Tuesday, 23 July 2019


Sweet my love, I want to tell you a story about a man and a dog.

(I don't know why a man and a dog! Every good writer has a story about a man and a dog, so I'm a-telling you about a man and a dog.)

Anyway, here is how the story goes:
Once upon a time a lone man walked in the endless whispering desert inside his mind. He walked and walked, and the sharp edges of the cracked and calcified sighs and screams littering his life cut into his soles.

(I said SOLES, not souls. It's a frigging metaphor. And NO, he wasn't wearing any shoes... Why?BECAUSE IT WOULD RUIN THE STORY!)

As he walked he left behind him a trail of blood-stains, the exact shade of clotted pain. It hurt too - you better believe it - but he was one stubborn dude, and so he walked that trail of shattered dreams for days and days.

At night he'd stop and build a fire with left-over bits of old loves he found tossed and trampled by the side of the track, and sat as close as he dared and warmed his hands to the flickering embers. Sometimes a flame would fitfully leap out and singe his palms, and he would yelp, but never did he lean back. The burning of a dead passion was infinitely better than the cold encroaching poisonous ice of the desert night.

The next morning the pallid sun would rise - it's fervid sickly heat belying its leprous light - and on he would trudge. After a few days, he realized he was being followed. Far behind him, almost lost in the vague shapes of the distant dunes, a shadow stuttered. Close one day, another day further, but always there.

(I don't know what it was, but since it's a story about a man and a dog, it stands to reason it's a bloody dog!)

One night he dozed off by the fire. Something he had never done before, as he feared some old obsession would overrun his senses as he slept. But somehow, that night he slept. And as he slept the ragged hesitant shadow crept closer and closer, and when he awoke he found an odd creature slept curled up to him.

(Yes, it WAS a dog)

It WAS a dog, but a scruffier creature could not be imagined: ragged coat, mismatched ears and snarly limp-tongued smile. All in all, not an animal to bring to mind any kind of warm cuddly tales about men and dogs.

It was - however - a dog, and so subject to the dastardly fate laid on every dog since the beginning of creation: the poor thing knew how to love, and so that is what it did. It loved. and since no better object presented itself in that arid land, he bravely proceeded to love the man.

Now the man was most indignant. He tried to chase the dog away. He threw sharp-edged stones of polished scorn, shouted his harshest words, but the stupid animal would not be dissuaded from his dogged pursuit.

(Ye, I get the irony in using the word "dogged" to describe a dog's mindless devotion to an unworthy object of love, I'm writing this, aren't I?)

The truth be told, on the cold nights, the man found the dog's presence quite useful. The gelid desert stars would throw down sharp arrows of ice, but the dog would stand above the sleeping man and snarl, and the frigid shards would break on his scruffy coat, and the man would sleep unharmed by the fierce stinging pain of old regrets.

During the day, the man forged ahead, and the dog would trail behind, trotting and pausing to sniff here and there; all the while lapping up the trail of blood the man was leaving behind.

This the man found singularly repulsive; as was the dog's attempts at licking at his feet, or at his face, on which the tears ran a constant stream of burning salt. It seemed to the man the animal was feeding on his pain: his blood, his tears; and in the silent fearsome nights when the dog lay close, it seemed to devour even his fears.

This went on for quite a while. Days and days, endless chains of nights. The man walking his cursed path, the dog trailing behind. Oh but one day, the man found lying on the ground something strange: the monstrous bones of a snark.

(What do you mean: what is a snark? Ask Lewis Carroll, I don't know what a snark is.)

The dead thing stretched out on the ivory sand, its rib cage arched up against the sky; its cavernous eyes and empty grin seeming to mock the man. It was just too much, and the man sat on the ground and decided to die then and there.

There was no reason to continue life under these pitiless empty skies. At first the dog nudged at him, and licked at his face, his feet, and uttered plaintive whimpers; but the man would just lie there. The dog barked, he nipped at the man's heels, he even snarled. 

The man pushed him away. "Begone! Fuck off! Go off and bug someone else. Leave me alone."
"I can't!" The dog cried, "I just can't!"
"Why the fuck not?"
"Why because...because I'm a dog! I love you - that stuff about Old Yellar and Jock of the bloody bush-veld is bred into us- and I am obliged to lie at your feet and die if you die; and let me tell you, I don't want to die!"
"Go away, I tell you, I don't want you."
"Well!" cried the dog in a huff, "If you didn't want me, why did you spend your entire life chasing after love?"

But the man, of course, up and died without replying; and the Love-dog howled a bit, and chased a few fleas across its shoulder before trotting off to look for another man to follow home. This time, maybe, one who would welcome the touch of its healing tongue, and savour the comfort of its warmth on a cold night.

(Yep. that's how it ends. Why didn't the DOG die? Well... I don't know. I suppose it's because its a Love-dog, see? And love doesn't die. Not naturally, you know. You have to kill it.)

