The Longest Second

An extract of writing from between the years of 1991 and 1997 composed in various locations in Hobart, Tasmania and Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. Sometimes written by street lamp.

78.

   In the city the people who live there often like to drink from cans, between the days, tearing off a ticket. When the war was passed he shed a tear. It turned out he liked talking to people, a swordfish dreamt of a blade of grass the refrigerator said to the lawn mower in the three a.m. dark of the garage. I found the note it read, ‘gone to leisure land’. He poured some chemicals into the ocean and jumped the fence at the drive-in. The faded letter fragment read, in part, ‘one day I came across her portrait and in it her hair had grown long. I realised then what had happened, it had never been finished...’ I drew a deep breath. For the rest of that afternoon my mind hearkened back to that toy-box at the end of the attic, each breath was a water droplet. The black ink had faded to brown. I never knew it was true. She had cried every night when the war had ended. There was a long gap between the days.

    A crate of pebbles had been advertised as antiques and received an award for the best blank expression in cinematic history. To tell you the truth about the matter he blew all the letters from the page and turned the corner wishing he had never run amuck. That was when the bee laid a pearl and the rooster crowed all the night through. I could tell he had been there. All at once the cigarettes were lit and stamped out again through out the globe emulating the precision of competition level synchronised swimmers. We can get that at home for free blind folded pinned the tail onto the map of the world as the sphere turned like a barber’s pole. I fell asleep.