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Blue
Beret
If I could meet just one girl who wore a blue
beret, somehow it would all turn out okay.
My
Shadow
It's always like this I see her, in a crowded
place, running, but no-one ever talks about it. No, it goes further,
they don't admit it happens
Meandering
A
glimpse of elegance - a character - caught for a helpless moment
from a floating car, on a rainy autumn Saturday in Stellenbosch -
and clutched at for the lifetime that I sense drifting away from me,
today.
The
lover of cats
Cats, to me, are like closed books in a
foreign language in a library far away to a blind man. It is exactly
that bad. Except that they aren't far away and I'm not blind.
The
tale of the hero's friend
Did you ever hear the story
about John and Paul just before the Beatles imploded? On late night
in the studio, with the tension crushing all creative collaboration,
John Lennon suddenly took off his glasses and said, "Paul, it's only
me, it's only John."
Impressions
of Matthew - Part 1
He had just broken up with and moved
out of the flat he had shared with Zoe (with whom I remain friends,
and would still pick to play Holly Golightly if ever I was to do a
re-make of Breakfast at Tiffany's - but in a nice way) and was
staying with a frien
Waiting
for the Moon and My Oblivion, Tindersticks, Beggars Banquet
2003
If you'll kindly take your seats, fill up those
whiskey glasses and abandon all hope ye who enter here, we'll start
our journey through Stuart Staple-land.
Impressions
of Matthew (part 2)
Matthew stood there, not retreating,
and - as I remember - smiling, though that might be a trick of
memory. He knew what was coming though. It is the single clearest
guiding image I have of what it means to be a man.
Daddy
buy me a pony.
The clouds didn't hesitate for a second,
and clubbed together behind old man sun's weary back as he hobbled
off far away. Till tomorrow then? The girl was always thinking about
things that way.
Birds
There's
a pigeon on my windowsill this morning. Dash it, the noise it makes!
Early on, with the break of day, it hatched from my dreams,
shattering them into brittle baby-blue spotted fragments, and free
it flew. |