Free Preview of "Her, leaving, as the Acid hits."

This is a free sample of the 81 page verse novel "Her, leaving, as the Acid hits." which was first published in 2004 by Independence Jones Guerrilla Press and is available at www.IndependenceJones.com, www.Lulu.com, www.Gleebooks.com.au or from the author who can be contacted by leaving a comment on this blog.

Or for a free MS Word download of this preview go to http://www.lulu.com/items/volume_2/151000/151780/1/preview/acid_preview.doc

Feel free to tell me what you think in the comments section.



Preview Part 1.

Breaking up is Hell
at the best of times,
but on acid
it’s Hell in a burning hat-basket
slowly sinking in a river of
diuretic demon’s semen
whilst being poked
with an ever morphing
pointy stick.

It all began one night
in Newtown,
at the Town Hall Hotel,
somewhere to the left
of the 1990’s.

There was this angry little dwarf
of an evil barman
that jumped from behind
the horse-shoe bar
surrounded by the mouldy mismatched
fake wood panelling
that adorned that pub
in the days before gentrification
and the saccharin lure
of the yuppie dollar.

This evil little dwarf of a barman,
and you’ll understand
why I refer to him as such later,
leaped over the horse-shoe bar
towards my belle of the day;
a recent literature graduate
and aspiring White Witch
by the almost name of Bjeck.

I looked down at the dwarf’s
stubby pink palm
and saw the four
litmus paper squares of acid
littering his jelly-meat flesh,
hoping that through some error
they were just bits of the
torn beer coasters
that littered the
sticky black brown green carpet
around us like dandruff.

Preview Part 2.
….. (20 pages later)….

As my head came down,
the dwarf smiled.
This is not a good sign I thought.

Just then
the bored Samoan bouncer screamed
“last drinks,
move towards the front
now!”

It was 5am
and I had just taken
Bacchus knows what.
I could see this was going to be
a long day.

Preview Part 3. (page 33)

She told me
she was leaving me,
just as the acid peaked.

She just said it in one sentence,
no additions or explanations,
her eyes still
freshly skinned marsupial wide,
her lips clamped shut,
silent,
and at the same time
The Velvet Underground
finished their song again,
and there was that slow clumsy clunk
of the turntable as the stylus
moved back to the beginning.
The track starting again,
“Sunday Morning,
brings the dawning,
I got this feeling
I don’t want to know,”
and Bjeck starred through me,
silently, and

with all the empathy of Hemingway
starring down his prey
and seeing nothing but a
particularly nice new
Homo-erotic trophy.

Meanwhile
I had a road-train full of confusing fears rumbling quickly into my
very nervous system,
but for the song,

it was silent.

You could have heard a pun drop.

Preview Part 4 (page 61)

and that’s where Phil left me
as he bumped into ash covered furniture
and giggled awkwardly
down into his basement,

me
lying on the dirty tiles
of the bathroom floor –
nothing but a hollow ghost
of my former self,

as my girlfriend cavorted somewhere
with a drug dealing dwarf
and his bag of cheap leaf,
and the Velvet Underground
kept whining in the background.
“Sunday Morning,
brings the dawning,
I got this feeling
I don’t want to know.”

Let’s just say
it wasn’t one of the high points
of my existence.

It was then that my friend J. arrived
to take me to Sandor’s funeral.