I have never been particularly fussy—a glass of tap water and a piece of contemporary drama would be enough to nourish the body and soul of my own creation. So, spoiled by all the words I read by the dim light continue reading
Tag: death
It is what it is
A man’s whole life in a single stanza—what would that be? An arbitrary anecdote with a half-baked punchline over a pint of lager that dared to turn into a good work of fiction in the attic of a morgue? Perhaps. But this would imply that it is possible continue reading
By the way
We are going to die. Yes, and we will die in a well-covered silence that changes nothing—see visitors’ beds, which count the strenuous hours of uneventful sleep with the precision of borrowed time—a performance reluctantly paid in advance 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
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
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
Passing away
As worn out as a shellac record and just as brittle, I’ve got my mug shot stamped in a book of wraiths. continue reading
I’m not a bad person
Life insurance covers the event of death, but what insures me in the event of life? So far, I keep my hands above the table, even though most of the time I have no idea what to do with them. continue reading
an elegy on the death of a decent middle-aged man
you know that you have lost when you come to a singles’ night out and there are more than twice as many men as women, the latter being either your daughter’s or your mother’s age. ... continue reading
the dying flame does not sleep at night
night intervals measured by dreams and physiology bring the brevity of fate, this ironic courtesan, ... continue reading
nine-eleven
first, nineteen men killed two thousand nine hundred and seventy-seven people. then the “war on terror” began, which has ... continue reading
hidden pilcrow 