When a foreigner on the street asks you for the whereabouts of the semen centre, you know that this is not what he meant. But still, as you try your best to conceal that, admittedly, improper mixture of amusement and astonishment on your face, continue reading
Month: Oct 2022
On my squeamish urbanite nose
When a daily shower becomes synonymous with the lap of luxury, a bath even more so, living alone, not to mention working remotely, starts to look nothing short of a blessing. Don’t get me wrong, I take care of my personal hygiene and I believe in its importance, continue reading
Nothing new in the north
Awoken by a heavy rumble on the windowsill, I embraced autumn’s moody morning with columns on yet another new prime minister, soaring electricity bills, and the war in Ukraine—the usual, I guess. Then, after this exercise in my meticulously implanted continue reading
Dilemmas of my own
I wonder what it would be like if my surname were Young, if it would suit me, especially now, in my late forties, when I feel anything but young. Unfortunately, none of the twelve shillings’ worth of words occupying my desk brings anything continue reading
The disembodied
I missed the morning sunlight trying to decide if I really knew that “here is one hand,” and now, as raindrops trickle down on my reflection in the window, all I can think about is the disembodied lady and how much she differed from health faddists and the ones continue reading
All the pleasures, simple or not
There are simple pleasures like a late-summer beach walk, the aroma of freshly baked bread, and waking up after a full night’s sleep, and there are those not as obvious, like a passage continue reading
A night train
I had my chance for a happy life, or at least for a meaningful one, and now all that’s left is an artificially prolonged apathetic wait for a prompter to cue from behind the limelights my final line. continue reading
The smile of my choice
Carving a jack-o’-lantern is as alien to me as ending a sentence with a preposition, and yet I got used to the latter once I learned the islanders’ tongue. Buying a pumpkin shouldn’t be a big deal continue reading
A brief reflection on the meaning of life over a pint of lager
A saddle-goose once saw death’s head upon a mop-stick weeping. “What is the matter, my gaunt bud?” he asked, since tears were dripping, but what could be said at the sound of a bell beyond the timeless continue reading
Harbor nights
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I think of La Divina, who, all of a sudden, comes to mind like a gift-wrapped bedtime prayer begging: pietà, pietà! Too late to play the record leaves me with a distant memory of that great ugly voice of hers, once continue reading
I see you are happy now
I guess it is easier to just say, “I see you are happy now.” But one doesn’t smile too widely, doesn’t laugh too loudly, and wanders around with their fist clenched tight on the bottle neck. Happiness, I mean. You know, that almond-milk-bathed continue reading
The peripheries
I was never really fond of yellow, not until I met Miss Georgia Lass. Two seasons later, only a hint of metaphysical indiscretion remained unpraught in the canary shade. And just like that, the realisation came continue reading
Who are you?
Sometimes I wonder who you are—you who read my words. I’d like to think I have affected, perhaps even changed, your life, but I guess it’s just something people like myself fantasise about, continue reading
To do the dance exactly right
There are only two kinds of people in the world—there are women and there are not. I am not. I know this could be seen as a somewhat narrowed perception of reality, but what can I say? I am a simpleton continue reading
A shift in punctuation
There are notes in my handwriting that fill the blank pages on the backs of volumes crowding my bookshelves, each a trivial remnant of a stranger I believe I once knew. Sometimes when I look at them, it comes to my mind: all this effort and no sign continue reading
A birthmark
My birthmark is invisible, like all the books piled up in every corner of my memory. I simply lack the sturdy biography, steeped in dramatic paradoxes, that has served so many so well. And I guess there really is continue reading
hidden pilcrow 