“Every Sha-la-la-la, Every Woah-woe-oh.”
"If one is to dream, it is no use being too adverse to nightmares." I’ve been steering clear of blank pages. All that space for more space. An invitation for time spent homing in on aches and pains. Wondering what parts of the body don’t work as they used to. What pieces of information have departed entirely? Names, promises, important dates, the minutes that have passed since I poured oil into the frying pan that grows increasingly angry about my neglect on the stove. More often than not, the bath water is tepid by the time I get around to testing the water temperature with my foot. It’s not that I am particularly busy, I am merely distracted. I am interested in how all of this feels ten or twenty years from now. In my sixties, a relaxing warm sensation reminding me that I was meant to piss. Empty hands at a close friend’s birthday celebration and I have no idea who I’m standing next to or how we got there. Things escape me until they can no longer be escaped. The pas