Dish Dives

some things of interest;

www.islingtonmill.com
THERE ISN'T ANY FURTHER INFORMATIVE DISCHARGE AS OF YET.

“He looked fine to me. Well, I wouldn’t say fine. He looked normal. Well, I wouldn’t say normal. He looked just like he did yesterday. That’s sometimes all you can say of people” (On finding that One-Tooth had gone home sick.)

We already talk quite a lot. We could talk more, if you wanted – there are enough things happening in our lives, in the world, that words could fall from our mouths incessantly, filling every second of every day. I wouldn’t want that though. Would you want that? I don’t think that you would want that either. Not really.

I dropped 50p into the cup.

“He’ll only spend it on crack.”

“I don’t care if he spends it on crack,” I said. “He can spend it on whatever the hell he wants. Just like the rest of us.”

“You’re such a self-righteous bastard,” said Graham.

“Fuck off,” I said. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

‘I want to write the Mary Ellens story,’ I want to scream. ‘I want to write the Mary Ellens story for all of you.’ But instead I sit up all night, taking photos of the remote control.

Idea for next book – the main character is a poultry farmer who finds that he is at risk of bird flu. Is prescribed Tamiflu (research) and has to leave job. Starts at a call centre. Another man starts with holes in his feet. Things fall out of the holes. He then has to ingest those things – i.e. if broken glass falls out of his feet, he has to eat glass. It hurts but does not damage him. (He is not normal. Physiologically. Inside.)

She was sick so hard she burst a blood vessel in her eye. She looked in the mirror and wondered what was happening to her. Blood was creeping across the white of her eyeball like the sea across the beach.

And they’re just so innocent. And George always says, if anybody ever does anything to hurt them two. And if anybody ever spoils their happiness. And you know when you see kids and they’re just beaming. And they’re having swimming lessons now and they put their goggles on and sit at the bottom of the pool, talking to each other. And George always says. If anybody ever hurts them two. I don’t know what I’ll do.

Idea for the title. The Showing of the Instruments. (See pages 332/333.)

Sort out chronology. Who kills who?

She had a dream that there was a town in Antarctica that appeared deserted, but wasn’t, not really. A man hid there and he stole technology from visitors, including my mobile phone. (See the story about the man with the evil eye.) I left my phone at work yesterday, but I’m pretty sure the two things are unrelated.

Behind us, the squarish bulk of the Arndale Centre reaches up to the sky. Bright red neon lettering adorns the top. Light falls down it.

Idea for a short story collection. I wanted it to happen but not like this. A thousand short stories, each ending with the image of a ship on the horizon. A thousand ships.

Electronica gig. The DJ is called Fat Man. Music is mostly like tearing paper, really loud and cut up. As it climaxes, the crowd approaches orgasm, and a small orange man with balloon for a head runs along behind the security guards. Looks like he’s moving in slow motion. His head explodes once he reaches the other side of the stage. Describe it like it all makes sense, and like it matters.

Tom Fletcher

THERE
ISN'T

ANY
FURTHER
INFORMATIVE
DISCHARGE
AS
OF
YET.

The Origins of Nine

Islington Mill, James Street, Salford M3 5HW Exhibition Open ~ 31.05.08 until 06.06.08, 12pm until 4pm Preview ~ Friday 30th May, 6pm until 8pm

To taste with unhinged tongue, The Origins of Nine is an entripping and grossing exhibition drawing together the puss and the poothe of Manchester’s glowing sags.

We come, in skin shed to coddle swab, dwelling in feeble squat come jigged snippet farm. These of fripid collection, seeped in colour and dabbles of softened tack accompany notions probably best known as wound fodder for the mesmerisation of fertile doping and bombflaked abandon.

The Origins of Nine is populluted by Mary Griffiths, Paula Hardy Kangelos, Julie Jones, Simon Jones, Fiona McKillop, Jelena Mosegova, Daksha Patel, Richard Proffitt and Beth Ward.

For informative discharge contact 07976098966 or theoriginsofnine@googlemail.com or visit www.theoriginsofnine.blogspot.com