A largish hom led the other homs behind him into the dark cave holding his spear loosely. They all stopped and he indicated over to where the shape was. There were cries and hoots and the closest homs slapped the spear-holder heartily.
Then the tallest of the homs made a move a bit too close towards the rock as if he meant to touch it and the spear-carrier jerked him back. He barked at him shaking his hand from his shoulder and the spear from his other hand. Loud noises were made and teeth were bared. The tall hom swung at the rock-presenter, and grappled him, the pair stumbling towards the group. As they bashed into the other homs the hom and a bystander were knocked to the ground as the group split and they all began to bark irritably. The two that had been toppled clambered up, one scurrying to the side while the other let out a roar and flailed his heavy hairy arms. He displayed ferociously until the other started to back away out of the cave. He began to chase his rival and the rest followed him. Read more.
“What have I done? This isn’t funny.”
He’s terrified, of course he is. It’s like a nightmare. His supposed best friend has just taken him to a strange home, mainly full of slowly moving old people and earnest, mumbling bearded men in pants. I even let one of the crazies play cards with us and joke with him. Just when he was starting to find it a bit funny and enjoy himself I told him that I have to go. I have to go and he has to stay. When he starts getting a little loud and realises that I am being serious. He stands to leave but orderlies come in to calm him down and comfort him. However, the more they attempt to sooth him and talk familiarly with him the more confused he gets. He starts to get agitated and almost aggressive as they linger, ready to restrain him.
“Get off me! How do you know my name? I don’t know you.”
I feel on the brink of tears as I leave him. I’ve let him down but I can’t do anything else.
I still don’t totally understand it. He’s usually fine. But today it’s like for a moment he forgot where he’s been living. Or maybe it’s more like he remembered for too long, and that can be unkind.
I think about his words again as I get into my new car that’s lost its novelty. The words linger in my head. What have I done? This isn’t funny.
Because some days it isn’t. Read More.
In my story Potty Mouth I remember that the Queen gets a mention. Since everyone has been banging on about her for weeks and I know her address and I have the story printed on a postcard, I sent one to her
You can read the other side of the postcard here.
I’m lying on my bed with my chin hanging over the side, wondering whether I’ll get up now or wait a little bit and be late. Something like a heavy fly falls from the curtain into a box full of books under the window. Read more.
On Wednesday I went to the launch of inczine 5. A splendid mix of music, illustration and poetry from Mr Gee (who’ll be at Leefest with me), Gary from Leeds, Richard Purnell, Cat Brogan, Dan Simpson and more, as well inc’s own Will and Anya.
The theme of the issue is postcards. My short poem was made into a wild-west-lift-show-down postcard with an illustration by Lorna Scobie. Buy it (or last issue which I’m also featured in) here.