her mind at ease and her body weary, She faded away, like delicate smoke reflecting on a mirror. Joshua Kane fell asleep. ”Kane, Kane, please open your eyes.”Joshua Kane’s (3) eyes shot open. He couldn’t believe what he had heard. Was it HER? Was IT the voices? He looked around the basement, but to his disappointment she was not there. He closed his eyes again and buried his head in HER pillow. He could smell HER scent and he felt more alone than he had ever felt in his life.All of a sudden, Joshua Kane could feel something stir beside him. He lifted his head from the pillow and saw something move under the covers, moving towards him. He felt something touch his skin and touch his erect cock. He could hear a soft voice whisper in his head saying, ”Do you want it, do you want it? If you want it, let me know. Tell me what you want.”

Joshua Kane (3) gave strict instructions, the way she liked. He told what to do and how to do it, while never opening his eyes. He knew that the voice belonged to HER. She was his. Her body belonged to him. She was his muse, his special one. Alice was a beautiful slave to his desires. He grabbed her tightly and pushed HER onto her front, demanding that she raised her round firm ass into the air. He then, nuzzled his face into her crack, his tongue exploring her asshole and vagina and clitoris, sucking her, his tongue sliding in and out of her, until she flowed with juices and screams. “Now turn over slut, and open your legs wide for me, open them wide and bend them right back, so I can see your cunt and be able to suck your toes. Beg me bitch, beg me to do it.”Alice did as he said. She couldn’t wait for him to tell her more, say more, she loved it when he spoke ‘dirty’ to her, she wanted more, she wanted him give her more. “My body, take it, its yours. I am a dirty little slut, a bad girl who deserves to spanked for being so naughty” Alice, my lovely little bitch”, he said grabbing her hand. “Give me your hand, just this one. The other one, I do not need it yet. Touch it. Right there, tease it, and touch it. Make your pussy very, very wet. Shall I mount your body? Fuck you so hard and deep into inside of your pussy, so I can reach your spot and make your cunt flood with cum!””Oh yes Kane, you can mount me. Fuck me deep. Please make it hot. Make me cum, fuck me until I bleed” The tears began to flow freely from Alice’s eyes. She wrapped her legs around her Joshua Kane’s (3) waist determined to feel his cock, determined to keep inside HER. The force of her legs around his body caused the force of his penetration to increase. The expression on her face was that of pain laced with ecstasy. She could feel him burrowing into her stomach. She clinched his back; her nails were dug deep along his skin, drawing blood. “Shall I whip you and chain you to the bed, and bite your flesh and make your dirty whore body bleed? “He asked as he used his eyes to take in her beauty, inviting each moment of pleasure into his memory.He commanded HER to release him as he pulled himself from her grip. “Now bend over, grab your ankles, and give me that ass. Your asshole is calling for me, for my cock, for my fingers and for my fist. It is begging for me to go deeper inside. Hoping that I make it last.” Alice bent over, exposing a sheer vision of perfection. He placed his hands on the sides of her buttocks and slowly pulled it apart, exposing her hole. He grabbed the base of his shaft and placed it inside Alice’s tight arsehole. ”Feel me, feel me, feel me,” he said. “Alice, you fucking dirty whore, push into me, make my cock go deeper into your tight little asshole, beg me to fuck it bitch! I want to cum inside of you, but first you must go down.. Give it to me how I like it. Look me in my eyes, while you lick me up and down real slow.” Alice, slowly slid of his cock, turned around and dropped down to her knees. She licked her lips in anticipation of tasting his cock once again. She looked up at him with HER eyes, the eyes that made him fall in love. She gently held his penis in her right hand, and began to massage the rest of his body with the left. She opened her mouth and put his cock back where she knew it belonged. Her mouth, her slave mouth, doing the bidding of HER master. He placed his head back and moaned with each flick of his HER tongue. “ Give me what I want. Swallow it bitch, take my cock to the back of you slut throat!” he hissed at HER. She did as she was told, and sucked him harder and further into her willing throat. “I want to cum now. Hot creamy cum, right into your whore mouth, swallow it all, spill any and I will punish you!” good girl, my darling Alice, now get up, I want you to kiss me. Feel my love for you; I want to feel from you as well. Alice I will always love you.” At that moment, Joshua Kane’s (3) eyes shot open. He looked down to see that he was cradling HER pillow in his arms. He threw the pillow over to his side of the bed in disgust. He screamed looking up towards the chains that hung from the ceiling. He stared at them, cold metal, stained with remnants of years of use and blood. He looked around the basement, where they had so much time together. Then he heard the voices. Whispering in the dark. Telling him things, reminding him of awful, disgusting things that he so wants to forget.His fists are balled tight and placed up against his face. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew against his skin. He looks up. His sadness disappeared, and it is replaced with an overwhelming feeling of fear. Standing at the end of the bed, covered in wounds, tied up in barbed wire, razor blades, covered over various parts of HER flesh, chains tied to HER wrists and ankles, HER body, broken, twisted and rotting, HER blood, dripping, maggots oozing out of HER open cuts, hundreds of insects flying out of her open wide, broken jawed mouth. Joshua Kane (3) stares at HER, his Alice, the once beautiful subservient Alice. She crawls onto the bed, she is on all fours, coming towards him, and she grips the bed sheets, pulling them off him. He looks down, and sees his body covered in decaying flesh ooze, bloody bits of skin and maggots, thousands of maggots.”KANE, I love you. Kane, I love you. Kane, I love you.” She comes closer to him, her face drooling over his. “ I want you to fuck me again Kane, fuck me in my ass, let me suck your cock again, I need to taste your spunk again, please don’t stop master, please don’t stop hurting me.”

