Another artist who has punctuated my life gone far too soon – feeling so, so sad
Writing
Equality
Heartbreaking/stunning piece of writing by my insanely talented sister Candice
The day I came out … all my girlfriends took one step apart
it can’t bethey collectively agreed
she’s too pretty, she’s too feminine, she’s not a dyke she’s one of us
didn’t she enjoy sex with that boy in the garden? you know that party the one where
they turned the lights on and saw them straddled in tall grass?
What happened? Did you get raped? Was it because you grew up without a mom?
What happened? Did you get bewitched? Is she a sorceress? A genie? A devil?
Soon after the invites to go out on the girls-nights
dwindled
the newly minted lesbian sat alone with her shadows and her eye make up
growing stale in their plastic boxes
virile boys wondered why they hadn’t kept her straight
cleavage girls wondered if she had looked at them in the shower the wrong way
why didn’t you try…
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Denouement
The mirror reflects
The denouement
Of a rushed
Stolen moment
A sudden caprice
Reckless abandon
Reminiscent of a courtesan
Jaded face
Crumpled dress
Hair in disarray
The smell of sex
Hangs in the air
Heavy
Filling the room
Like a bouquet
Of tuberose flowers
Which exhales
As it fades
Poisoning the night
As it slowly dies
Instant Crush
my half-closed eyes
spy
our shadows
moving on the wall
unsubtle silhouettes
sketched in haste
in bold and frenetic motion
stark in its execution
we’re writing infinite stories
on each other’s bodies
raw scribbled lines
words without rhymes
rough caresses
laced with
occasional tenderness
we moan shudder and gasp
as if taking our last breath
on those insatiable nights
filled with perpetual fights
to stave off the darkness
and postpone death
*First posted in 2015*
They
They tell me
I know nothing about adversity
I’ve never suffered
Never faced prejudice
Thus denying
My tears
My scars
My entire history
Invalidating my feelings
Erasing my identity
Blatantly
While they are so keen
To assert theirs
When will they
Accept
Nobody
Has a monopoly
On pain
*For all the arrogant, self-obsessed fuckers out there who assume far too much when they don’t have a fucking clue. Just because someone doesn’t constantly act like a victim doesn’t mean they haven’t had it hard too – some of us don’t enjoy navel-gazing, wallowing in self-pity and don’t have any desire to play the victim card every day of our fucking lives. But, hey, maybe it’s because we have a full deck to choose from instead of one lonely single one? Just a thought*
Seed
I have never been interested in pale copies and cheap imitations, though I may have been fooled by them for a short while on a couple of occasions. This – by a truly elegant man, a fine mind and a talented writer – is throbbing with (dark) passion.
Seed
You can try
every cure, every potion, every remedy,
you can erase it with drugs, with sex, with religion
you can cauterise it, crush it, cut it, crucify it,
you can freeze it, forgive it, forget it, fuck it,
you can deny it, defy it, deride it, destroy it,
you can burn it, break it, belittle it, betray it, bury it,
you can hate it, harm it, hurt it, harangue it,
you can trick it, tear it, trap it, trash it,
you can eject it, evade it, evict it, eat it,
you can poison it, persecute it, prick it, prune it,
you can shame it, shatter it, smash it, suck it
you can ruin it, regret it, reduce it, rape it,
you can inject it, intimidate it, isolate it,
you can leave it, lash it, lose it.
You can try
every spell, every enchantment, every charm
you can call…
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Gelato
Dancing, lost to the music, nothing else exists but my body and the beat
Vaguely aware that somewhere
in the crowd, in the small pocket of shadows
you are watching
my hips roll,
the curve of my arse,
my fervid arms scenting the sky with Guerlain’s Shalimar,
my chest rising and falling though I’m not breathing
Here on my ship,
the bit parts, hangers-on,
walk the plank – you and I are the leads in bleached denim sprung back from the 80’s
3 songs and I’ll go take your hand because
I can’t resist
I’m greedy,
craving summery things,
ice cream
smeared on my lips, dripping on my skin, running down my fingers –
je lèche tout – innocence and prescience blended in one oblique look
Sugar shot from a gun triggered in the sun,
No wasting such sweet taste
est-il trop tôt for gelato laced with innuendo?
senses overload,
tonight, ti voglio
I know
that you also feel
the need, like at seventeen, to explode
and never see tomorrow
*To mark my Saturday session on the beach with my French gang and our dancing to this perfect tune which inspired me in so many ways I ended up totally ripping it off*
How I wrote my first novel
Brilliant post for the writers, would-be writers and anybody looking for a good read. Tom’s book is fan-fucking-tastic, and so are his blogs – go check him out
Some time ago I was asked to write about myself and how I started writing the WHSmith Fresh talent novel, The Life Assistance Agency.
I started the Life Assistance Agency many years ago. It was initially called the Karma Account, which considered how our deeds might determine our destiny, and this led me to consider how hard this must be for people who are immortal, and particularly laborious once they found themselves into the 200th year.
Not knowing any immortals to ask, I had to make one up. Or rather I didn’t. I forget how I first encountered Dr. Dee, the Elizabethan alchemist of the late 1580s, but I’m glad I did. He had pursued angels, so it wasn’t a huge leap to him chasing immortality.
He seemed a good starting point, particularly in the absence of any others. Actually, Damon Albarn and a few other writers were drawn to Dee at a…
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Daphne
She flees
Light and Fast
Carried by the wind
She shall not be defiled
The thought – to be caught
An horror, oh so vile
But Apollo is close
Behind her he breathes
His despised body she can feel
In despair, she pleads
Blinded by her tears
O father, save me if you please!
There is time to think
Her words have fallen on deaf ears
But, no, her father’s name
Has not been called in vain
As Apollo stretches, reaches
His hand on her hip
Her limbs grow heavy
Her flowing hair in mid-air
Twists and changes
From tresses to foliage
Bark crawls up legs and breasts
Arms lifted up to the sky turn to branches
Now anchored, rooted
And saved, is Daphne
A beautiful Laurel Tree
Forever pure
Forever green
Her metamorphose is complete
*I recently wrote about Bernini and it made me fall in love all over again with his work. His Apollo and Daphne is stunning – it is a painting made of marble, it is drama, it is an epic story. I always go and see Bernini’s Neptune and Triton when I visit the V&A Museum in London, it is the only large scale Bernini work to be found outside of Italy – I’ve seen it so many times and yet it never fails to take my breath away. This is the Baroque I adore, this is art as I understand it: full of emotions, full of life and passion*
Red
I cut
I slice
In a blur
I cry
Life
With this knife
Enters
Me
As I bleed
And relive
The Passion of the Christ
In a tiny, tiny glass
A tempest
In E minor
Colours
Which have never been
So real
Because smoke
Charcoal
Dusky Red
And pain
Is all I know
