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Dear friends ( Read more... )

These same old words: becoming friends, growing old together, rubbing up against one another till none of us mean what we did at the beginning. “Possibilities” and “anticipation” and “fright” and dreams and drugs and childhood boat rides. Say them too often and there’s no charm left to them - no charm left in you - and all the books lining your ( Read more... )

Almost.

Those roads that drag behind you - like tails (the way you came will always be part of you), like entrails; the maps ahead of you, crisp, unmarked - and you’re looking at the colours, at the mountains and the white cliffs and the Aegean Sea, and thinking it could be you, climbing, swelling, one of those colours. Swift transitions like how her ( Read more... )

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It was beating fiercely, you were throwing hand grenades and running towards the dust; your face against mine from behind and it all came pouring through my spine like palm wine; we were travelling through Chile on your back. A crummy motel room with a neon flashing light out front, wind blowing up some pouting girl’s skirt: there’s a vacant room ( Read more... )

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When I said the restriction, when I said the smog, well… I only meant to ask myself how things happen at all in that foetid atmosphere. Because things happen, things have happened. Like the single phonecall it took, the one I was waiting for since last Sunday that came on Saturday afternoon when I’d already given up hope. And the voice so ( Read more... )