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letra de s.w.10 - george pringle

we were on the brink of self-combustion so we dressed as soldiers and dodged lines in the pavement and staggered the streets that we knew
the houses that held us were crumbling
i climbed the scaffolding and lay on my stomach and i took pictures of the debris and felt nothing
we walked until we couldn’t
until your tin hat hurt your head and my pigtails no longer seemed ironic
and when i woke in the morning the flight path was still alight
planes werе scoring lines and jet enginеs perforated my sleep and my heart was racing
it jumped like a syncopated bassline in my chest and my breath scorched cigarettes
another dream, another plane crash
this time it missed our house but all the passengers were dead
i couldn’t pull them from the wreckage
i crouched there and put my head in my hands and they lolled in their seats

the house was empty and i was alone so i loitered
everything felt the last time so i stayed in
i stayed in my pyjamas, weaving between wine glasses and empty bottles
i pulled some shapes and laughed to myself
i didn’t know what day it was or how long i’d been pretending to work
and i couldn’t remember where my parents had gone or whether the cat had been fed
i couldn’t remember when the last time i’d washed or eaten had been
my brother’s room was a crypt and mine was a display cabinet in a museum
books and childish ornaments displayed like fossils
the cat looked at me incredulously
she hates me, i thought

so i closed that diane arbus book
i resigned myself and i went out walking
i suppose i was searching
well, i found the canvases that had been there all along, only they were under construction
there was a knife surrender bin on the corner where the bottle bank had been ten years before
the launderette was smarter and “green shadow”, my racer bike, was in the salvation army playground
the holograms were still stuck in his wheels
“tony the tiger is dead”, he whispered through the fence, “and fat children are riding me every day and they quarrel”
whistler tower seemed less imposing
shoebox housing that once felt as though it could topple and crush me any second were just flats
and the kids that used to try and mug us had grown up
they posed no threat
and the kids that had come to replace them were just kids
they posed no threat
the cafes were all shut, chairs on tables and extractor fans off and backlit cabinets displaying nothing longed for cake
and the pool near the wharf that had seemed an ocean was a calf-deep trench that grimaced blue
it was empty and locked beyond gates
the sky was still purple and brown
stars were still fighting to be seen
(stars were still fighting to be seen)

- george pringle

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