For the happy man! - Collected writings DEPRESSION: Ed Atkins

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alimentary canals, renal passageways and rectal tubes, the words both secrete and absorb. No: secrete and accrue – they snowball. Like a snowball. From nothing, of course – from less than nothing. So that when they emerge, having deposited a consistent skidmark across your innards (more words), they have grown in size; not too much, but enough to remark. Enough to comprehend as perverse. Shiny, black, voidal things – typographic mutations, slumped like some funereal urn of Murano glass, glossy and alien in the toilet bowl. You stare at them, mingling in there, sounding off one another like snooker balls. Kneeling down, you pull back your sleeve and plunge an arm in to retrieve a particularly heavy word. Cooled magma. Patted dry with toilet paper. Studying its surface: A certain sheen of cross-sectioned charcoal; A huge, dilated pupil lacking its housing, looking up; A dog’s healthy nose; An egg – indistinguishable from the others in the box – cracked into the pan, too late, is entirely black, rotten, stinking of some genital infection. The day utterly ruined; Dark matter; Liquorice; A corvid’s face; A cavity harbouring a breathing thing; A hole in the road emitting an occassional rhythm; That cheese retrieved from the deepest corner under your right big toenail; A tank of silage, viewed through a hatch in the roof, a shaft of light illuminating a cheap, black men’s shoe stood on the surface of the silage, offering consolation for something or other; The brooding presence of a TV on standby in an unlit living room in the countryside;
Your father’s horrific sunglasses that he pretends to be blind in; An eye socket, gaping, the eye dangling treacherous on its optic nerve, fiddling with the rear; The submarine sight of the patient; Pitch; The place furthest from the surface inside you; Certain caves – the guide turning off the light; Something DROPPED, in the club; unexpected, frightening somehow – a track whose subtext seems to involve massacre, though you can’t be sure – you’re senses are impaired every whichway; Massacre inside the club, music continues; Distilled bin juice; Eyes from the back; A cinema, in the daytime, showing pornography – no-one in the audience; Something clenched in the fist; A bubobe under the armpit, found by an exploratory finger – confirmed in the mirror; The centre of an asteroid; A fucking lie; Your middle name; Your mother’s maiden name; An entreating gesture that descends into anger; The black snooker ball in your palm (the cue clattering to the floor); The first blooming of a black eye; the outraged red maturing, decaying; The final part of a time-lapse video of a piglet putrefying – the part where even the maggots are abandoning the carcass. SLUDGE; A giant squid, discovered suckered to the under-
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-- For the happy man! Collected wri
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Minotaur 2013
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Depressions
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The proper work of a thumb lies in
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are simply weapons for piercing the
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Dear [...] This will be presented i
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The repulsion of two-two fleshy mag
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moons. Simply depressions, concave
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forms to depress. A critique of dep
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motor cortex (a plague), Gyrus (‘
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ER! - Cuneus (the scene at the bott
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Or tears, of course 2013
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(Flat palm butts flat door - though
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tion is his own) O! - This always-a
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Else flattened by the interminable
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As in: light-like curves that pass
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Liquid crystals running terminal co
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the fuck away - and then STRAIGHTAW
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ness. I conjure the very medicine t
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Warm, Warm, Warm Spring Mouths 2013
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And no provision has been made for
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And this whole thing a concession,
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And it’s not too much to imagine
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And bullet-time, really, is a lifes
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gallon or so of PVA semen. Dispassi
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Inexpensive. Which is part of it, t
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This is no longer an experience, bu
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A heavy mood that turned away from
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(Is this thing on?) And a trellis o
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Into the cool water. This one goes
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This one goes out to your singular
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I don’t want to hear any news on
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I wanted to ask whether you thought
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legibility. A primordial story of s
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owner of the eyelash, your lover. B
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The smell was certainly sexual, I t
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discrete line to slight-inked line
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oily substance not unlike jojoba, f
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muscles) Averting our eyes from one
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late to be a fucking lie told badly
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fingernail, most likely. Fingers re
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great prairies of skin are, in each
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the same mistake again. The dead ey
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-Resembling the lichen that seems t
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A tumour (in English) 2011
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punctuation and that peculiar synta
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and waning produces a horrific pull
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frozen, unknown. It’s not mine, t
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pink, marbled-looking veneer inspir
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notch at its highest point with a c
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[...] If it’s like this in the mo
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the crew: Fletcher, the navy techni
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scenes remind us that this isn’t
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Grotesque, just like this text here
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The tumour, spanning many acres now
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TEETH, and a battle is pitched betw
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A cave again, this time somewhere i
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The underside of a banana slug. The
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taxidermist, so as to preserve its
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a golf ball. I fucking hate golf, y
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As previously discussed elsewhere,
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varieties: RODS AND CONES (rods of
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Feel its tentacular motion inside y
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droxyurea, Hydrea, Idarubicin, Idam
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of blasé humanity writhing happily
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Do it 2013
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Graciousness - hospitality at all c
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- My daughter says she loves to ice
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Or remembering thinking: I used to
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Or the admission that I bought a kn
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Or the gap in the journal here. A f
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Or someone once writing something a
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Or that an index of absence is a so
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Or something like that. Diminished
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gler, to be precise - on to the arm
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Or the too-late comprehension that
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Or there’s THIS, off the TOP OF M
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tralaminar nuclear group (baffled a
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incerta (lopsided), PITUITARY GLAND
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have - the other seemingly a king o
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The brute indomitability of a list.
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Or a massive tattoo of a shark bite
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Or, to focus a little, the reptilia
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Or, that we are not limited to verb
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Or perhaps it’s more useful to be
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Or... I suppose. False positives an
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Or confiding that the head eventual
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Or you climb the dangling rope left
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Or a diagonal movement across bus s
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Or being an aggravation of the exis
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Or again, in 2012, albeit INTERNALL
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Three shorts 2012 - 13
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jaw, eight twice, From what I can m
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of fecklessness and animal despair.
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ing the problem. We’ll shave arou
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Horse-head or Triangulum Emission G
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Meringue 2011
Page 313 and 314: Somebody’s baby boy
Page 315: Somebody’s Baby Boy, half dead, s
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Page 331 and 332: Air for concrete 2011
Page 333 and 334: mouth. Do you even have a mouth? [.
Page 335 and 336: […] I’m sure you can picture as
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Page 356 and 357: 40,000 ADThe patron saint of atroph
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Page 362 and 363: valued member of the team’. A ton
Page 364 and 365: 1372A polytheism that describes the
Page 366: with his right. The words he uses,
Page 370: © Ed Atkins 2013 -- For the happy
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