Joshua Kane (3) SCREAMS and tries to escape from her, but her body has entwined around his, HER chains covering him, twisting around him. HER barbed wire wraps around both of them, cutting into his flesh, creeping into his veins. Razor blades, cut into skin, his blood, spraying over HER. She smiles at him.
”KANE, I love you. Kane, I love you. Kane, I love you, why did you kill me?”Joshua Kane (3) tries to turn his head away from her, but with her broken fingers, she grips his face. He tries to struggle from HER, but her hold is firm. She leans to his mouth and kisses him fully, her black rotting tongue sliding into him, deep into his throat, choking him. ”Alice, I will always love you,” he utters one final time as he fades into the darkness. Joshua Kane (3) is being watched. A woman holding a clipboard, wearing white clothes, stares intently at Joshua Kane (3). With HER expensive fountain pen, she is writing onto many pages of documents, which are attached to the clipboard. Joshua Kane (3) is strapped to a bed in a brightly lit room, the walls are padded and Joshua Kane (3) is wrapped in a jacket. He twists and struggles on the bed. He is wide-eyed and screaming. The woman in white, removes her glasses, and watches Joshua Kane (3) for another hour. A single tear falls from her eyes and slowly slips down her porcelain coloured cheeks. A nurse enters the room. She hides HER tears, she tells the nurse to increase the dosage of the medication and leaves the room. As she walks down the corridor. She hears her name being called over the hallway loudspeakers.

“DOCTOR ALICE WHITE, PLEASE CONTACT RECEPTION. BZZZ. DOCTOR ALICE WHITE, PLEASE CONTACT RECEPTION. THANK YOU.”

ThE ENd.

ONE OF ThE THiRTEEN (2)

ONE OF ThE THiRTEEN (2)

