by Ian on November 20, 2011

by Kerryn Tredrea

Kerryn lives in Adelaide, Australia and has been a dark, sexy, scary spoken word tourist since 1999. co-editor @ paroxysm press, m.c-er of kick arse events & creator of culture.

Her blog address is


So you’re sitting on the bus only the bus isn’t going anywhere, the bus is stationary/The bus is stationary, you are going nowhere/You have boarded this bus in the hope of going somewhere/You have boarded this bus with the expectation of going places/There is a rumble, a rumble underneath/The bus rumbles under you to signal the ignition of the engine/The engine is starting up and your expectations grow/The bus remains stationary but has the potential for movement/You now have potential/You now have potential but no control/

The bus moves/You have no control so you move too/Now you are moving you have lost your potential to move/You now have no potential and no control/You still have your expectations/Your expectations to go places has stopped growing but remains high/The bus moves on/The bus is going places/You are going places/This is a good thing as you are looking for your place/Once upon a time you thought you knew your place but you were wrong/Things went wrong at your place until it wasn’t your place anymore/Your place for now is the back of a bus, a bus that is going places/

The bus moves quickly/The bus increases your speed to such an extent that you are left with that awful feeling in your gut/You are feeling awful/The buses speed increases/The nausea in your gut increases to tell you that you have no idea who is driving this bus or your destination/Your gut is telling you that this is a critical juncture in your trip/Your nauseous gut is now explaining that you should have checked a few things before boarding/You think your gut has some nerve waiting til now to speak up/You keep your mouth shut/You stumble to the front of the bus where the driver tells you this is the express/The bus driver then commands you back to your seat with a series of hand gestures/You are sent with a series of hand gestures back to your seat with no more information than when you left it/Your gut reemerges to tell you you’d better find a fucking clue and fast, faster than this psychedelic succubus can go/

Things take a turn for the worst/You take a turn for the worst/The bus makes a turn that takes you into dangerous territory/Your expectations do not so much drop as take a diabolical turn/Our potential has now turned sinister/The bus is still moving/The bus is still moving but you are no longer going places, you are going to a place – to a place unknown/

Now there is no outside, now there is only inside, inside the bus/Places have vanished to be replaced by the inside of the bus/You look around/You look around yourself but do not like what you see/What you see is not so much the inside of the bus as the inside of a syphilitic brain from the eighteen hundreds/What is really around you is the culmination of every childhood nightmare you ever suffered /

Things emerge from the surface of the pus/Emerging things surface in a threatening way/The bus speeds through unseen places/You wish you could see the places you are speeding through but all you can see are the threatening shapes emerging from the surface of the pus/The emerging shapes turn into circus clowns in name only as they assume positions you have only ever read about in the darkest pornography/They leer at you and lick their lips in a vicious invitation/They threaten you/You are threatened with a fervor that brings the snakes out/The snakes come out to become involved with the sex acts you are witnessing/Your bile rises/Your bile rises and your screams in no way indicate your approval of the situation/The skin crawls right off your body/You try to fight it but the snakes slither right under your skin, flaying you in a very non-consensual way/You are consenting to nothing/The blessed darkness takes you, but not for long/The darkness isn’t long but long enough to make you think that this catastrophe has finally stopped, you think you have finally fucking reached your destination/You think you may have reached your destination but the torment starts all over again/

The torment starts all over again with a phosphorous stench as fire shoots through your spine/The bus speeds on, oblivious to your pain/The sideshow slaughterhouse continues and dismembered limbs are thrown to smack you around the face and body/Your face and body are slimed by the secretions of a thousand sex acts/

The live ones rise/The live ones rise up/You can see in their eyes they are not yet satisfied/Their heavy makeup, gruesome smiles and erect cocks in no way indicate any satisfaction/You look/You look at their gruesome smiles and you think they are dancing a gig but the gigs they are dancing are actually death throes and grand mal seizures/The carnage continues as the bus careens through places unknown/You don’t know the place you will end up but as the dwarfs and misfits approach you are approaching a place of acceptance, acceptance of your own demise/

The bus slams to a staggering stop/The bus stops so staggeringly that you stagger back to smash your head against the back window with the inertia of the situation/The inertia of the situation smashes your head on the back window then throws you forward, through the monstrosities happening around you, through the now open door at the front of the bus/You are birthed from the bus so abruptly, thrown to the curb in a dark alley next to a nowhere truckstop so fast that you do not even have time to tip the driver/

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