Category: Love


I remember a slum front room on a rain-broken morning. Weak sunlight filters through cracks in a raffia blind, throwing feint patterns onto a worn fireside rug.

A young woman sits on the rug with her knees drawn up supporting her face-down head. She’s crying. An occassional tear escapes and falls to the rug.

On a bed in the corner of the room a man half sits and half wants to leave.

“I must have turned over in the night a hundred times,” he tells her, his tone one of a strangely constructed question, “but I can’t remember saying ‘I love you’?”

************

Anthony is slowly

Disappearing.

“It’s this present tense experience,”

He says.

His foot faded away

Yesterday

And became

Nothing.

“History,” he tells me,

“Is what was present in the past.”

Now he’s footless

In the future

And fantasy

Free.

************

Conversation from an alley at the rear of the Rainbow Theatre, Finsbury Park, London, circa 1978. Speakers — quality and quantity — unknown.

Great band. What an act, man. Shark Fin Tsu and The Fishhead Gang…

— Little bit of this, little piece of that…

— We gonna back stage, yeah?

— Sure. Good ol’ frien’ a mine, Shark Fin… from the early days.

— Primo’s got a new drug… market research, get it?

— Well…

— Totally new, man, designer high, like wearing the synapses on the arse of your pants. Know what I mean?

— Human Secrets Agency (HSA) got it all sewn up… the whole market. Got human feelers out disguised as punks and rent-boys, soaking everything up.

— So, Paul Zanzibar is waiting for a cab… take him to the gig. Takes a new pill to pass the time.

— No sense no feeling…

— Blood simple. Arrives at the gig talking total nonsense…

— …and ‘ero’s trying to fin’ ‘er way out a chapter one!

— No mercy no surrender…

— Blood simple cry tough…

— Her real name is Amanda…

— Sure, I’ll have a mandie…

— Yeah, Shark Fin Amanda. Try to make it with her once but Human Secrets Agency has her all sewn up…

— No mandie no deal. 

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John Lennon – Love Music Video

This month in 1981, Mark David Chapman received 20 years to life for the slaying of John Lennon.

He is reputed to have worn a bullet-proof vest beneath his T-shirt in court when the sentence was passed down.
Add a video comment to this video

Priceless comment

I was browsing the online version of the Scotsman newspaper the other day and came across the headline:

Three jailed after birthday party ends in frenzied cleaver attack

I read the report, which concerned Stephen O’Donnell, a young man in his late teens who, having been dumped by his girlfriend, becomes depressed and is subsequently prescribed prozac.

One evening in January, our young friend, presumably high on the “happy pills”, discovers that the young lady in question is at a party hosted by another young man, Stephen Shaw, whom he suspects is the reason for the breakdown of the relationship.

Anyway, the upshot is that the first Stephen and two friends arm themselves with a meat cleaver, knives and a set of numchucks–a martial arts weapon with a chain linking two wooden batons–and gatecrash the party.

The second Stephen’s right arm is almost hacked off and he is stabbed multiple times in the stomach; his heart stops three times as medics try to save his life during an all-night operation and he requires 30 pints of blood.

Stephen O’Donnell ends up in court where he blames his actions on the prozac.

The trio are sentenced to a combined 19 years.

Not a remarkable story, really; this kind of thing happens in Glasgow most weekends.

However, I happened to glance through the comments section and discovered this, from Carol of Stirling:

Surely it’s time sentences became relevant to the severity of the crime, in this case these guys deserve to be locked up permanently – premedicated attempted murder – they planned it, tooled up and did not succeed only through chance certainly not through self restraint

Beautiful, Carol, absolutely priceless.

Changed Forever

And if you’ll see Andmoreagain                                  

Then you will know Andmoreagain

For you can see you in her eyes

Then you feel your heart beating.

And when you’ve given all you had

And everything still turns out

Bad, and all your secrets are your own

Then you feel your heart beating.

He died yesterday.

I can’t believe no one told me until today.

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