Everything is evil, particularly in a city. I have become part of the concrete twine of everything, walked past and shoved into, invisible, extra surfaces behind closed eyes, mixed odours fill the city of bleach and blocked drains, then life pulls you down. I walk this city listening to the constant hammering of building work, the steady roar of motorists, the endless mumbling of the commuters and breath the damp stuffy polluted air. Everything clogs me up, in my nicotine-coated lungs, my over washed skin pores, my pulsating glands and my bald shaved head. I try to wash away the filth every morning and every night. But I always feel dirty. I think today another workday. I have forgotten when my day off is, so I have to go to work. I hate work, it makes me feel abnormal, but I need money. I always need the money.
I really fucking hate my job. I hate the people I work for and with. But I need the money. I find it so hard to survive as a freelance artist. The business of consumerism confuses me. I don't know if it was ever meant to make any sense. I get paid a reasonable wage for my job, mundane clerical work. Sometimes my days are filled with data entering, other days I have to deal with ‘customers’ and on my better days I spend time ordering products. I say mundane clerical work because it sounds exactly as it sounds and IS. Sometimes I really fucking hate money, it really is the root of all evil. As a consequence I'll never get to have any. I know that I hate people, just the way they ‘plod’ along, wearing the clothes they wear and saying the things that they say. The way they smell, the way they sweat, the way they laugh. Their mobile phones are always ringing. When they answer they have to shout and sound important, I wish I owned a sniper rifle. I would soon put them OUT of my misery. I tried speaking to a friend about the thoughts in my head. That friend stopped phoning me. Not that I answer my phone very often. I'm more cautious about friends these days. Who can I trust and why should I trust them? . Friends usually disappoint me or I disappoint them. When did everything become so complicated? The advertising posters in the tube station are moving, I know they are I can see them doing it, they are swirling, making crazy patterns. It could be that I'm feeling faint and dizzy, but nothing else seems to be moving. Maybe I’m having a panic attack. Or I need a higher dosage of my prescription.
I make it to work. Skulking into the building via a ‘staff’ entrance so the customers don’t see us in our real clothes. The elevator is always confusing. People get on and off in semi-random ways. Nobody says anything. Nobody ever says anything, I just daydream. I have a lot of daydreams during most of my working day. Nothing makes much sense. But there is always a lot of blood, death and sex in my daydreams. Fuck it all, I'm tired. I suppose I could do something else, go back to my art, but that doesn’t pay the bills, and it also requires energy and some artistic skill, which I have to admit, I don’t have!
The elevator takes me to my floor, number 13. I go to the allocated space that is mine; turn on the computer, sit and wait. I think I have a skill for noticing trivial things. Like the stain on a tie, or the smell of sex on someone else’s fingers, or the patterns in cracked ceilings. It is the one thing where my eyes are alert; always looking for the next camera phone opportunity, but it goes completely unrecognised by the world. I really enjoy the ugly and the banal to me they are also quite beautiful, and yet my real skill in the world goes unnoticed. Maybe everyone notices the symmetry in ugly things, but I don't believe it. Even other artists that I know who paint and photograph don't properly understand the nature of this Murkyworld. They only do their art in a dishonest, cynical fashion aimed at mass markets and corporate sponsorship. I think my life is an ugly kind of ugly. Nothing redeeming in my existence at all. Lesser beings inflict their misery on me because I am able recognise such things. I am able to pretend that I have an empathy with them. So the gullible, the stupid, the foolish and the inane surround me. I am not by nature an unhappy person - I take the unhappiness of others and embrace it to the sublime. Their misery is my art. Such is my talent.
I more than hate my job, and more than hate my life. It is more of a loathing, an absolute disgust with myself. But something keeps me going. I honestly don't know what. I walk along, I move across the same old streets, the same journey, the same views. I work to live and I do my best not to live to work, but I can sense that I am changing. I am feeling more miserable and numb as the days turn to weeks then to months and still I ‘plod’ along, becoming like THEM. The others who I despise. I’ve got to the point where nothing is worth saying. All distinction is blurring. I rarely want to talk to other people. I prefer the silence. The same row of buildings blink past me as I stroll along, stepping into Embankment Gardens, the same flowers, trees and pigeon droppings grabbing my attention as I smoke another cigarette. I am sick of seeing these things, I want to see something new, something different, but can't pull my eyes away to look at other things. I create my own déjà vu.

There is a basic assumption about modern life that everyone will contribute to society through paid work so that we can earn the right to live and exist. Our basic needs are taken care of via various companies, methods and rules, which leads to an increasingly alarming world where the divide between rich and poor becomes wider and the western consumerism ethic is destroying the planet on a global scale. But it is all a part of the corporate evolving consciousness and existence. Knowledge of this evolution in itself is useless though. Understanding something doesn't make it meaningful when so many of us still have to work in useless and pointless jobs. But we are now supposed to force or create a meaning from this and manage ourselves, with plans, forms, discussions, formats and presentations. I may be dependent on society for a job, a place to live and something to eat, but society is also dependent on me and every other idiot like me. The government need my taxes. The Corporations need me to consume. They need me to work, to exist, and to pay bills, to buy products, which in turn keeps other human beings in existence. All this mutual dependency breeds contempt. All this society breeds is a selfish being.
This is a strange world we live in.
I watch the others in the park. A tall suited man moves into the space between two girls, as he hurries to his office, the girls are laughing and talking loudly into their mobile phones. The man then turns and stares at me for staring at them. Well he can just FUCK OFF and FUCK YOU TOO. Normal behaviour. I'll never learn. The man runs away, did I shout at him out loud? I don’t remember. The girls are still on their mobile phones. Loud talking about the night before, then loud whispers about sex. Shut up you stupid little sluts. I think about cutting them both up with a bread knife. Stupid bitches. Don't tell me the world was constructed for and around these sorts of people. Media brainwashed, MTV, reality TV, soap opera, wal-mart, primark idiots who serve no purpose in society except to suck cock and have a cunt that men can use. They have nothing to talk about, they don’t have a brain. Fuck them and kill them is what I say!

