We are not you and I, we are people.
I call me Inspector C. Solving mysteries since the womb, like why I was born out of wedlock. I don’t pursue the answers, they’re constantly knocking on my door. That’s why I live in a house swamped in papers, writing it all down until the truth be told. Any problems you have like why he don’t love you or why that one died and the other didn’t, just send them my way. I know these questions kill the soul so just pass them onto the pro.
If you can control it is it worth feeling?
We know that nothing good lasts forever so of course we built our lives upon the sand with all the other foolish young. And danced to the death and ascended higher than the heavens in our debaucherous basements. And we loved every sweating second of it because who’s going to be left to love it when someone switches the lights back on?
And surely she did. The old woman with the arthritis and the bent back holding an hourglass and cracking it over our heads.
But did we enjoy it while we beat it black and blue to the death? Hell yes, because killing it was a close second to keeping it.
Who needs the sun when her smile is ultra violet?
Though my uterus will always ask why you looked so abnormal, rolling out onto the kitchen table, I will never doubt the orange that was derived from my own skin concealing red segments run through with white veins. That’s a little bit of me that the world didn’t see coming, but a bit of me that I recognised all the same. I don’t have the guts to place you in the fruitbowl, but I know a place where you can live under my pillow.
The only thing more powerful than my words is my silence.
They’re all trying, reading, learning, researching, practising, striving to gain something that can never be theirs, because it cannot be grown nor planted. It exists.
You know it. If you don’t know it, you never will.
The one where you’re the emperor and the one where you’re deceased. Inside my head all the King’s horses and the King’s men are fighting an endless passionate war. Outside my head, the world has turned a blind eye to my pain and suffering. It’s the difference between not giving a shit and giving a big stinky shit. My mind is wading through the latter but my body is clean.
Two worlds. Some would say I’m not even living.
We thought we’d made some hideous mistake, deformed the world in its sleep. So we squiggled around in bed all day. Three bodies, nobodies, three buddies lying in our cocaine tears. And when the white spirit left our corpses, we went downstairs singing, and forgot about the world we destroyed on that bed.
Mama says, today you are born. I will always be giving birth to you from beyond the grave, from the stars, from a timeless tomorrow. Look up, especially when you are down. Draw strength from what only a mother knows from watching eternally, always watching, always knowing. Today, tomorrow, they are all one, and
Love then die, but always love.
I was going to plant a flower.
I was going to sit in the sun.
I was going to go for a walk.
I was going to paint something nice.
I couldn’t do it, mama.
As friend and confident narrator of this little love story, I couldn’t be happier for you and R.
I hand you over to him with all the faith in the world that you will constantly inspire, wind up, enthuse, anger, love and tear each other apart into more and more beautiful people everyday.
Love you both
When you wonder, ‘what’s going to happen to me…?’
Before my scalp started burning I was just a person. When my head started beating and I started looking for a hand to squeeze I became a woman who needed a man, and that man was you. Unfortunately.
I don’t have time to haunt you with my wicked cackle and my cruel asides.
I won’t be there when you lay your head to rest making you scream ‘baby, please stop’.
I won’t be waiting around every corner for you, stalking you, uttering spells concerning you.
Whatever you’re feeling, baby, be assured, it isn’t me.
To the supporters and fans, to the mums and dads in the grandstands. To the people that remain the same whilst we’re constantly changing. To the believers and prophets waving our dreams at us like banners and flags. To the torchbearers and peacemakers lighting our way ahead. To the whisperers beyond the grave cheering us on to the end.
We salute you. We thank you. We owe our lives to you.
If your human heart was constructed out in the desert tortured into shape by the searing sun, then I believe you will return to the heat.
If we were born of the same dreams and nightmares, then I believe that your successes and failures will only lead you back to our beginning.
If you are even fifty percent of the man I know, you will remember the fifty percent I hold and you will find your way home.
(She who never doubts, never fears)
When you stopped looking after me, so did I.
Dedicated to my fellow Wolf, Holly Parkhouse
And all the wolves come out from the craters in which they’ve been hiding.
And all the howls carry apart the clouds like the cream on their coffee separating and curdling as they sit pining.
Wolves and women. Women and wolves.
Beware of the elements on their one night of power when a wail is worth a legion of armed men.