Saturday, 15 December 2018

Night and Day

The dripping faucet
counts the night
drop after drop
of acid blight
to wash
the pain
drip drip dripping
mocking refrain


Monday, 3 December 2018


If that is what love is
I'll have none

The slide-glide glance
The snivelly beggary
For a second chance

The dark nights alone
Cradling and comforting
Wishing for a heart of stone

If that is what love is
Then I'll have none.

Second-guessing his pleasure
Groveling for approval
Thinking each thin smile a treasure

Not to boast, but I think
I'd rather stay home
Read a book
Watch a chick flick
Write a story,
Paint a smear
Of laughter on canvas

I think I might skip the wine
Though, or darkling midnight
Might find me lost
And weeping,
French-kissing a ghost.


Friday, 31 August 2018

They Feared Lions And Tigers And Bears But The Big Bad Monster Lived Downstairs.

Once upon a time, a happy child lived in a shiny tower by the sea.

Outside was a dark forest full of lions and tigers and bears,

But in the tower, there was no fear, and no danger and no pain.

The child lived with her Mommy and Daddy on the top floor of the tower,

And downstairs near the garden lived her Grandpa and her Grandma.

Her Mommy had a new baby, and her Daddy worked day and night

So the child wandered from room to room and took down magic books from the shelves and learned the secret of words.

You must not think she was lonely, because her Grandpa loved her very much.

He’d sit her on his lap and tell her how pretty she was, and how much she was loved.

And tell her wonderful stories

One day a strange and terrible thing happened.

Underneath her Grandpa’s face, a Monster appeared and opened its jaws.

 And the Monster said: "Little girl let me touch you."

But the child knew a secret word from the magic books and she said “NO”

And the Monster screamed with rage but he could not touch her

That night she did not sleep, afraid of the Monster

But the next day, when she came down to the garden, the Monster was gone

And her Grandpa was just as nice as he was before.

“I have banished the Monster with the magic," she thought, "or it was never there.”

 For a long time, all was well, then the Monster-in-Grandpa said again: “Little girl let me touch you”

And again she said “NO”, and it could not reach past her power.

From then on, she never knew who’d be waiting in the garden:

Her nice Grandpa telling stories or the Monster with the poison words.

One day she said to the Monster: “Begone, or I shall tell the world you are a Monster who made a nest inside my lovely Grandpa"

But the Monster laughed and said: “No one will ever believe you, because they don't want to."

So she told her Mommy and her Mommy pretended not to understand.

And she told her Grandma, but her Grandma looked away.

So she told the Wizard who taught magic words...

And the Knight in shining armor...

And the Lady who made get-well potions...

And they listened, and they heard her.

So the Knight and the Wizard and the Lady took the Grandpa away so they could take out the Monster.

And the child knew that when a Monster makes a nest inside the heart of someone who should be your friend you must shout "NO!"

And if someone - ANYONE - tells you not to tell, you MUST tell!

And tell, and tell and tell...Until someone believes you, because silence makes Monsters stronger.

But true words makes them go away forever, and set the children free.

Wednesday, 23 May 2018

Missing my dearest friend

ME: Did u know according to the stories once a gentile woman came to him begging a miracle for her children and he said "I am the feast set by the Lord for his Chosen People, I am not come for you, or yours." and the woman said to him " Rabbi, even dogs scrabble for scraps under the richest table"

IVAN: True

ME: He healed the children

IVAN; I am not surprised they killed him exclusivity is always precious to the pious

ME: Me neither and yu know they still behave the same now

IVAN: yes always. the enlightened are seldom welcomed. Yu must write ok

ME: what?

IVAN: write, always write. Just write

ME: yes

IVAN: Good

ME: but it hurts

IVAN: Its a gift, supposed to hurt

Me: ok. What u having for breakfast?

IVAN; im thinking now maybe kippers

ME: cool

Saturday, 17 March 2018


You just came in
Smelling of gin
Reeking of sin
Shirt half tucked in
And from that grin
That stumbling walk
I know where you've been

Do you remember when we met?
Your heart was soured by regret
I thought my love would make you forget,
You haven't yet.

I was the clown
Who vowed
To turn that frown
Upside down,
Believing your love
Was a treasure
You'd trade for pleasure

I thought you'd be grateful
Or at the least faithful
I thought my love would make you forget,
You haven't yet.

Why can't I be
The one you need
Why can't you love me instead

I just keep waiting
For you to want me, to my regret,
You haven't yet.


Sunday, 18 February 2018


Would it matter if I lied
And told you
I've said goodbye
To a hundred men before?

Would it matter if I cried
Whispered promises,
And gave myself
To you once more?

Would it matter if I sighed
Every time you passed me by?
Would it matter to you at all?

It's over you said
On that sour bed
Rumpled sheets,
Where my heart bled

It's over you said
And cast me aside,
Trampled my pride
And left me for dead.

Would it matter if I did
All the wrong things:
Ran to your wife,
Ruined your life?

Would it make you return
Would it change your mind
Would it make you mine?