A True Story.

December 12, 2008 at 7:22 pm | Posted in memoirs, writing | 18 Comments
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which happened a short time after I had my heart broken the second time. The first time I walked in on my best friend and my first love (and I should point out in the interest of full disclosure that I have no brothers and my father was emotionally absent but I despise Freud.) I was a lonely and difficult child, to see them and here we apologise for our divergence into the hieronymous poetical, fucking
I woke up in a stupor and saw it and wondered if I had encouraged it in some mad fantasy of Berlin in the 20’s vintage which devolves into a drab Catholic graveyard, a grieving mother and us, like his pack, shuffling our feet in the dust in the background.
I don’t know why that war started but I don’t blame her. We just are and things just happen. I said, mate, a shotgun will make so much mess, he said, i love her, i said, mate. His brother, Andrew, found him blue on the toilet floor. Later that night I woke up, in a stupor and saw them sleeping and thought fuck, that’s not the right ending.


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