January 29th 2019
A heavily tattooed hairstylist. She slides the scissors through a sheet of clamped, damp hair. Her arms are blocked in buttery & blue ink hues.
January 31st 2019
A vast iron & glass & stone railway station. I am descending a great swathe of steps that lead from the street to the platforms. Shadows & people pass as blurred, slow shapes. Their forms trail behind them – crossing, briefly linking. There is a time delay of movement.
Carmen appears out of the crowd at the foot of the steps. She is in stark contrast to every one else. She is waving to me. She begins to come up the steps. When she reaches me I see that she is crying. She asks, “Are you okay?”
“As far as I know,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
She hugs me. “We’ve come to see you off.”
Over her shoulder I can see Jodie J & Amy G. They are stood at the foot of the steps. They wave.
“Am I going somewhere?” I say.
February 1st 2019
Sat on a bench in a scruffy corridor, trying to tune a strange guitar-like instrument. It has far too many strings. The floor is littered with debris.
A bearded man appears from a hidden door. He has long, dark hair. He is wearing a long, dark coat, black jeans, scuffed boots. He takes the instrument from me. “Is this in tune?”
“I think so,” I say.
He sits down next to me & picks out a series of complicated triads & strange chords. The sound is angelic & not at all like a guitar, or even a stringed instrument. It sounds more like a choir of distant voices. I watch him. I listen. He has his ear turned to the strings, to the body of the instrument. “I don’t think this is quite right.” And, with these words, he begins to tweak the multitude of tuning pegs. The sound of each string ascends or descends dramatically. He hums out each note – but they are unlike any scale I have ever heard. The overall sound morphs. It still sounds like voices, heavenly voices, but now they sound foreign.
“Is that Latvian?” I ask.
He looks up. Nods slowly. “La-tee-vee-an.”