Archive for December, 2007

One minute passed at one minute past

Where does all the time go? Sixty seconds have already happened, lost back there some­where, and I’ve barely begun. Damn this cease­less, onward march. I know, I know it all very well, via more years of exper­i­ence than I wish to cata­logue right here and right now, since we’ve only got a few minutes left. […]

Footprints in Snow

Caught, trapped, wrapped and wool­len bound in a com­plete whiteout, a winter won­der­land of sorts, with my fin­gers little more than a faded mono­chrome mere mil­li­metres from my face. I can almost believe that noth­ing else exists — that noth­ing else ever exis­ted — bey­ond my pro­tect­ive wall of rust­ing wire. The ever-buzzing hive, the thriving […]

The World’s Worst Eskimo

The World’s Worst Eskimo was sit­ting in my living-room, sip­ping from a mug of cocoa clasped between her trem­bling, frozen hands. The chat­ter­ing of her teeth quite drowned out the reas­sur­ingly dull drone of the passing traffic, five floors below, as it headed for the con­sumer­ist bright lights and a fren­zied bout of last gasp […]

Unsent letter #8

Dear You, Give or take a day or two, and more or less half a memory away, it struck me this after­noon, like a force­ful blow to the back of the neck from a malevol­ent spirit, that it has been a full year since this still regret­tably one-sided cor­res­pond­ence began. Such thoughts fre­quently occur to me […]

Dancing about architecture

Here begins an urban fairytale. Stay­ing in is the new going out. It’s the new black. It’s what everyone’s wear­ing this sea­son. I don’t get out much, as a rule. Out is over­rated. Too much of a much­ness. I prefer stay­ing in, care­fully tend­ing to small out­crops of dead skin cells as if they were […]

Work and non-work

It is going to be a long day. A very long day indeed. As I sit here, men­tally steel­ing myself for a five-hour ‘busi­ness event’ that is surely going to be the 21st cen­tury equi­val­ent of one of Leni Riefenstahl’s films of a Nazi rally — only slightly less enjoy­able, and with none of the […]

Skin-written

I can­not con­trol my skin, so I etch on it for tem­por­ary relief. Scratch out the fever­ish, black-bloodied let­ters onto the milky white. I should get out more, or else fade into so much grey­ing and decay­ing and gone, finely dus­ted. The nib bumps over the dry, flaky sur­face. Don’t scratch, don’t itch, don’t retch, […]