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28/06/2013 § Leave a comment

Before you break your bough
and spill your salt
on the far reaching ground
listen
the grass is rustling its presence
the birds make sounds which may as well be ‘I’m here!’
there are people waiting to meet you in a country across the sea
and the trees whisper ‘how can you think of turning your back on us’
wait a while
what’s the rush?
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Stories

28/06/2013 § Leave a comment

A client told me a little of his experience as a schoolboy decades ago, how he had been introduced to sex through several older women in their 40’s. He said he’d loved their confidence and self assuredness, they taught him so much about pleasing women.

Another client told me how reading the book Lolita as a teenage boy had irreparably shaped his sexuality. He grew up in an all boys school and read the book aged fifteen, if I remember correctly. From thereon he had always found his sexuality aimed towards dominant under-age girls.

My granddad told me of a time in the army when a sergeant told him off for wearing striped socks and said he had to change them. My granddad calmly told him that he would not change them until he had been given money for black socks. He was never given the money, and so he never did. He’s a stubborn man, has been his whole life. He told me of a time in the war a group of men including himself entered a pub and shot every man in the room, then went upstairs to check for any they’d missed. When they came down a while later one of the bodies sat up on the pool table and burped at them, terrifying them. But it was only gas in a decomposing body.

The fish in our pond are all gone, the heron ate every last one of them.

A Month

21/06/2013 § 1 Comment

I see alcohol become anger. Friendship turn love. Rotten drinks in shiny cans. A road named Independent Street lined with government houses. Broken teeth in white sheets. Still there is no marriage, birth, or death to touch my life. Myself in a mirror, two mirrors, five-hundred mirrors; never naked, always buried behind fogged windows. Tentative feelers of hope spread from my fingertips. I follow the path, I pass what needs passing, I only stumble three or four times. I make it here, I can’t distinguish truth from lies. I don’t know what I want. I smile at a child who doesn’t smile back. I understand that pleasure- or is it joy?- is relief. I grow older.

Where Am I?

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