ease yourself onto the slab with the delicate whisperings of green things growing inside your head. that cold sensation you feel under your skin is the rhythm of plants experiencing the cruel slash of frosts & winter growths of ice lands green & the wind of even the &'s will disappear as the unconscious rhythm flows icebergs devoid of animal life no polar bears naked there on the bearskin rug cold fire moisture is fuck the cockroaches time is to my right yes i'm really getting into the rhythm now cigarette is out burning leaves so conscious in the forest/dark of not offending the trees so i didn't dare to smoke the goddess by invoking that concept her potency will be lost cha-cha cha-cha never needed someone so badly as tonight the solitude slab becomes heated with the contact of your body dare not turn off the music now i can feel the static of the silence encroaching with the suns of summer never felt yes begin to sense something will come out of this purging ( splurging you fool isn't that what you meant to write/say? purging involves the removal &/ detachment of oneself with the poisons accumulating ) yes i wonder if there's anyone up there with her the moon goddess bleeds with a flushing of toilets the swirl of water obliterates vision of what flows there with her mathematics eyes what can that mean significance is relative yet what if it is relativity itself that is significant now your slab of flesh is warm.

so the purging process has just begun the slab is inhospitable there's only room for one on it harboring seas of resentment that are never still surging blood-warm thousands of amoeboid species each with a different anger how long have you had this urge to babble the idiot god in the centre of chaos chattering howling beseeching lucidity with its idiot (in)comprehension of order so the seas have washed up more than mere scabs kathryn huh narcissus finds seven years of distortion seven more seals to be broken

(how time became the tide... & tossed & turned & washed onto a thousand beaches)

naivety's fragility exploited by lechery let's move beyond partings, you & i  dear vampyr beyond the pale mirrors of unfulfillment beyond the bloated goddess' self-centered menstruations (mathematics eyes) beyond the kiss of a thorn's rose nice inversion that beyond eve's temptation of the serpent & feel the reptilian nature of the slab bec@ils now it uncoils you are its coils circles to the rhythm of the slab.

do you feel insects on your skin dear intoxicant do their scratchy legs somehow feel to be moving just under the surface of your skin does the slab ask questions?

loops in the intestines of white rabbits isolate circles where gloriously mad tea-parties blind parakeets to the psychedelic plumage of wallflowers & here the duchess drowns another gecko in her bloody mary ragstrewn death in a puddle of tatters (sticking out it may be noted is one forlorn arm of a spectacle) the desire of crowds to avoid their own adjectives why did you hurt all those little girls lost kevin confessions of a (psychotic) sympathizer or the sad tale of a little boy lost in the killinghouse dark until he discovered a suitcase of bones that weren't bones at all they moved & sipped out of flowered teacups with sardonic grins laughter anyone? perhaps some candy(ha)floss spiderspun specially by our resident s you know the one that wears sinister smoking smocks to the dissecting table she found the genitals most... succulent tigerstriped the snakecurls are animal craving the predatory envelope no need to lick the stamps they come from the swamp where troglodytes rub flesh on scale with the other darker things & reading this will be hell to the eye awash in the gelatinous lake of lubrication moisture is important for two unicellular organisms to embrace through the (arti)ficial membrane of isolation here on the old solitude slab.

there are exorcists here on the slab. what are those weapons they are wielding? they are coming closer raising their arms what are those dark implements they are raising above their heads yes they look just like (the horror of it) fire extinguishers on waking the bedroom floor it groaned ruggishly & shrugged as the opaque film of blood washed over it dark pools

climbing the plate glass windows looking for you

bubbling angrily in the corners was it the carpet they were angry at

feel me now feel the pain

rosemary pushed open the door & the thick red torrents gurgled past her as gurgles often do much too hasty to be apprehended yes the ectoplasmic apparition that just crawled across your face wasn't real i only imagined what you felt sympathy vampyr onto the landing (a nondescript plane where the lonely stairs at the tops of staircases always seem to end up to sit disconsolately for hours & smoke endless cigarettes with endless cups of coffee waiting for

