POWDER WRITING

A thin grey powder covers my body. The powder is finely ground bones. I inhale the bones and they coat the inside of my lungs. Music fires down the hallway and I stand slowly. I am in a huge amount of pain. A jug of alcohol is in the corner of the room. I drink half of the alcohol and then I start dancing to the pumping music. I thrash around very hard to the industrial dance music and crash into the walls. After five minutes the music stops and the lights come up. I check my body. I am oozing pus and blood from every surface. I am crushing myself into a pulp of bones and muscles and organs, a paste. After five minutes the music starts and I drink the other half of the alcohol. More alcohol pours into the jug from a tap. I start dancing again, pounding myself into the walls. I collapse three times into the flesh paste on the floor. I sigh. The music stops. I am lying on the floor. There are screens on the wall. The screens show images of young people dancing, non stop. Occasionally one of the young people on the screens collapses and does not dance any more. When one of the dancers collapses there is a small, vertical puff of grey powder. There is occasional time lapse footage of humans decomposing. I am too drunk to notice anything. The music starts again.

(Socrates Adams is a great guy. www.chickenandpies.blogspot.com)