The Ballads Of Mister Rhodes

“That's all we have, finally, the words,  and they had better be the right ones.”  - Raymond Carver. I've never fallen asleep knowing that I would wake up to one less mother, and I'll never have to do it again. Three nights ago I dreamt that I was sat at her hospital bed and she had been trying to conceal something from me. Her attention to deception slipped for a second and I noticed that her ears were clotted with blood. She looked apologetically at me. I asked her how long it had been and she told me that she had only ever heard noises and never what they really meant. She looked apologetically at me.  The cleaner knocks at my door, I pour a glass of wine and walk outside for a while. When I return I know what I have to do. It is my craft; my torment and tourniquet.  If I may trouble you to stand -or at least raise your attention to its feet. I'd like to offer a toast. There will be days in our lives when whiskey tastes just like water, and

"Consumed by the agony of remembrance. The remembrance of night's festive company. The one remaining candle flickers and dies." Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib I feel as if now is the right time to discuss my concept of agony to you -if I can be so foolish as to use the word ‘right’ at such a time. I do not write any of this with a sense of self pity, although perhaps it is a way in which a man like me gives a cry for help; I feel as if life has proffered me sufficient qualifications on the matter. I feel as if... In the late garbled nights of substance abuse and sleeplessness I find myself ruminating on the dangers of bestowing the power to bring joy upon another person, for in that power resides its opposite. Those that look to someone for happiness will find a darkness in their absence. In the bleary eyed afternoons I wonder where the grief goes. I can only assume that the brain and body stores it out of the way for the time being and then at some