wasting my days away wasting time

some equally lonesome partner who inevitably never turns up & knowing that all those hours spent waiting there were in vain nevertheless seem to gain some smug satisfaction from that secret knowledge anyway & don't really need the company of other stairs so who are they (we) trying to kid its lonely at the top of the slab

she waded remembering the chortles of the gurgles of the blood whatever that may mean & oh yes did i mention there was blood well there is actually more than just an arbitrary bucket or two more than an opaque film in fact there's a fucking maelstrom of it & she waded impassively through it

waves they're coming over me

its getting a bit choppy out here on the slab as we old-timers (interesting phrase that) commonly refer to it as dissection time on the chopping block pass the next embryo professor her face looming like a mask above mine its tragic to think how comic that looked as she handed me a cup of rabbit tea that hare on your lip is only a figment of my imagination no more to the left i did try to scream

& my loved one cried out

tell her about the awful impossible blood but what does one say about impossible blood there's not much come to think of it not even a bucketful but no sound came & the slab said nothing

i sipped my tea though now a glossy black spider was floating in the middle of it

(yes we all float down here)

caressing my lips as i drank even the decaying company of the spider was welcome (ah yes you were thinking did he actually taste it its all very well that it floated there unannounced all wrapped up in its decomposition in the hairy tea but did he actually taste it gather round now ladies lets see if he actually bites into its flesh spider flesh has been found to be a delicacy in some exotic lands the natives you know all very peculiar stop drooling mildred this instant) rosemary smiled

(i touched her thigh & death smiled)

& her face & body crumbled falling away to reveal the bare skeleton sprawled on the slab.

her skeletal figure danced from the room leaving ugly bloodstains on the stairs no wonder no-one ever meets up there on the landing they're all too ashamed of their ugly bloodstains my mind

(r.i.p.)

exploded & i seemed for one torturous moment to exist in the silent quintessence of being that's the beauty of it to write right through the kaleidoscopes of imagination into the concrete (private joke) quintessence of being here on the slab

an enormous zulu warrior hung naked from the ceiling singing hymns in the voice of a little girl raising ebony arms into the electric air as one crucified became a wrinkled old woman & vanished leaving a coagulation of rose petals bloodied on the shrugging carpet searching for their thorns growing breasts & claws just like the tiger noisily devouring a dead child at the end of my bed funny the child seemed to enjoy it she gurgled i swear fuck i'm losing it coagulate damn you (another potential private joke) on the subject of private jokes what about that abortion in the cupboard can't you just hear it laughing in there as the sick jokes pile up on the shrugging carpet coagulate damn you the slab is laughter kinda sick those fat people are so gentle they have to be they just don't know how near to their surface their fragile souls are have some chocolate? don't be shy take the whole slab.

i think i'm still mad so i'll keep on writing to get all the anger out oh i hope you'll come i know you're awake listening to my heartbeat through the toilet bowl i can hear you gagging on the (lav)ender toilet spray that keeps your cistern smelling like flowers just like sorrow pretty soon all you mourners are actually gonna believe that death smells pretty soon yes

[coffee break hello shaun how the hell are you shaven lamb to the slaughter you always saw all the blood didn't you didn't...]

the bizarre creature (you can buy one for your mantelpiece at any old bazaar) then silently exploded with the glorious efflorescence of spores a whirl of crimson droplets hanging like dazzling jewels (beware the z's they're murder once saw an alphabet or so of them carving up this poor kid out on highway 99 never stood a chance to a drink i mean everyone knows that with a couple under the belt a chance will protect you from any vagrant z that happens to pass by in fact the chance feeds that hideous couple under its belt with the likes of z's) from the furniture & walls & the dead child (almost devoured by now) resurrected itself with an audible hissing trying to grasp them in its tiny hands which just melted away (the droplets or the hands we are not sure try to coagulate your thoughts boy - another private joke that - lucidity is essential for the comprehension of hallucinogenic experiences tell that to leary)  & with that (he ran babbling hysterically from the laboratory finally to end up in a loop somewhere quietly sipping tea with a hairy carpet who only spoke in shruggish whispers of his bleeding piles) the tiny corpse pursued them laughing happily (which is the way we'll always fondly remember children even half-eaten ones running off into some surreal sunscape perhaps with a few red balloons in tow) groping (things under the bed grope troglodytes grope darkness implied) my way out of bed (sexual or dream innuendo or just another excuse for a bracket) i discovered that each of my toes had become a tiny fire engine growing from chilled flesh now there's a scary concept & an almost unbearable feeling of loneliness & humiliation naked there on the slab is it your bones that embarrass you or the murkiness of your gene pool coagulated with dead leaves & the corpses of little animal& perhaps a larger animal or two perhaps one with a closet to hide in or a bed to creep under do you tremble or is it just the cold swept over me drowning me