Limited sense, imagination, intellect, feeling; unlimited self-assurance, corrupted purpose, opinion, moral indignation, belligerence. Why am I so tired? Everything is diminished. Maybe they never really existed. Maybe it is I, I am the insane one and the rest of the world is sane, perhaps I am a minority, the only person who has a feeling for something more. That there is something wrong in the way that we live. I dread tomorrow before today has ended. To wake at the same hour, to the same radio show, the same news, the routine of shitting, pissing, shaving, showering, moisturising, coffee, cigarette and some toast. The daily routine of wearing a suit, a tie, comfortable leather shoes, a laptop briefcase, the daily monotony, the expected regularity, my corrupted moral energies, commuting like everyone else, talking the talk, walking the walk, so many thinking the same thing, talking the same way. I just listen to my mp3 player and read a book. I desperately want to escape from this absurd, mollifying, nullifying nightmare that is called living. I have a complete intolerance to my own insecurities. So fuck off. All of you. All of me. Fuck the thirteen. The Valium isn’t working anymore; the mass sedations are coming to get me.
There is a silent queue at the tube station, waiting to purchase the weekly or monthly travelcard. Someone just looked at me strangely. Fuck off, stupid cunt. Look in the mirror you ugly fuck! The patterns on the advertising posters are becoming more random. My mind, I think it is crumbling. Tears roll down my face, an embarrassing acknowledgement that I'm still human.

Why do I keep doing it? I want something more, but what is it? Society, Government continues to perpetrate the same mistakes that have been made for centuries, that they have forgotten that they knew what needed to be done, they just don’t want to. They want the power, they want to control us. The corporations, the governments, the politicians, the management, the bankers, the wealthy. Fuck this stupid world. It makes no sense to me. I don't need it. I'm not going to work tomorrow. I'm going to subvert this ghastly culture and overcome my fears. I'm going to acknowledge it, legitimise it and get murky with it. I dream up a new dream, a romantic dream with Alice White and travelling. I'll sleep the sleep of a million universes and wake up in a million mornings and do it again, live all my thirteen lifetimes at once and forever. I'll be grateful and take it for granted that someone will love me.

First I have to wake up in tomorrow morning as I did today, and do it all again, the same things, the same procedure, but very differently, start changing the patterns. That should surprise them. Make them realise that I am not one of THEM. I am not a number, I am a free man!

ThE ENd.

ONE OF ThE THiRTEEN (1)

ThE UGLY EYE. (a story of one of the thirteen)


