I signed up for a course - Creative Journaling: it ticked all the boxes. Something that I've always done. Well, you gotta have a hobby, innit. The amusement being me (I should put more effort in). The notebook is the end of the novel - Wish I'd said that - I just did (I note … Continue reading My Strasse.
It is my habit to keep your letters, on arrival, unopened on the mantelpiece, among the mementos and dusty treasure, for sometimes up to a week. Anticipation being one of life's sweeter pleasures. Your bold black hand, the seal of tape (security), the amusing doodles of hairy noses, the way you address the envelope Doctor … Continue reading They tame tigers down that way.
a barefoot shuffle did evolve on the blue and orange rug around which, from heel to toe, we did not speak, but listened to side one of beggars banquet. the silent television screen (in the mirror) shows the moon from the window of our room [space] hoo-hoo "tranquility"
You left for the bathroom. I wiped the bar clean. Some things, I suppose, are better unsaid. Sometimes the news we receive is so mean. “Country and western is dead.” Some things, I suppose, are better unsaid. You searched your sleeve for a tissue. “Country and western is dead?” I leaned over the bar, tried … Continue reading Country & Western is Dead.
Am I being noisy or too quiet, dear muse? Politeness, the choice of weapon we choose. We listened to ‘the season of the witch.' This is our secret and how I wish I adored your sleight of hand ways – but... the silent rewriting and riot of this early spring evening on Whitley Bay beach … Continue reading The Byrds fell in love with Bob.
Considered reckless by some, he could, to these eyes, should the occasion arise, be relied on to act out open heart surgery upon chilled packets of vacuum sealed beetroots and the like. "A pair of old hairdressing scissors, a loose grip on the lingo and a souchon of common. Modus operandi." The running commentary, I … Continue reading the ear of the dim-sighted diner.