(we all float down here)

with fire engine hoses aimed from the tops of ladders erected against my ankles (if only the stairs could be here now!) i heard their wordless shrieks i tell you just like the insane cries of bats there i can't be insane if i wrote down the fucking word can i? (the fucking word: intercoarse?) as water tickled my bare skin yes i'm pissing myself now with laughter - everyone chuckles down here in the slab

(the nightmares came today & it looks as though they're here to stay)

nice couple though the nightmares not at all condescending & they always seem to leave behind more than they take by weigh of hospitality i dressed deliberately crushing the crawling firemen on the carpet who shrugged with a faint shrugging sound & floated downstairs on the waves of my apathy (oh that's terrible how can you equate blood with apathy just look at that crowd over there gathered round that mutilation do you think that they're apathetic?) through streets of ghouls to eat in the kitchen where spider webs clung to my skin the red-eyed spider well its eyes must've been red the bloody thing was floating belly up in a cup of rancid rabbit tea wasn't it sat on the edge of a knife watching me as i ate speaking to me in a rasping             ...oldmanvoice

(just bundled together & shuffled to the side of the page just as they're supposed to be just in case they say something embarrassing how many times have we told you grandpa not to fuck the cat its just not hygienic & what if the neighbours found out i mean we only have one animal & we can't just share it with all & sundry they can bloody well get their own god knows we've got ours) telling me meaningless stories that always began: once upon a time... (insert appropriate clause here no not you grandpa you just keep those claws sheathed!) the kitchen suddenly appeared to be congested (coagulation is getting to be a bit of a bore say pass that drill nurse) with a howling throng of benevolent smiles its terrible when you don't understand just what smiles are trying to say its so bohemian growing tusks & gruesome red eyes say just where did that spider go i just wanna tell you something (private joke report to colonel seedy) get that straight-jacket the fuck away from me i'll scream & scream & scream you fucking boars you're all the same in sameness in sane boredom

enter stage left the master of ceremonies...

"ladies & gentlemen what you are about to see is a figment of my imagination."

on stage limps an arbitrary actor & shaves his hair off with a blunt razor disrobes all the while eyeing the discarded razor thoughtfully then limps through an imaginary door towards an arbitrary member of the audience mouthing the words 'have you gotta light for me' then pawing at the member of the audience (no longer arbitrary) with hands which appear to be bluntened the reaction of the audience member may be interesting to note perhaps revulsion might add to the dramatic effect of this nakedshaven undoubtedly bleeding-by-now actor groping at someone who by rights shouldn't be part of the show at all well that's what you paid for isn't it & then the audience are all laughing & hugging themselves congratulating the master for conceiving such a brilliant play - i especially liked the bit where they dragged away that poor man we all thought was a member of the audience until he started screaming & drooling with such theatrical flair - & congratulating themselves that the shaven man didn't limp up to them oh no! they were too obviously the paying audience & if he did would they have thrown their wallets at him then the contents of their pockets then punches then kicks just as that poor man did just before throwing the last thing he had left to throw away at the actor (who had long since ceased to be arbitrary) & are you coming to see the performance tomorrow night i hear its a scream just like the advertisement on the slab says

