GREY or, The end of sensation

Red-top tabloids declare old bigotries, new prejudices, eternal lusts: grey. Neon lights and lacy tights fill tumid minds, reminding few that sex is grey. Delicate pinks and sombre blacks at funeral parlours, old age homes, wink at me, whisper that death is now more certain than tax and grey. Hospitals at least are honest; also, pigeons humping (when pigeons mate it is not with grace not in air but with a brute beating of wings and brooding grey argument); public toilets too, where you look in the mirror but feel nothing; all concrete is honest and dull – grey. The elephants are wise but we hunted them furiously, turned their grey red. Elephants are texture, colour, volume, mystery – that’s why we shot them, dead.

 

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