The female being can be so ugly. It scares me. EYE want to love women, and then you see their teeth. You see how their skin bunches and sags. EYE want to run away, and hide. The females secrete repulsive fluids and get upset if you tell them that you don’t like it. You don’t want to know about it. That sometimes, they smell BAD. They conceal their ugliness with lotions and potions, perfumes and pads. They have instruments to pluck and redesign their ugly parts. Sometimes they sneak off by themselves or with others. To the toilet, to the bathroom, like chickens, all together, clucking and cooing. Some hide their ugliness, others will forever be ugly, inside and out, it is a case of vegetable peels thrown into compost bin: soon it will rot, and the stink will rise.
EYE just narrowly escaped an encounter with an older woman. Where, after a time of being intoxicated with lust, EYE began to see her. Truly see her. The ugliness of heart, the ugliness of mind and the ugliness of flesh.
How did EYE get involved with so many women, my past is filled with them. They are beautiful at first. In all that, they are same as US. They don't tell you that. They pretend to be different. They pretend to be something else. They pretend to be someone else.
EYE meet another one. So delicate and attentive. So beautiful and charming, wonderfully sexy and exotic.
Her shape sends me into a dizzy spin. EYE am fearful, I know this feeling and it always ends in tragedy.
We talk, we dance, we drink, and we eat. We arrange to meet again.
She is a delightful woman, EYE am a man of no consequence, and she is making me feel like a God.
This woman, this creature of the bathroom and intricate thoughts, stands over me as I drop to my knees to pick up her fallen earring. My instinct has driven me to this. Neural imbalance. In me she has provoked an imbalance, to be her protector, to be her lover, to be a man, to be a gentleman. It is all an illusion. I am at her feet. She wears high-heeled strapped sandals. Her toenails are painted red. Her arches are well defined. Her feet tense slightly and relax. I see the blood pulse across her ankles, smooth as silk fabric. Voice noise fills my head. Eye do not listen to them, warning me of what has happened to me before when love turns to something dreadful. EYE sneak a look up; she is looking down, but there is no weakness in it, no invitation. EYE am just a man. EYE see something strange in her eyes. EYE see ruthlessness and hardness. EYE see in her hundreds of others like her, one’s from my past and many from the future. EYE smile up at her. She smiles back at me.
Me. Joshua Kane.
"Are you one of the thirteen?”
She has noticed me. " Yes. I am one of the thirteen, we are no-one, yet we are everywhere." Well practiced: the counterfeit of humanity. EYE stand. EYE am holding her earrings, but she makes no move to take them from me. She just stands there, arms folded, with a dark stare and hair in her eyes. Red hair. Fake hair. So EYE have to say, "Your earrings." EYE hold them out to her.
"What."
"Your earrings."
"My earrings, what about them?"
This is the sort of woman that she is, and EYE am hooked. EYE am lost. A drowning man. Ancient genetic predisposition. EYE am a total disaster. EYE never learn from my mistakes.
Just then my mobile phone rings. EYE answer. EYE watch her put her earrings back into their rightful place.
EYE listen to the voice on the other end of the call.
“Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack
Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack
Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack
Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack”
Blasphemy. EYE am becoming the thing EYE fear.
But. Pause for a moment, doubt creeps in, and EYE have to cry. Before my tears can evaporate, they turn to blood and my hatred hides deep within.
EYE stand in a dream. Visions filling me with indescribable horrors, the thirteen are within me. But which one am EYE?
I took her to a wonderful restaurant. I could have taken her to the end of the world, or to Egon Romsk’s, but she wanted steak tartar and champagne. It is an expensive restaurant, known throughout London as a difficult place to get into. No problem for me, EYE am one of the thirteen. We can do anything. During powder room moments, EYE could look out the window at the bustling streets. The human being is an ugly thing. The human is a shallow, predictable entity that I despise, but EYE hide it well. A waiter appears from nowhere "Would sir like anything else?" Eye wonder what he would do if EYE asked him to cut out his heart and feed it the starving. But, EYE smile and ask for more champagne. She reappears, dutifully powdered, buffed and fresh. EYE ignore the voices. EYE look at her and think of making love and strawberries.
She looks up at me through falls of red hair and asks lots of questions. I sip the Bollinger. They check you out. They calculate where to file you. But my answers are never truthful and EYE like to play games. So, she will not know what lies behind my bright gaze and tortured mind.
"No, EYE can't see the point of consumerism on a large scale."
She squints up her eyes and peers at me as if to memorise something. Finally: "Oh, that's good." She laughs and crosses her arms in front of her as if to cover up some unknown fragility.
"What about you. No boyfriend?"
"What."
"No boyfriend."
"No."
"Surprising. You're so pretty. Pretty. So pretty."
"Thanks." She takes it in her stride, the way those do who are often praised
"I guess I'm just choosy. No girlfriend?"
I fake a blush. I wish I were back in the arms of Alice. Why do THEY need to know everything about us?
"I suppose EYE have never met the right one." EYE smile at her, wondering if she can through my LIE.
My heart beats faster, the voices rage in my head. Shut up, shut up. EYE manage to slow my heart and block out their tones.
