Monthly Archives: August 2018

Some old stories: Party going

I wrote Party Going in late 96. I was midway through a legal traineeship, some years on from school. I didn’t really do parties. I attended a couple when in secondary school. And by attended I mean turned up and … Continue reading

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Some old stories: Steve and the Hamsters

Between the ages of 17 and 27 I wrote a lot. Short stories. Poems. Autofiction. I got rid of most of it. Hardly any of the poetry survives, which is no loss to humanity. I had kept some stories though. … Continue reading

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Words matter

In recent weeks sitting in the chair talking has become uncomfortable again. I slide down, arms folded, legs crossed, head inclined, glimpsing my therapist over the top of my glasses. Sometimes we talk for nearly two hours, sometimes less, sometimes … Continue reading

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In the loop

Waking at four. Lying there. Hearing, feeling heart, chest raise, fall. Hearing the voice. The whisper. Hearing it. The whisper in the ear. The whisper that denies self. The whisper that denies worth. The whisper that denies. In the ear. … Continue reading

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