My so-called life

Saw Yerma at the cinema (about infertility) and was, for a night, totally traumatised. Then saw The Shape of Water and my faith in humanity (and my love of fairy tales) was slightly restored.

shape of water

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This and That, Then and Now

One last look backward before I dedicate the rest of my life to being exactly the same person I was for the past 30 odd years. Oops. Of course not. Of course I’ll try to be someone different, kinder, to myself and others, more interesting, less terrified, etc, etc. And, failing that, at least I would’ve tried. (it’s always the trying that counts, isn’t it? hahaha)


Ah. That old Edinburgh bed. Let me indulge in its warmth for ten more seconds.

And that’s it, wipe it out, and onward we march… Continue reading

Choices after chocolate

Feeling somewhat more charitable today, especially after over-indulging on a boxful of chocolates.

Upon consideration, would like to salvage what seems incontrovertibly broken – ’tis the season for reconciliations after all. But I have no practical plan, lol lol lol.

But again it’s entirely foreseeable that I might just end up abandoning Project Resuscitation, for do I really have it in me – the ability to sustain hope and interest and love and charity and all these other positive qualities, against lethargy and bitterness and pessimism?

With sugar still spiking through my bloodstream, I really wanted to say, yes, yes, yes…you do, you still do.

Something new, something old; something finished, something yet untold

Am going to be very teenage and post up lyrics: of an ancient song I first heard when I saw The Royal Tenenbaums as a teenager. Don’t remember much about the movie itself (twee and quirky like all Wes Anderson films) but the soundtrack is smashing and has stayed with me every since. Especially this:

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Dial M for Mother

Had the weirdest dream ever in which basically everyone I’ve ever known and loved and fallen out with showed up in a haunted house. It wasn’t the pleasantest dream while it was going on (there were also some mice and a couple of gory deaths involving parents), but when I woke up I sensed it could be in some way cathartic. Continue reading


A Post-Fairy Tale

Blood and sugar

Spiked the hunger,

And hunger blossomed

Into a fever.

The slow treacly burn

Of basic desire.


And soon it was dark.

And then it was darkest.

And then it was darker.


Black and purple and green and blue

Deep red welts and a faded bruise.



Give me your fists will you

So I could stay its pummeling –

If just for this moment


But you say –


Give me your lips will ya

So I could kiss you back


Into breathing.


Never quite got the hang of writing poetry. Despite my love for the genre, I’m a prose person all the way through. (I think because poetry requires not only a sense of musicality, but also a passion for truth, which I don’t have)

But sometimes I do make occasional, brave forays into the land of verse. And ah, there’s nothing like bad poetry to lift the spirits on an autumn morning, eh?