‘How often is the sky mauve?’  I wondered, some steps from freedom.

Ave, et cetera, I haven't time for a preamble because various financial institutions are bidding furiously for my genitalia.  

Prayer. Child. Wife. Tea. I sit in my favourite café. There is coffee, tobacco, the newspaper. This is some quiet time spent before a work appointment. A bright, chill November afternoon of easy pace, inside and out. The news tells of two states at war after so long – an artillery attack this time, on a neighbourhood at dawn, a neighbourhood with sleep in its eye. Many pe…

"Fear is such a charlatan... it hammers on your door like a bailiff with piles" It's been some time, but then I say that a lot these days. For lunch my father walked me, with now obvious zeal, to a reastaurant he knew of near Marylebone. I remember its layout so clearly I imagine that I am still digesting my meal and even in memory that place functions as MY dining bar w…

You find me in a basement in Camden town. There is a smell of decay, of sweat, of many things unwashed of the grease of hopelessness. And there is an atmosphere so sour you could squeeze enough out to pickle a hundred weight of gherkins a day. Just a moment ago it was six pm (by the sun's arc) and I was lying on a beach watching the waves leap and tussle in play. Only a moment ago…