Words that I saw written on an actual door.

The man made of clay,
and an armature skeleton,

whose arm fell off,

and a ramshackle of drunk
Laurel n’ Hardys
on the floor.

They say he’s Irish,
talks about Ireland.
Either Ireland or “an island” –

drinks like an unfamiliar dog.

A well-thumbed Bible,
thrown against the wall,

frantic and important,
the most often stolen book.

Said Matthew,
“why you keep dragging me out
on walks?
My life like a pancake…”

Sad Matthew,
“I don’t care

how many
flowers, birds and animals,
which road sign brings good luck.”

The dragonflies
he imagined
gave his dislodged hand
a clover.


Traditional Ballad – Dying Slowly by Tindersticks, from the album “Can Our Love…” (2001, Beggars Banquet.) Video – Cosgrove Hall Animation Studios

You people are driving me carzy!

Oi! Every bloody night with your rattling of chains and banging on lids of boxes as if it was drumming. You are not young people anymore! This is an empty lot not a bloody nightclub. Go away! ROSE! I told you to tell these people one rule of awakening. Hah! The function of ghosts is to scare. Where is Screaming Jay Hawkins.

Note received from the neighbours Nov 17, 1983. 13 Grace Street. Paddington.