We write to survive.

All writers do, not really for pleasure (that MAY come later) or for Art, (yet that DOES happen every so often). No we write because , like breathing it’s essential to us staying up right.

Dreams and memories, the troubles of the outer world and the smaller less kind inner world, present as chattering demons, who only communicated in half formed thought presented in whispers.

Writing clears the air.

This evening I have toyed with possible past events and off beat memories ‘’everyone has an aura, all the colours of the rainbow, except you, you have no aura at all’’

Things said cling to the skin, some make me shiver in delight, other things said, make me sigh and I ask, ‘’was that real’’

I am so grateful though, for a few messages of Kindness from those close to me

 And the fact that a TV episode (episode 3 of ‘The last Of Us’) can make me cry and believe in people all over again.

The world’s slowest rollercoaster ride, bits falling off and down below, and snakes under the seat.

So wrote this.

More poetry from my guest writers very soon and more flights of swooping strange from me

Listening to: All Delighted People – Sufjan Stevens … Fuckers – Savages

Watching: Children Of Paradise …   Spiderman Across the Spiderverse.