EYE want to run, EYE wish to hide and go back to a place long lost. Now EYE am calm. EYE smile a slight one, one EYE hope will make her think of me as gentle. EYE reach across the table and take her hand. She screws up her eyes at me and grins the funniest little grin. Maybe she's deciding whether EYE am crazy. When EYE pull at her hand, there is the slightest resistance, like the catch of a faulty padlock. EYE laid her hand on top of my baldhead; she lets her hand feel around my small mounds and well-moisturised skin. She feels the pattern of my murkyworld and of my life that has been so solitary and bizarre, until this moment.
"Soft murkiness” She gives me a little rub. EYE close my eyes. EYE feel tears coming on. EYE hear the voices and their fury within me. Stop it. Just stop it. "For good luck." She smiles and blows me a kiss.
She flutters her eyelids. She strokes her fingers through her hair. She gazes it at me. Making me feel that I am the only person that exists for her. EYE talk, she listens, she talks and EYE listen, but the voices are starting to filter through. EYE say something, she is then very angry. Interesting chemistry: embarrassment, pain, anxiety, eventually it always comes down to anger. They always tell me that it is my fault. That they were perfectly normal until they met me. They say to me that they can’t love me anymore. These days EYE ruin it before it can really begin. That way EYE don’t get hurt. She goes to the powder room again and EYE look out of the window and think of Alice. When she returns, she is calmer and laughs, telling me that EYE am a strange one indeed, but she finds it attractive.
Then let's get to know each other, EYE say, and she purses her lips. She's turning her thoughts around in her mind, looking for the jagged edge. Outside, EYE hear a woman scream, EYE turn to see what is going on. EYE see a man slapping a woman hard around her face, no one tries to stop them. EYE watch them and find myself enjoying the moment a bit too much.
EYE try not to get angry. EYE always try to be compassionate, but that is a lot harder to reveal than many people can imagine. In Essex, there's a place where the locals are moved so much by one another's just being there that they sit around all day and weep. Long days, too, EYE don’t think EYE would like to live there. Strikes me as too emotional.
"What are your secrets?" She asks me. EYE think about telling her the truth, but decide against it.
" 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." My answer seems to baffle her.
"If that is true, which one are you?”
"That is for you to guess”. EYE smile at her and EYE hope that she will play my game.
"Are you an artist and a writer?"
"Yes, actually." EYE laugh.
"Do you like to look at my feet and toes? "
"Sometimes." EYE reply.
She tilts her head at me. EYE don't mind anything a woman does, especially when they do things like that to me. They cast a spell. Even though EYE know she's challenging me, trying to see if something hidden will come out. But this is a game, EYE will find out about her, she may think she will find out about me. We will become lovers, we will see each other, go to the theatre, go for meals, go to the cinema, galleries, week-ends away, we will discuss many subjects, we will have many opinions and then as the months roll on, things will change, you know what EYE mean, The initial excitement of being with new person, will become dull. EYE will look at her and see faults, what attracted me to her in the first place will have become forgotten. She will hate the way EYE eat, the way EYE snore, my need to be alone, my need to paint and draw. My fetishes, which she originally found exciting, she will consider perverted and disgusting. She will blame me for not changing; she will accuse me of not loving her. She will meet someone else and eventually leave me. EYE gaze at her and think all these things, yet, EYE always wonder if this girl could be different, could she be the one? Will she share my dark desires? Will she be ALL that EYE need and want her to be, would EYE be all of that for her?
After a minute of this silence, with the girl outside the window screaming and the man shouting and the police car arriving and the crowd gathering, EYE win. She says, "OH Kane my life is so boring," and slumps back in her chair.
"No, it's not. You fascinate me. You've got more life in one strand of that pretty red hair than I've got in my whole body. Just the way you move and sway, the sparkle in your eyes, your laugh, the way you think, and the sound of your voice. EYE do not see intelligence in people very often, but I see plenty of it in you. And passion. EYE suspect that you're passionate about things."
"What." She looks at me.
"Passion. Passion."
"What." She looks blankly into my EYES.
Passion. Passion."
" Well I suppose I am about some things." She whispers back at me.
"Like what." EYE ask too eagerly.
"Well Art, I guess. I go to the Egon Romsk’s Art Gallery every Thursday night for the private lessons. I like to use charcoal and inks. I used to be good. But, I haven't touched done it . . ." She trails off, remembering something bad.
"But you should! You're an artist. We are all artists and we all should do what we want, when we want, we must let our creative sides expand.”
"No, I am not like you Kane, I could never be one of the thirteen, I want to be known for myself, I want to be loved for who I am, not what I am.”
"What are you?" EYE whisper.
"I am someone who is alone.” She pounces then. Elbows on the table, face in my face. "I have never met someone who could handle the darkness that hides inside me!”
"Tell me more!” EYE gasp back at her.
"Well, I like to talk dirty when having sex." She blushes. “ I like to have my feet and toes worshipped and sucked, I like to be a slave to my master and I like to be a mistress to my man. I enjoy pornography, violence, cinema, theatre, and alternative things in life. I like to experiment with my existence and I want to be with someone who shares this desire for darkness.”
"Perfection," I whisper, "pure perfection."
