Welcome from Simon ! 👋

A stunning selection of vegetable matter, I pile on the bits in my takeway platter. Squeeze down the lid 'til the coleslaw oozes out of the sides and right down me troosers. I reach the tills with my vegetable jail - All squished together, my payment the bail. Then klaxons and sirens mean all are a-stopping: "There's protein beneath your coleslaw topping!" Three dozen eyeballs turn simultaneously, "What, you mean me?" I quip (rather extraneously). A general grumble implies dissatisfaction - "All right, there's some Tuna" my sullen reaction. Up pops the top and veggies are flying, Revealing an egg and some cheese that I'm trying to claim were just bits that got caught on a spoon (Though this makes me look a daftish buffoon!) "Ninety odd pence plus interest too - Tot it all up 'til my face is all blue; You owe us the grand sum of sixty-eight pound for eating our salads and still being round." Indignant of paying for plumpiness I bolt for the door, thinking this worth a try. The door is blocked off by figures resembling the robots of Westworld, causing some trembling. I try to claim ignorance - "Proteins are part of any old salad - and essential for farts". Suggesting that maybe it would be easier not to distinguish seems not to please her. "Ninety pence for a tuna portion, really is not too huge a fortune. Pay us a shilling, we'll throw in a fly though Chef ends-of-fingers are now running dry." I try to escape from this nightmarish bar but are pushed like a pinball, the crowd screaming "Ha! You think you can sneak all your proteins out - We'll sneak out YOUR meat" with a communal shout. So drawn, quartered, cubed, I find myself being Tomorrow's lunch menu, my eyes are now seeing a customer's face considering Me Pie - The price of my protein was perhaps just too high! - Simon Huggins, 29th August 2002

from Creation Myth [#19] At first they were four errant slugs devouring each other in trails of slime until they dropped their shared belief that this was in some way sexy. But now, we are professional balloon blowers, twisting lips to form intertwined shades of lust, arousing shapes and squeaking in fair delight. Talking of balloons, squealing dance I chase you with my wet balloon, the screaming slap against your arse, bare you are delighted. And I - escaped. My only fear is the fucking will end and you and I, the remaining dregs of something greater than ourselves, dare to believe that this is it. Goal reached. Tonight, a decision: I must depart. I need some space. I am but young. I have mates, you your friends. You, I Remember: There's more than this. You agree, you say. You're weak like me, disgust in a fear of atrophy. I say, "And maybe we restrict ourselves. Maybe there's more to sex than two small parts." You are close to tears. I, must close must fuck around. - Simon Huggins, 24th August 2002

from Creation Myth [#18] Failure follow me down, down into the dark and dankness now. Too long in ill-intent No harvest reaped I keep my heart-seed buried, hardened, bent. My friends, quiet, unmake me Wet and scrape, escape the waste and leave me, speck, helpless now - not-waste, not-man, invisible. "He is gone", they say. I lose my tail alone in my self-consciousness. I have such tales to tell but again, I am nowhere. Simon Huggins, 23rd August 2002

from Creation Myth [#17] Criss-crossed girder power pylons carrying threads thin as nylon, towering - I shrink away, unlinked. Buzz away insignificant me. Sat amongst straw-dry grass, upon hard earth, over ants - patter under over around - squishably small. Then there's me under pylons, scuttle-scuppered. You are dry, flaking out now - below, cars scurry, intercepting one another's paths. I look to you. You are quiet. Soaking-up the rough cusp of earth, power, mechanical man. - Simon Huggins, 22nd August 2002

from Creation Myth [#16] The Yarn was good -- The punch-line elevating me to God-like status. My friend looked on -- Ambivalent disinterest feigned. He was undone. And there it was -- I was unpipped -- fulfilled -- his non-accomplishment gone - There amongst the throng, gelled lads -- Generators of wonderment, wish fulfilment healing self-esteem, and grudgingly -- Pride. Defeat. Dear friend. Boy who now puzzles me. Your pretences ushered me onwards to leave you fallen -- broken -- small. And gaining rancid odours -- deceive to deter the mile-tall stone still sought. Simon Huggins, 19th August 2002

from Creation Myth [#15] now your brother is near - It would be to him an amalgam of all his years of suffering to sense me here. Watch your excitable fumblings - my smell is tempering waiting until your own humours excrete then the life-sac tied. Slide such consideration aside. She feels the spray. Your brother is here - my brothers inside. Warmly this passage subsides... Start The realisation jumps electrodes alive - door ajar - Your brother reveals your drip of slime and smells desire. - Simon Huggins, 13th August 2002

from Creation Myth [#14] I am too old for jelly Mother gives rage that wobbles the pud I cannot now eat Please reduce your stress Mother sits down, washed out of blood -- I understand, keep track And in her understated way Mother snatches the undesired away throws it away "Don't throw a menstrual" I say Ironic that it was raspberry Mother grapples with my confrontation and stays -- "Your friend called," in passing -- "He says he's done something." And I know what this means -- The jelly now seems quite comforting. - Simon Huggins, 8th August 2002

from Creation Myth [#13] My mother worries about me -- The smell from my room. She cannot see the faecal stains that blur the divide between bed-edge and floor -- I am glad now of the seventies-style carpet I always thought was shit. The smell has become normal. My friend talks of passage -- Rites he must follow partly for vengeance partly by proxy for wasted miscreants. When he is gone I smell him at night -- Part of him remains as the division between acceptability and that which I could potentially be but as my mother, the smell worries me. Simon Huggins, 4th August 2002

from Creation Myth [#12] there is an odour beyond the fence six feet over the ground i lie upon and the voice asks can you smell it too? i am exposed with my flimsy parts covered by shuffling nylon shorts, nothing else i agree, and pronounce it wasn't me - over the fence she is measuring me oh my, I must relax - oiled and sun-baked - the glazing sun huddles her face in glare - i stare and as murmerings threaten from below my eyes close - "I am here alone." But she is gone. The smell remains - Disappointment Anger Sun-baked rage. - Simon Huggins, 3rd August 2002

from Creation Myth [#11] Today he looks down at me smirks thirsty, i am unknowing, but reason creates its own explanatory vision, purpose in his admonishing gaze hateful he remains small and further distant he is backing away, I am evil for years of goading instant cruelty your crutch a crutch, for making me a better man. Shower down - pity in this revealing place demeaning now for me. Sorry. Simon Huggins, 1st August 2002