02/02/20 Jayne L, dressed in green, beautiful and sad again, decorates the fireplace with photos of the past. I gaze out from within a black and white polaroid - another room, another season, cross-legged on a carpet (I remember it blue) at an open cupboard. I see her try the pictures here, here, and here. … Continue reading dream diaries…81
Perhaps I'm more intrigued with the ghost of John Simon Ritchie - useless musician, drug addict, spiteful bully, sneering poster boy - than I imagine? He returns to haunt me only ever once a year; I hear his rattling padlocked chain and the drag of those stolen engineer boots before I see him. Oh, but I … Continue reading Tea Stained.
29/01/20 Oh, to live in the world of The Waltons! I see now that this has always been a dream of mine. Not so much the poverty (though our levels of economic living are most probably comparable), but the simplicity of the hours, the years; the honest home cooking; the passing down of the clothes … Continue reading dream diaries…80
“It’s so cold I go to bed with a nipple on. I wake up with one, too.” “Just the one?” I ask. But, yeah, it has been pretty cold this week. Little Annie has been in search of a higher purpose, for some kind of meaning, for awhile now. "Something has to change." … Continue reading Askew In The Saddle.
21/01/20 Miki from Lush, the band not the brand. But just what about her I could not say. 23/01/20 An oily and grease stained garage workshop, complete with a pit, an ersatz office space stinking of ashtray, petrol spill, an old and sad alsatian and a general air of 1986 body odour - … Continue reading dream diaries…79
The man woke early from a wonderful dream convinced that he could speak German. And, to some extent this was true. Ausgezeichnet! he said quietly. His wife arched her comma shape into him. Ein wundershön traum, he said into her hair, but his voice was sticky and thick in his throat, full of cold, as … Continue reading Always in the distance.
