There are certain ‘happenings’ that have kept with me after all these years. Certain feelings and attachments to past events I play over in my head time and time again. I eat those days, and they have become me without anyone ever knowing, such is the richness of my fantasy life and the need for privacy. I could write letters to the women I have loved; could let the one who stands above all others know how she’s in every word, but what would it achieve? Even if I became somebody worth loving and proved myself with a body of work that made the world shake with fear, none of it would be good enough, because none of it would ever be able to match the shit that’s in my head. Real life- it betrayed me, and now it’s nothing but ordinary. The same ordinary places, and the same plain faces, just aching to be noticed without offering even the dimmest flickers of creation. So many of those around me, they swim in shit thinking they’re mermaids at Brighton beach or those dead-list celebrities on reality TV, when all they will ever be is junk. This existence, it’s all rather horrid, and yet the words keep bubbling under my skin, and for me, that’s what I’ve got to give. But still, imagine I were to write that letter. Well, it wouldn’t be a letter in the traditional sense. Pen and paper are as foreign to me as a good taste in fashion. Instead, it would be digital. My heart and soul all right there bound by the wonders of electricity. There would be no pretty words nor cute expressions. There would be no empathy or desire to paint myself in the right colours, there would only be truth. Not the right truth nor the honest truth, but my truth. Those that shy away from such a thing are a sham, and shall be treated as such accordingly. These happenings, they play on my mind late at night. They exist in the same light as the stars and the constellations that resemble the shape of her sleeping body. Formless and without form but a shape my hands know all too well. Years before I knew her, I painted her image religiously, and as such, when we first met, she was already on a pedestal, and there she remains, untouched and uneclipsed. I hate to be so smitten, but a muse and more she is and always shall be.