What do i want out of this? What am I really getting at here?  What is my agenda, my deal?  Let me confess.

I want to destroy your hope, every last ounce of it. I want to utterly deflate you, put a brick wall in front of your face.

I want to murder your belief in a secret spiritual element of yourself that can escape the tide of things.

I want to leave you utterly desolate, stranded, isolated and cut off from all salvation, momentum and dynamism.

I want you to feel the bare earth beneath you, to drag you down to my dark level, the very lowest place, where nothing moves.

I want you in defeat to touch this patch of damp ground hidden underneath the heavy stone of your despair

And to recognise that this is where you belong.



This, between you and me, is an ultimatum

Our own private crisis in which I hold you hostage

There is no room for negotiation here

This is too vital for agreement, let alone disagreement

There is no flexibility for your interpretation of this

This is too central, too crucial to be about something

So don’t…don’t you dare move to understand this

This is only an impulse without a point

A grenade of voice, a violent expression of love

Exploding across your mindscape

A ringing in your inner ear

And now…now, it is done.

Morning Madness

“Is everything alright, darling? What on earth are you looking at?” she asked.  Her husband had been looking steadily at the power socket midway up the kitchen wall, toast in hand, for the past fifteen minutes or so.  “Nothing, nothing at all” he replied, captivated by the darkness of the holes and the mystery of what he couldn’t see beyond.