It was a full moon today, a fact I did not notice until I had encountered several moon-maddened individuals on my way home.
On my way into Brixton Tube Station, a hooded man was shouting incoherently. I had thought he was shouting coherently, since I had my headphones on at the time, listening to ‘Union of Knives’ (Their album is just astounding. I exhort you all to go out and buy it, and not just download it free from some robber site).
It turned out, when I had turned ‘the Knives’ down, that he was incoherent. However, just as he was halfway down the escalator he had a moment of lucidity and started screaming at the passengers going up on the opposite escalator.
‘Come on Then! Why don’t you say something, instead of just staring.. staring! Staring!’
He got off at Stockwell and shouted at a poster of Jeremy Clarkson.
Then in Earls Court, I was approached by a gay homeless man to whom I gave a cigarette and would not go away.
‘Are you going out tonight?’ he asked
‘No.’
‘Have you been to Heaven? It’s for gays and bisexuals, but you don’t have to be gay or bisexual to go there. They let anybody in.’
‘No.’
‘I’ve forgotten your name.’
‘That’s because I didn’t tell you.’
‘What is it?’
‘Ernest,’ I said, off the top of my head.
‘Can I call you Ernie?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
‘Do you believe in God?’ By this time, I was becoming a little annoyed, since I had given this man a cigarette and some money in the hope that he’d go away, but he was showing no signs of doing so.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s a stupid idea.’
There followed a moment of blissful silence, after which he pointed to the sky and said ‘But how do you explain the sun and moon and the creation of the world?’
‘There was a big ball of gas,’ I said, ‘which collapsed under its own gravity to form a spinning disc of burning plasma. The outer rings cooled and clumped together as planets, while the centre stabilised to become our sun. The moon was a smaller planet which at some point caught in Earth’s gravitational field.’
‘Don’t you believe you have a soul?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, as I said, it’s an absurd idea.’
‘I have a soul.’
‘Good for you!’
‘How do you explain the fact that when I slashed my wrists...’ He showed me the scars as prove of this event, ‘I was floating above the operating table and watching the doctors work on me?’
‘Anaesthetics,’ I said, at which he gave me a glare and stomped off into the night.
I stopped off in Tescos and while in the checkout two men came in and said to the Security Guard ‘Have you got any doves?’
The SG looked puzzled.
‘Doves? Do you sell them?’
I thought I must have misheard, but he repeated the question to a baffled SG, after which they set off into the store.
As I was leaving I saw one of them leaning against the door, a mobile clenched to his face.
‘I’m telling you bro. They don’t sell doves here!’
Outside, the full moon was shining down on me balefully, like a mad bugger’s beacon.
Thursday, 15 January 2009
Wednesday 7 January 2009
brixton market shines
like scrubbed tin and polished rust
a net made of eyes
The Ugly One bought me a dalek mug as a late Christmas present, which cheered me up somewhat. It may be the weather, or my bipolar tendencies, but for the last few days I’ve been feeling flat, rather like Bilbo Baggins who has been stretched too thin like too little butter over a piece of bread.
This was slightly assuaged by another acceptance from a magazine.
I have made a resolution to try and finish my novel this year. I have been writing it for about ten years so it’s high time I made an effort. I’ve got to Chapter Nineteen with one murder, a weird sexual act and some high tension chases across London. Maybe I should put those in the novel to make it more interesting.
like scrubbed tin and polished rust
a net made of eyes
The Ugly One bought me a dalek mug as a late Christmas present, which cheered me up somewhat. It may be the weather, or my bipolar tendencies, but for the last few days I’ve been feeling flat, rather like Bilbo Baggins who has been stretched too thin like too little butter over a piece of bread.
This was slightly assuaged by another acceptance from a magazine.
I have made a resolution to try and finish my novel this year. I have been writing it for about ten years so it’s high time I made an effort. I’ve got to Chapter Nineteen with one murder, a weird sexual act and some high tension chases across London. Maybe I should put those in the novel to make it more interesting.
Thursday, 8 January 2009
Monday 5 January 2009
snow is a sky joke
but there’s too many of us
who’ve heard it before
I had an e-mail today from another magazine to whom I had submitted work last May. To be honest, I had given up hope of a response, as eight months is a bit of a long wait in anybody’s book. However, they liked what I had sent them and will be publishing it in due course. I called into the shops on the way home and bought a more palatable bottle of wine, one with no hints of Geri Halliwell, or faint Beckham aftertaste.
but there’s too many of us
who’ve heard it before
I had an e-mail today from another magazine to whom I had submitted work last May. To be honest, I had given up hope of a response, as eight months is a bit of a long wait in anybody’s book. However, they liked what I had sent them and will be publishing it in due course. I called into the shops on the way home and bought a more palatable bottle of wine, one with no hints of Geri Halliwell, or faint Beckham aftertaste.
Sunday 4 January 2009
if biryani
had less syllables i could
extemporise more
I did the chicken biryani today, the one based on a packet recipe I bought as previously related. Despite taking most of the day to prepare it was damn fine, and rather fiery, despite the fact that I included only three chillies and not fifteen as the packet recommends. Had I done so I would be writing this from the toilet with my laptop balanced on my knees.
had less syllables i could
extemporise more
I did the chicken biryani today, the one based on a packet recipe I bought as previously related. Despite taking most of the day to prepare it was damn fine, and rather fiery, despite the fact that I included only three chillies and not fifteen as the packet recommends. Had I done so I would be writing this from the toilet with my laptop balanced on my knees.
Saturday 3 January 2009
‘i will publish these’
says a kindly editor
‘but not the others’
I received one of my usual stamped addressed envelopes today, which I regularly send out with my writing submissions to various magazines, and which, more often than not, come winging back with a rejection slip on which, more rarely, is a handwritten note saying ‘sorry’ or, even more rarely, some encouraging words and helpful feedback.
I got myself a strong cup of coffee and sat down, expecting another slip to add to my collection. However, there was a note telling me that the editor would like to print three, yes three, of the pieces I had sent him.
I poured the coffee away and opened a bottle of wine. Unfortunately it was a bottle a friend had given us and tasted rather like what I imagine a Spice Girls album would taste if the sound were able to be liquidised and decanted into a glass.
Nonetheless it was alcoholic and I persevered, toasting myself on my minor literary success.
says a kindly editor
‘but not the others’
I received one of my usual stamped addressed envelopes today, which I regularly send out with my writing submissions to various magazines, and which, more often than not, come winging back with a rejection slip on which, more rarely, is a handwritten note saying ‘sorry’ or, even more rarely, some encouraging words and helpful feedback.
I got myself a strong cup of coffee and sat down, expecting another slip to add to my collection. However, there was a note telling me that the editor would like to print three, yes three, of the pieces I had sent him.
I poured the coffee away and opened a bottle of wine. Unfortunately it was a bottle a friend had given us and tasted rather like what I imagine a Spice Girls album would taste if the sound were able to be liquidised and decanted into a glass.
Nonetheless it was alcoholic and I persevered, toasting myself on my minor literary success.
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