1 He came back this time as a monkey: a macaque with a vague longing; an ache for a mate, for a cloud-capped, snowy mountain to retreat to, for the hot water springs there to bathe in. He hummed, as best he could remember them, the birdsongs from the ever-after. He came back. And, for … Continue reading As Thin As Holy Bible Paper.
The thinner spectre of the two, pale, serene and half in shadow, from the creases of the curtain, floats a plaintive lullaby - her song for sleepless children. "This plastic fort for painted cowboys. This tepee for a brave. This mountain range of books to read - ['The Kid took the reins and the … Continue reading Her Song For Sleepless Children.
January 8 1999 Walcott Street. The morning rain is heavy. A and I struggle our amps and guitars up Walcott Street toward the Hat & Feather where we have hired the back room to teach his brother, G, our short, Shit-Pop set for the Moles gig. When we get to the top of Walcott Street, … Continue reading Notes From a Fragile Island…26
Speedy Ange laughs. Don’t know ya up from ya down, do ya. I'm all over the place. They’re cooking up hot knives in the kitchenette; Tammy and Speedy Ange. I’m failing to tune a guitar in the other room. Bare boards and candles and incense. Ash on china. I’m on my back, Tammy’s sunburst Jaguar … Continue reading The Crow Court.
My future ex-wife is a parchment faced German emigre called Amelie. She's a striking albino with matted hair that, inevitably, every winter grows to such a length that it falls across her coat-wire shoulders like, oh, epaulettes, or wings. Amelie cuts her locks back with kitchen scissors every new year's eve to her jaw, or … Continue reading How I met my future ex-wife.
Jack had a spare for J. Lydon’s book chat event at Whitley Bay’s Playhouse last week. (Book chat? Book shat, more like, I didn’t say.) It was kind of him to think of me. The show had been postponed from last year. The queue winds three sides of the theatre, beach front, side street, back … Continue reading Swastika Décor.