The Glasgow Necropolis on a cold, bright morn; grand and Gothic and unsurprisingly, Victorian. Ever a society in love with death, elevating it into an art form fit for the ancients. It's easy to see why writers are fascinated by cities of the dead. Cemeteries tell a thousand tales. Inspiration and intrigue around every corner.… Continue reading A Visit to Glasgow Necropolis
Today I felt a moment of sadness flicked in from nothing a moment given for the mourning of those who have no other I wondered whose loss I had been assigned who they had been before the trap closed whether they were always anonymous born and died with the light touch flying with dragging feet… Continue reading Today
You know I wouldn't go anywhere without saying goodbye. And I'm not. I'm here aren't I? There's no need to cry. I know you got scared, I'm sorry but leaving you is the last thing on my mind. I know I've been distant lately, work is just crazy. They've got me running all over the… Continue reading Who told you I was leaving?
(Written at 13, re-written at 20 and found in the archives at 30-and-a-bit) Aged thirteen and late in bed, I realised that one day I’d be dead. My stomach gave a sudden jolt, and in me found a strange revolt, against the idea of ever ending, and I wondered about bending, time around me so… Continue reading Aged Thirteen and Late in Bed