She thrusts a forkful of steak tartar in my face -- and EYE take it into my mouth, chew, swallow, and wait. We talk about the décor. Another forkful. Another. EYE won't ask her. EYE won't show my happiness. EYE won't lose track of the conversation and say something to spoil it. EYE block out the voices. EYE won’t let them take this one away from me. Her face changes like a sudden wind. So alive now. More and more she settles her eyes on me. Like pouring honey into a straw. When I look away, the restaurant has closed, emptied, we are the only ones left and EYE can see that the manager is waiting for us to pay and leave as well.
"So, when are you going to tell me your secrets?" She delivers a mock slap across my cheek. "That's for lying to me."
"We'd better leave. Can we leave now? Get outside, then EYE will tell you."
She takes hold of my wrist, yanks me out of my chair, and leads me through to the manager. EYE pay the bill and we leave.
She smiles. "Now tell me." She fixes her eyes on me as if they belonged to a bird of prey.” I wonder are you the one? mister Kane." She gives my hand a squeeze.
What an extraordinary girl. EYE tell her everything. EYE tell her ALL my secrets, EYE tell her ALL my desires. EYE tell her my fears, my dreams, my plans.
"She is lying, she is like all the rest, she will bleed you dry and cut open your heart, she only wants what she cannot see, she is a liar, do not listen, hide from her hidefromher, hide!"
The voices are all around me. I fall to the ground and scream a terrifying scream.
Now that should have been the end of it. Who would want to stick around after that? But she took me with her to her home. She looked after me. Sang to me. Soothed me. Held me. Whispered to me. She made love to me. She took me to the Art Class at Egon Romsk’s. We spent many months together, 24/7. Toward the end we decided to paint a large canvas together. That really impressed her. She was rubbing against me by then. Her skin pulsed against my bare arms as we brushed together. Her bracelet rubbed my wrist, as she would lean over me to add another splash of oil. EYE thought of sneaking my fingers through her fingers, but I could never find the right moment for it.
EYE say; "Don't fall in love with me."
"What."
"It's dangerous to fall in love with us." EYE can't stop laughing, even though this matters.
"What are you. . . . What. In love -- I'm not in love with you." Unaccountably, she is upset.
"We are not one of the ordinary people."
"What! Don’t take that tone with me, don’t talk to me about things that do not mean anything!”
"Never mind. It's not important. You're, right." My laughter evaporates. EYE see its remnants shatter against the garden wall, melting into rain. "Forget EYE said anything."
"What. I don't know -- listen, I'm not like you." She glares at me." Do you know what you are?"
"Of course I do." EYE reply.
"An idiot, that's what. Fall in love with you. Don't you know when some things are just for fun?"
Me, EYE try not to get angry. Me, Joshua Kane, one of the thirteen, EYE am not like the others. EYE can contain my anger.
She is electric. Her eyes are on me. On me. On me. She sucks me with her eyes, it feels like. She loves me so much; she really could be the one.
Others they may take it for anger, but it's love. You have to know what to make of it. She loves me. EYE can tell. This is a dangerous situation for her, EYE understand that. As much as EYE love it. EYE have certain responsibilities to the thirteen.
EYE take her hand in mine. But. She pushes it away.
She slaps me.
It's nothing. But EYE pretend to cry.
She looks exhilarated at first. Then her mood changes. "Fuck me now, you fucking cunt, you stupid prick of a man, fuck me now, get out your cock and fuck me!" But for some reason, it does not feel real to me. It feels insincere and robotic.
She thinks that EYE am actually crying. She doesn't know it's all a game. Spinning from my murkyworld. Not tears. This is the moment EYE begin to suspect how ugly she is.
In reality. How UGLY she is, they all are, we are all ugly.
I play along, EYE do, as she wants.
The next month, between HER and EYE, not a word. She smiles at me now and then, a distracted smile. EYE go to my studio, write and paint, twiddle my thumbs a bit, think of past girlfriends and masturbate about them, sex was better with them wasn’t it? Perhaps the fantasy is always more attractive than the real thing. EYE wonder about this. It is my punishment for living a LIE.
It puts me in mind of how EYE lay in bed once, staring at the ceiling. EYE pay no attention to her standing over me. The plaster swirls on the ceiling are enough to link me to another world, my murkyworld. If EYE should want to come back, which perhaps EYE do not. Then EYE will return, but not to her.
She stands over me. She must be really worried this time, because I hear her whimper. In order to be close to me, she's telling me things, things that EYE like to hear, the first time she's ever done a thing like that. She imagines EYE am upset that my expectations have become unclear. It's nothing to do her; it is to do with my murkyworld.
EYE figured it out from the voices, from the wreckage of my skin. My body is turning. Equal and opposite reaction: EYE force myself against THEM, against the direction of normality, and thought it artistic. EYE should have been left alone. EYE should not be so selfish as to think that anyone can love me. Women / Girls are the same. They promise so much, then let you down, but throw the blame at another reason. Never their fault. Always mine. Outside the window: blackness. EYE thought they would always love me for who EYE am, not what they want me to be, but nothing EYE do has the intended effect. One thing led to another. New forces, new corrections, all wrong, all wrong. This should work; this is right, then silence, then alone. Always alone. What goes on inside you doesn't always express itself perfectly in the world outside. That is the way EYE am.
Her voice whispers as she stands over me, her tone is so kind -- that's the link. That's why she is reminding me of ALICE, of this day. So kind, her voice just now.