now as i write surreal seagulls twist overhead ghosts move in other rooms the phantoms have followed me here through jungles of psychodelic philosophy for in these lonely hours on the slab i have nothing to turn my mind to & as we all know (here & there a gurgling anticipation manifests itself in the audience & is promptly accosted by the bouncer who demands to see a ticket) the silent hours are the worst & nothing is a very critical spectator (just the one leg of the spectacle protruded from the untidy pile of rags floating in what seemed to be a pool of viscous liquid rapidly coagulating & they all wondered as they gathered round like insects to feed what other part of the spectacle lay beneath what hideous sight they could shrug their imaginations to before it was swept under the carpet ever wondered what became of the bloodstained stairs or the bloated spider or the melting kid or the squashed firemen or all the gurgles or even the shrugging carpet for that matter oh yes where did they all go is it only the dementia & the horror that is to be remembered why don't you go ask the poor man they dragged away or do you wish to gather here at the slab in anticipation of this evening's performance & just maybe another actor will mistake a member of the audience for another of his kind to be dragged away & where the shrug do they take them these drooling ones & just maybe tonight a member of the audience will mistake the actor for his wife or brother or child or dare we say it himself & after a while it may get difficult to see who drags who away & its much safer to sit quietly on the carpet in a corner & shrug & maybe drool a bit before the pressure of the crowd drags you closer to where you can really see the atrocity of the slab

is anyone still hungry i think there's some drool left in the corner no more to the left & afterwards we can all go for a cup of tea in the white rabbit's intestine but we mustn't be late for the next show i hear it really is a scream stop drooling they lied to you they don't lock you away where the walls are intestine-soft they put you on a slab right up there in the spotlight where everybody gets a chance to interpret your darkest secrets even the pianist the light is so bright

(don't forget to turn on the light)

it lights you up from the inside but what's worse you don't actually get a chance yourself (& what is worse than that? what is worse? piranhas in your tea anyone? a cute little tiger cub for your child to cuddle? an hallucinogenic for your anger or a wrist for your razor?) you tell us & we'll all sit around you in a vicious circle on the carpet & shrug & sip at our tea & comment on just how the flowers seem to have been especially flowerish this season & isn't it a shame that all the insects seem to be well breeding & isn't that a spider in your tea oh no its just my reflection would you care for another slice of rabbit its especially hairy this season & would private joke get his back up against that wall the firing squad has just arrived in bloody fire engines with tanks full of drool to dampen your enthusiasm in accordance with tea party etiquette you're not supposed to want to crawl up onto the slab of your own accord who knows what might happen to your sanity or our tea or your flesh or our blood or even the fucking rabbit for that matter & what of the spectators don't you give a thought to all of us sitting out here with razors in our pockets & bizarre spiders on our mantelpiece clocks

(time he's waiting in the wings he speaks of senseless things his script is you & me)

with the rhythms of drool coagulating in our vains adopting weird hairstyles according to tea party etiquette with all those red-eyed spiders nesting in them with an almost intestinal satisfaction & who knows perhaps the play is about to begin actor anyone i rather fancy that redhead

- the carpet shrugs -

on waking, the bedroom floor was obscured by an opaque film of blood. dark pools of the fetid liquid lapped hungrily at the stained walls. the crimson tides undulated over the carpet & bubbled angrily in the corners of the room. a voice that was not my own screamed.

rosemary pushed open the door & the thick red torrents gurgled past her on to the landing. she waded impassively through the crimson waters, & her face loomed mask-like above mine. she handed me a cup of jasmine tea, apparently unaware of the blood around her ankles. i tried & tried & tried to scream, to tell her about the blood, the awful, impossible blood, but no sound came.

i sipped my tea, though now there was a glossy black spider floating dead in the middle of it, & this creature's legs touched my lips as i drank. rosemary smiled, & her face & body crumbled, & the decaying flesh fell away to reveal loathsome maggots slithering over naked bone. her skeletal figure danced from the room leaving ugly bloodstains on the stairs.

