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letra de graduate scheme - legss

i’d been stealing [?] post for six months
before i read in the paper
that people were accumulating large amounts of debt
my friends quizzed me on my antics in the pub
before i realized that n0body was talking to me
and i was completely alone
i pulled out the day’s post from the inside of my belt
and sifted through the cards
one of the envelopes was addressed to me
it was a leaking sms from a old school friend called sandy
togеther we [?] apart
sandy was always going about being angry likе some sort of a mad
she used to carry [?] of mdf around london’s liberal campuses
asking porters for cans of paint
the sms outlined a vague sort of [?]
disillusioned by the art world and the dangers which lie and play about the anglo-darkened [?] sense of where to place oneself after graduating
sandy asked me for a hand in her new project

(two days later)
in the small caribbean cuisine hatch
within which life-giving second generation garneans speak in non-hushed tones about a daily slog
very much unknown yet easily empathized with my own
i eat slowly and push b-lls of rice into my eyes
sandy is wearing mouse feet and [?] when we meet
and doesn’t smell a bit like what she used to
by the time i exhale we are on a camberwell road
sandy speaks to me for a good thirty minutes in a fresh new accent
but my eyes are still burning from the red pea soup
and i only pick up on the phrase “graduate scheme”
“graduate scheme”, i mumble
i’m glad you’ve picked up on th–
i’m taken into a new, old build
and there are several other corduroy types
i scan their left hands for signs of marriage
and sigh under a tungsten bulb on finding
that they are all wearing lots of rings
my ex-wife had warned me about graduates with rings
before she ran off and married the crack magazine news editor
“i have gathered you all here, today’s london’s next breed of young artists”, said sandy
“i want you all to find some sort of fame
so you can tell the press what a raging success i’ve become”
everybody clapped
“has anybody got any concepts?”
the actor activist jane ford burped loudly and interrupted with a story
about the time she was bulimic and ate cigarettes for money
the olson twins grinned and asked if we were going to be dealing with the bigger picture
i knew that secretly sandy was going to make me pose naked for her next magazine editorial
“i want you to pose naked for my next magazine editorial”, she said to me
“you’ve got to think about your online presence”, she said
with a smart little thumbs up
it was at that moment that i blacked out

the after art afterparty post drinks were petering out
as i removed myself from the fire in the booth [?]
i stepped past several misanthropic eyes and into the bathroom for a belly purge
the toilet bowl was filled with [?] p-ss
and i feared for the splash-back which was bound to occur
when i emptied my insides within
the flush had snapped off and so i fumbled cupped handfuls of tap water into the toilet with chronic inaccuracy
once the water had regained a more neutral lime blue color
i got to my knees and pushed the least blackened of my fingers deep into my gob
tofu clumps of cat’s foul plopped in irregular heaves onto the lid and besides the free cycle toilet brush
i left the party
up on the top deck of the m17
the bulbs had dimmed and there was a guinness black bulk of noise
a voice spoke from the dark recess of the front
“hey, look
isn’t that the [?] what we just saw flashing on the bus side?”
all eyes looked towards me and all heads rocked starboard
the bus breathed in
looking down onto the side of the vehicle
plastered between the two sets of windows was a photograph of myself naked
a rope had been photoshopped into my hands
and my eyes were now glazed with eyeshadow
words had been freshly spray-painted over the ad
six foot high in a modest arial black on red:
“i’ll do anything for instagram”

- legss

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