90’s Kids



90’s kids drowning in some kinda maelstrom along with trees and Saturday sunshine and chalk drawings in the middle of the road that will stick around for weeks and weeks until September rain comes and washes them away. 90’s haircuts and 90’s bodies now just photographs and ashes and memories that drift like moths and crisp packets and old Coke cans that resemble ancient artefacts of which contain their own alien ecosystems. 90’s London and 90’s you and 90’s me. 90’s Marylebone and Marble Arch and the Mcdonalds in Leicester Square and the werewolves that roam the Underground and the rush of wind in your face and the steps that lead to nowhere and the lines you must never cross that welcome you to electricity and rats and the great abyss that calls your name and begs you to jump down to become another suicide. The roads and pathways and motorways that take you from suburbia to urban decay. The sprawling schools and chip shops and videotape stores that sell tapes of Home Alone and Gremlins and old cartoons from the 80’s which is too distant even for me. And you girl, where were you when I needed you. Where were you on those bus journies from Luton to St Albans that took me to the promise of tea and biscuits and jam doughnuts and the wrinkled fingers of my great-grandmother that placed pound coins in the palms of my innocent, itchy hands. Were you dancing in your garden waiting for the snow or were you crawling around listening to those 90’s songs playing on the radio, too small to understand the words but old enough to recognise the magic they contained that made you smile before you knew how beautiful that smile of yours could ever be. 90’s late nights and 90’s Nintendo. 90’s porno magazines belonging to your 90’s dad hidden away but not hidden enough. Those women with their bodies and those bodies of women that whispered to you making you explore yourself beneath the sheets. And then that pinnacle moment when you became aware of the strange sensations that lurked within that body of your own and how they led you to become another story in another world and before you knew it, you were travelling through time and the 90’s burst and you gained your dirty halo and tasted obsession and loss and lust and the mouths of wannabe gods. Blink and you’ll miss it. Drink and remember it and then lie on your back and go back to when we were just 90’s kids.

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.com 

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