January 11th 2005 (Croydon) More flowers in the alley between George St. and Park St. Condolence for a kid killed by a bouncer at Flares: Goodbye m8. God Bless. Gutted. RIP. The bouncer was charged with murder on January 1st - what a way to start the year! The news doesn't surprise. I witnessed from … Continue reading Notes From a Fragile Island.
I packed a stack of old records in a Tesco's bag and took a 109 into Croydon. Some were mine, some were yours; once upon a time we called them ours. Tim looked sad as he opened up that Tesco's bag and spread out all that vinyl on the counter. He pointed out some scratches … Continue reading scratches in the sunlight.
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.
"You’re telling me, when you went to church as a kid, you never got an orange with a candle stuck in it?" "An orange?" "Christmas orange." "At Christmas?" "Uh huh. With a candle." "Don't think I ever went to church as a kid." "Hmm. Well, you got this orange, okay, with a candle stuck in … Continue reading No wig, no gig.
I rarely see myself in the day mirror anymore, having learned to disappear myself. The day mirror has become my third eye. The day mirror allows me to become magnificent, mercurial. I enter and leave it at will. Within its frame, I free range and, despite being close enough to kiss your ear, I look … Continue reading Mirror (1-3).
Had he never misplaced the mojo, he may, he reasoned one evening, have been able to keep a keener eye on his star. But, he sensed, it had fallen. He came to this late. Drew scant detail. Reason, as such, eluded. He dreamed a nearfuture pocket of his being patted. Mojo? He looked up in … Continue reading Dim Star, Mojito & Mojo Rising.