I took my pen from a pocket and, for no reason that I could comprehend, blacked out several letters in the headings and, with not a notion of Situationist or cut-up theory, but with an urgent and divine energy, The School Speech became he Scho peech, which, in turn, instinctively, could not become anything but … Continue reading hescho peech
The magi appeared from imagination, stepping from the between to the in-between. Stepping Greenwich Mean Time. Onto the moon, stepping. Stones on water, stepping. Heel to toe, stepping. Fancy footwork! Stepping.
The once-black garment had seen better days. It was unseamed, here, and was quite clearly torn, here (and here). There was a coating of various stains, common with rough and careless living, upon it. The moniker, Derek K. Kerrick, was faintly scripted onto an inch of ribbon on the underside. But this was not the … Continue reading The Rabbit.
January 21st 2007 (M25) The M25 is, as I have suspected for some time, more than just a motorway that encircles London and the surrounding suburbs: it is a dark magic that ensnares. It cannot be coincidence that once beyond its grasp the air becomes breathable; the sky, bigger; the scenery, vibrant - so vivid, … Continue reading Notes From a Fragile Island. 12
The back lane, this new-year dawn, is littered, bleakly - tumbled bins, spent bottles, knuckled tabs, sodden boxes; hound shites, plastic wraps, a quilted headboard, yellowed hand towel; wrapping-paper tumbleweeds troubling parked cars; a bloody gown of herring gull (gutting something); and the last, the very last, or the first, Christmas tree, skulking and skittling … Continue reading The Wronged Tree.