Hugo Docking


(Written for a friends soundscape project on the topic of memory. He wanted me to capture the atmosphere and confusion of substance-induced memory-loss.) 


*Gasp* What is this twisted place.
One eye fused shut I’m stumbling up
The room is swimming there’s blood on this pillow
This place smells of weed and seaman and
Fuck where’s my clothes still can’t see gotta open the fuckin-
Cock! That’s too bright, gotta leave, this rooms fuckin spinning me out,
Grab a sheet, wrap it round, I must look like that guy-
What’s his name? I forget. With the cross and the thorns made of crown-
That’s not right, what I said. I’m the wrong way around,
Gotta leave, this room’s fucking spinning me out.


Outside now. Don’t recognise a thing,
I’m stumped. How’d I get in maccy-D’s?
I’ve a coffee some chips and a plate of-
What? I got changed? These aren’t even my clothes,
Life’s just spinning faster than a spinning top on a turntable which is sitting on a –
What’s those things that turn with horses playing music like a circus?
Wait what? Where am I? How’d I get in Maccy D’s?
This shit’s weird, what’s the time what’s my name,
Shit- what the fuck is my name…


I’m outside by the bins, had to leave,
That room was fucking spinning me out
Have a line, tow the line
Between fun and confusion,
This shit’s weird but I love it its giving me the shingles.
Shingles? I mean pringles, no tingles! Fuck me,
Words are all jumbled, are all jumbled, like de ja vu,
Time is fucked which came first, am I seeing this right?
We’re inside and the music is blaring, but they’re chucking us out
We just got here! Fuck it, that room was fucking spinning me out.