Nic Nic

 

I recently read again Lawrence’s Chrysanthemums, one hand cupped over my left eye and hoping to avoid viewing the despair. Looking through the summer windows – just cleaned of their fly spots – there is a clear view of my neighbour cutting back wisteria that grows up the wall of his house and into the roof’s guttering: it is the sparrow’s nest in that climber I want him to destroy. Today’s front-page diary revelations about an entrepreneur’s politically powerful lover and his seduction shenanigans demonstrate what a knob he was. (Ascending sound) ‘nic nic nic nic’ – eating cannabis chocolate, on Tuesday I revisited Easy Rider, admiring its darkness without crying.

 

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Mike Ferguson

 

 

 

 

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