She says, "You cannot live like this, we cannot live like this. This isn't death we've got here Kane, this is life. You can't just lie there day on day and piss yourself and weep with regret. For one thing, the smell. Come back an artist again. I don't hate you, not really. Say something to me. Talk in your tongues. Say as best you can. We piece it together, don't we. We make out your meaning through the gulps and clicks and a word here and there, through all the murkiness of it, you sad hard thing. People don’t understand you, they don’t understand us, but I can’t live like this anymore. I need to live again, for myself.”
That was a long time ago. I don't know when she left me, she is just another in a long line of regrets. EYE look for her sometimes, in the galleries. But, EYE never see her. EYE think of them all, my pretty pretty ones. She loves me too much.
Here EYE am inside my studio. Dark in here, but not like the darkness of the thirteen. Pitch black darkness. Be careful, madness lives within the thirteen, EYE know this for EYE am one of them. My paintings are of an intricate design. Even with the lights off, there is a lifeless red darkness, a tinge to things as if seen whilst drowning in still waters. Lifeless shines at me it is a pure colour.
The colour of the thirteen.
"My name is Joshua Kane, EYE am one of the thirteen. EYE am alone. EYE have loved, EYE have been loved, EYE have felt love. BUT EYE have never been IN love. EYE am no-one, yet EYE am everywhere, for EYE am the voice of the fire."
EYE am forever distracted. EYE throw the doors open to the balcony. The noise makes me remember ALICE. In the emptiness of space there is no sound, of course. To those who know what EYE know, any sound is a memory. Let it clatter, echo and weep. My memories are too many, too much, a void of my own making. Dim dirty light from one of four bulbs in a cluster hangs from my studio ceiling, the others burnt out. The ceiling is lined with dead insects and their dirt. I glued them there for motivation. To enhance my art. To have something to talk to.
When she left me, EYE remember that EYE was standing just inside the door. Watching her. She wanders from cupboard to cupboard, opening and closing them, each with a distinct sound. EYE am thinking, this is the truth of what women are. Swirling figures, taking what is not theirs, but think it is because they have shared some time with you.
"Here it is." She cries.
A little black box with sharp corners. She wipes the dust off with her palm, dirtying her hand; she doesn't seem to mind. This box has gold padlocks on it and a nameplate, still bright. She sits down on the dull round rug. "Look."
EYE sit with her. She lays down the box in the middle of the round rug and opens it. There's a pendant in three pieces in velvet padding. She smiles at me, and I see the glitter of the pendant, times two, in her eyes. She takes out the chain, and then takes out one section to fit onto the chain. Then she takes out the third piece and attaches it to the second piece, it is of unusual design "I made this for you, look at it slide right in." And it does, too. Into it’s shape and design and again, slides again, for the hidden message, the last, where the third piece fits in. "The thirteen," she calls it. Why does this give me an erection?
"EYE love you” EYE tell her.
"I do not love you” she replies.
"Go now." EYE say to her.
"But we can still be friends." She says.
"Go. Please." EYE say.
"One last kiss before I leave?” she asks.
Her breath has a sour smell. Maybe it's my mind, her breath collected in a forgotten part of my memory, her tongue looks putrid and feels almost decayed. A person can be never be free when so many memories fill our minds with misinterpretation and loss. EYE turn and blink, turn and blink, as she expands and contracts.
"No hard feelings, Joshua. I just don't think it would work out." She says to me as she leaves.
"Yes, EYE have heard that before."
"You're an extraordinary man, though. Don't think I'm indifferent to that. You move me, really. But I don't want to hurt you. Our lives are too short."
"Yes, EYE have heard that before as well."
"You'll find someone, no doubt about it, a girl who thinks like you. Who will share your murkyworld, who is more like you and be your soul mate. You'll meet someone else."
"Keep your mouth shut, please." How did EYE get the scissors? Why is hair scattered across the round rug? Her red hair, red as blood. "Please stop talking to me and leave." EYE shout at her.
This close, EYE can see fear in her eyes, EYE can see where EYE cut some of her hair from her head. The shape of her fear is invigorating, seldom seen. "I understand that you’re angry, but you must see Joshua that we are so different to each other.”
"That’s not what you said when we first started seeing each other." EYE tell her.
She stands at the doorway and looks through me. “I thought you would change.” She says.
She slams the door and runs from me, running to HIM, the other man, the one that fulfils her requirements and needs. EYE watch her from my window, EYE watch her get into the car, EYE watch her kiss HIM and drive away.
EYE am the EYE and EYE am always watching.
EYE am Joshua Kane, one of the thirteen and EYE am number one.

ThE ENd.

JOShUA kANE

ThE RECENT QUOTES FROM zEROkANE

“ I only drink blood if I have to. I prefer the sweaty filth that congeals on the skin of the Unwanted”

“Time biology time belief time shapes time breath time aloneness time self time others time man-made time natural time create time nothing”

‘ Nothing ever quite fits properly does it … I am the Ikea man, should I lick you with my black lizard tongue? Will you make little squeaking sounds or low deep manly groans I wonder?’

Am I going to climb the Eiffel Tower otherwise known as The Secretary? Will I scale her ramparts? Should I clamber over her statuesque frame with passion and dark relish? Will I insert things? Insert things into those hot fleshy mandibles of crimson? Will I become lost in the nest of her scalp?

ENd