Aldus Issue 2 - Web Version

P a b lo d e R ok h a Living parrots fall down dead, dead in cages, blue, infantile dynamism, the child’s happiness, vegetable and imminent, incredibly simple, he plays football his cadavers, and the static, gloomy, regrettable old women unravel the dreams of fifteen Aprils. *** THE IDIOTS smoke huddled together; mushrooms begin to emerge from the monotonous courtyards of the orphanages. *** The public shivers, oblique, disconcerting windschew on stupid organic illusions, ay!, ay!, ay!, the drizzle sows needle-like seeds and it never finishes getting darker and it never finishes getting darker... the bums warm their plebeian hands with ‘CIGARRETTE BUTTS’ spat out by the fat, vast, rude, rich, and some poor sods sing humbly on top of a USELESS car. *** The swallows sleep beneath the eaves, the sickness of LIFE yawns in the bedrooms, the poor urchins frighten the cold and it explodes grotesquely--bats, numb rats. *** Like wandering, fossilised, colonial currencies, the weeks roll on uselessly until the end of time---transitory, inevitable, yellow suitcase--the avenues are filled with the autumnal noise of pity, the autumnal noise of pity, and it’s raining on us; the neighbours cover their sterile souls with sweet and FRUITY memories of summer, and they watch it rain... rain... rain... *** The calm, lowly beasts ruminate in the pale, pale gardens, and the old, deaf, bald, deathly, anachronistic trees, CROWNED 149