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Suicide
Birth befalls meLife occupies meDeath completes me– Édouard Levé, Suicide ‘The Death of the Author’ is a 1967 essay by the French literary critic and theorist Roland Barthes. It has nothing to say...
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#733
The Insides of WordsI gave her some hollow words to fill and she asked what with. I suggested the truth but the romantic in her wasn't too keen. So she left them empty on a shelf. She said they meant...
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#734
Grief at PartingI let the moment go. I left you lap and your breasts, my sister's breasts, to rest my weary head on dreams and colder memoriesnot strong enough to be weak on honest enough to wantand...
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#735
Pillow Fight"It's all right," William said (talking to my chest), "When it's not all right I scream into my pillow. "It's full of breasts you see –I rip them out of magazines and papers(we're not...
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#736
My Pain (to be read out loud)(for J.) What do I say? What do I say to the pain, “Pain, go away”? You are my pain; you define what I am. What would I do without you? We have been together so longlike a...
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#737
The Spark(for J.) She didn't see it at firstbecause the world was full of lights. Then the lights went outand the sky was filled with stars. But when the stars fell downand all was dark and coldthen...
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#738
"Behind the Wood"(for J.) How did love find its way in here? What's it doing in a place like this? It knows it'll die –there's nothing to keep it alive –and yet it came. Somehow I knew it wouldbut I...
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#739
The Power of Love(for J.) Love is a straight line –it gets right to the heart of things. Love squared is expansive –it covers a multitude of sins. Love to the power of three is deep –it takes time to...
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The Meursault Investigation
[T]he absurdity of my condition … consisted in pushing a corpse to the top of a hill before it rolled back down, endlessly. – Kamel Daoud, The Meursault InvestigationI was probably eighteen the first...
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The Strange Recital
I went to a short story reading at the weekend. It’s not something I do very often, go out, but I made the effort because I knew two of the guys reading and wanted to be supportive. I’d no expectations...
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#740
Passengers(for J.) Excuse me, I don't know this place; we're not where we were. I'm sure we've moved on. Mind if I join you? Guess I must've dozed off. Where're you headed friend? No; don't tell me....
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#741
Messages(for J.) Words can be filledwith all sorts of things: meanings and feelingsand secrets and lies. I found some of yoursin a sentence todayhiding in a letterpacked full of truths. I wasn't sure...
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#742
A Voice to Need(for J.) I lay on my bed last night, grafted your faceon a past we could never haveand filled it with memories –only good ones –where all the rows ended in love. But the images were...
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#743
Promises(for J.) It seemed such an appropriate placeto begin a journeythat would never end: a beach that went on foreverbeside a sea that wrappeditself around the globe; the symbolism had notescaped...
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#744
Moment of Truth(for J.) She found herselfalone with the truth; it was an awkward moment –they'd not been introduced. They'd seen each otherover the years, of course, a nodding acquaintancein a small...
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#745
Holding On(for J.) She cradled the receiverlike an extension of himhanging onto the momentand wrapped her arms around herself –a surrogate embrace –while his gentle words warmed her. Someone out there...
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#746
The Secret Place(for J.) Though not too farit is difficult to reach. I sent my eyesbut they misread the signs. And then my tearsthough they broke down on the way. Now it's just meand I'm not going...
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The Anatomy Lesson
The burden isn’t that everything has to be a book. It’s that everything can be a book. And doesn’t count as life until it is. – Philip Roth, The Anatomy Lesson “The Anatomy Lesson is about the...
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#747
The Visitor(for J.) He said he was a ‘visitor.’ She didn’t know the expressionbut then there was no one to ask: her world was empty. It seemed he had comea long way to see her. He called himself...
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#748
Souvenir(for Cilla) Was it with words or a kisswe tossed it away, that part inside us boththat's gone for good? Or did they rob us? You know where I am of course: I'm apart from you. But what is it you...
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#749
Blindness(for Cilla) They say love is blind to truthso tell me the truth: what is it you see? Let me hold the words. I need to touch them to know them. Help me. I'm finding my way in the dark –it's...
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#750
Sticks and StonesThey say lots of thingsand some of them are true. They say love is blindbut it's them that can't see. We're real but all that'sleft of them is wordsand words can't hurt us. 12 October...
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#751
The Dawning(for Cilla) Albeit far away I still sense you –a silent warmth that stirs me to life –I know you're behind me and it's time. The shadows of my past stretch before me. Should I turn around...
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#752
The North SeaIt's strangehow such a cold and formidable thingreminds me of you, its icy breakers failingon a beach we've never walked onnor likely ever will. And yet perhaps that is it. That after all...
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Ten years after
All good things come to an end, and all bad things, too, one supposes, and, as a matter of course, the noncommittal and the inconsequential… The More Things Change, Jim Murdoch This will be my last...
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