Activities of F.K. Preston

Annie ran off her thoughts and leapt into some divine dream she conjured through years of practice. She turned fifty in a moment. Had her first child upon a cloud. Annie's husbands had green eyes, unlike hers which were blue. Their dream child disappeared like a memory scratched off the brain. Because Annie was now a hundred years old and she wanted to be a god. So she stretched herself until she was the size of Everest and extended her hands like a conductor. She flipped the world upside down and shook out its seas and skies into a pile of pieces, placing them back together as she liked. Annie, the god. There would be no blood in her dream world. And she had forgotten what crying was long ago.

Annie's world died on her three-hundredth birthday when some strange sound caught her attention. Far below, buried beneath the earth, was a call. It reminded her of that child she once had. She picked her brightest star and fell to earth, looking for the source of that noise. There was a rock that quivered as though it was cold. Annie lifted it with thought and found a little girl sitting in the rubble. The girl had no eyes. She had no nose. Her only feature was her mouth which gaped like a wound, weeping scream after scream. That howling snapped something inside Annie's mind. Suddenly she could hear rustling and whispers, muted as though they were coming from another room. But what was a room? There was a firmness beneath her body, and she was covered in some veil. Not soft like the clouds she lived inside but softened enough for sleep. And what was sleep? It didn't exist in Annie's world.
...

I think of your thumb curved gently into the cradle of my hip
And thinking thank god I'm not lonely tonight
And complaining to my friends about you
Because it was too early to say I love you
...

The hunted woman
The screaming girl
The crone
The witch
...

Come one! Come all! Witness our tortured artist!
See his eyes? The grey of a corpse!
And his smile? Inverted, of course.
A crooked creature. Broken and bent.
...

I couldn't sleep last night so I stepped out onto the balcony to smoke a cigarette
there was gentle rain and gentle wind
and no one awake but me
one cigarette became two cigarettes and on three I noticed
...

Emily was a pill
Jack a cigarette
Amanda the nightmare
Peter the drink
...

A spider crawled up my arm one night and whispered into my ear
silky dreams of lovely extremes all painted with coats of fear
when I woke up the next morning to my great surprise I realised the spider was dead
and next to that corpse was the bloody sight of my poor decapitated head
...

If I took myself towards the thin edge of today
And looked down into the pool the last hour made
Would it be morning or the peak of night
Would I mourn my loss or dance with delight
...

I sit in my velvet armchair
And smoke till midnight
With whiskey in my other hand
And wait to see if I suddenly become a genius
...