my mind exploded, & i seemed to exist for one torturous moment in swirling darkness as cloying black mists clawed greedily at my face. bewildered almost beyond caring i staggered after the wraith-like form of rosemary.

an enormous zulu warrior hung naked from the ceiling, singing hymns in the voice of a little girl. he raised his ebony arms into the electric air like one crucified, became a wrinkled old woman & vanished. swirling in abhorrent horror i sank to my knees.

i fled to my room where the drowning sea of blood had coagulated into a sticky carpet of rose petals. icy, moist hands caressed my body while demonic voices whispered obscenities in my ear. collapsing into an amphetamine-like stupor, i saw the flowers writhing with life as they grew faces, breasts & claws, & transformed themselves into dragons with gargoyle-like features.

visions appeared to me that were on fire with pulsating, shifting colours that sometimes dissolved kaleidoscopically, & melted away into a riot of iridescent rainbow-like fireworks. my nightmares were haunted by elusive phantoms that mocked & clawed at me with black talons.

when i woke in a dull purple haze there was a blood-stained tiger noisily devouring a dead child at the end of my bed, so i knew i was still mad. sickened, i turned away. the bizarre creature then silently exploded, flower-like, into a swirl of crimson droplets. these hung like dazzling jewels from the furniture & walls. the dead child came to life & tried to grasp them in its tiny hands, but the droplets kept melting away. the tiny corpse pursued them, laughing happily.

groping my way out of bed, i discovered that each of my toes had become like a tiny fire engine. i felt with trembling fingers where the cold metal grew from my chilled flesh, & an unbearable feeling of loneliness & humiliation swept over me, drowning me. tiny firemen stood waving & shouting at the ends of extended ladders & sprayed my ankles with their hoses. i heard their wordless shrieks, like the insane cries of bats, as water tickled my bare skin.

i dressed, deliberately crushing the crawling men on the carpet. i floated downstairs through streets of ghouls, & ate in the kitchen where spider webs clung to my skin. the red-eyed spider, which had first appeared dead in my tea, now sat & watched me as i ate. it spoke to me in a rasping voice, telling me meaningless stories that always began : "once upon a time..."

the kitchen suddenly appeared to be congested with a howling throng of strangers dressed in white & smiling benevolently. they advanced, with skulls for faces, with tusks & gruesome red eyes that dripped blood & fire. they were trying, it seemed, to crucify me. they nailed me to a burning wheel & then, shrieking & dancing, & striking my flesh with leather whips, they hung me over a bed of hot coals. the pain, the physical agony, was absolute... unbelievable... excruciating. i screamed, & my screams lasted forever.

now, as i write, surreal seagulls twist overhead & ghosts move in other rooms. the phantoms have followed me to this asylum. i write as a means of defense against my hallucinations, for those lonely hours i spend brooding in silence are the worst. then, when i have nothing to turn my tormented mind to, the ghosts of my life grow wilder than before.

i will not deny that slab is an exploration into the potential existence of stories living in the morphogenetic field of hallucinogenic drugs, in this particular case lsd.

some of the more psychedelic prose in slab is plagarised from a short story, the title & author of which i never bothered to record. indeed, the body of slab iii is a school english essay largely copied verbatim in order to meet a deadline.

what is peculiar about this work, is that it is an attempt to capture every conscious thought,  in the form of words, that occured to me while undergoing an hallucinogenic experience.

every thought.

the plagarised essay acted as a trigger, thus: at every blank moment during the course of roughly five hours, while hallucinating, i injected the copied story into my writings. one of the conditions of the whole experiment was that i did not stop writing.

at all.

the italicized words are from songs i was playing at the time, mostly blancmange.

stephen king crept up real close, spoke, too.

interesting synchronicities occurred between them & ... well, figure it out yourself.

slab ii has not been edited. much.

a note on the punctuation: it seemed to obstruct the general flow of things, so i minimalized at the time. in a way it became part of the story.

mostly, slab ii is a story about words. sometimes the words just followed the ones before.

the humour was unexpected.

incidentally, the slab itself was the desk at which i wrote.

...later it became a metaphor for other things.