Zoning
'uitgaansgeweld' - Dutch word used to describe 2010s wave of mindless nightlife and youth violence
Zoning
Holidaying in Romania.
Forty-eight loads of milk.
Four thousand news pictures of dead girls.
Was plying through Kaliningrad
with four idiots from Llandudno, Wales,
saying
they didn’t want to be perceived,
perceived as my underbosses.
We took some speed, sank mojitos,
ran into a group of tearaways.
Was a scuffle
between me and an Arab skinhead.
Nothing major, but I cracked him and tuna-knifed him.
Now I’m hiding out in the spa hotel
washing the blood out of my eyebags,
out of the V-neck.
Aren’t I a malchick?
Police will come,
or tearaways will come.
Someone hates me enough
for this hotel room to belly inwards.
The sweaty skinhead I smeared with bloody fish batter
was very keen
on telling me he worked in logistics.
That he was libidinal leg-spread for the unpeopled Golden Triangle
and filled his permeable rotting conscious
with invoices and meeting red-haired suppliers.
Doing his GDPR onboarding,
Doing nothing in split-level industrial zoned Lutterworth,
doing nothing but being reliable,
doing nothing besides not being
a parasite to soc, staring out the window
saying “yeah uhhh I like it, yeah.”
And being timely and crouched in the backroom,
talking up how his company Toyota is 38p
per mile after the first 10,000 and 52p after 12,000
like a bull talks up sterilisation
and like drab industrial zones talk up equidistance,
talk up pharmacology dispensing from the blue walls.
It’s important to do these things.
To do non-value reliably and shellac that wage packet
back into grease and rubber and dual carriageways
and park n rides and surplus IQ points and exegesis.
I like Romania because it’s a holiday
and I like the spa hotel because
in it I am staring at the coffee beans on the shelf.
Delirium comes to me, I aim sternwards at it.
Ideas about killing everyone,
ideas about how shit
everyone who ever lived was and is.
And how dog eat dog graduate job telemarketer from Preston is.
How British holiday thug is never intellectualised away
by a Russell Group First, by an acronym,
by your dribbling corporate eyes.
I thought all this some minutes ago
and I saw the industrial park,
I saw the office canteen,
I saw the office Secret Santa paper sacks,
I wanted you all to die,
and I thought
if you did,
it would have changed nothing.
And I watched TV
and saw the news
and I wished for them to go away as well.
In Romania and in Britain,
forty-eight loads of milk,
in Kaliningrad,
Russian enclave.
Doing the ultraviolence,
a good malchick.
Having premonitions of deaths
other than four million girl deaths.