"It's about words, and words are all I have…"


is writing about dead relatives overrated?  your

readers satiated?  yet   what did you have to say

prior to diagnosisday?  (august 2016)   words limping

out of the past   obsessional knots   built to last










nihilistic ballistic missiles  aimed at life  leading to  no

small amount of strife  for readers who clamoured  for

sunshine +daffodils   in deep darkness denial   but lately    hope    !!

which not only floats   but creeps slantwise in


now your dead bro visits you   touched your arm  yesterday

at dawn   and there he sits in the darkened living room too

and when you swallow your pot oil at night  finger slippage

leads to him  flying around the room


but you’ve come to see  that he  rose up out of a florida

crematoria  brandfucking new  {so why can’t you}

crematoria notwithstanding



..but now and again on more occasions than I can number, 

in bed at night, or in the street, or as I come into a room, there

she is ; beautiful, emphatic ; closer than any of the living are..

(Virginia Woolf  Moments of Being  1976)

..13 at the death of her mother ..writing 45 years later..

just before her own suicide..)




Winter 2020   ..same shit a different day + the pope he’s still in rome..

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