Mnemosyne’s Kids

<Sigh> … if only I hadn’t been drunk and had had the foresight to turn my head away … if only I hadn’t let her kiss me that first time.

I have absolutely no control over the production cycle of these.

They get written as and when the muse makes a booty call and, like the wretch that I am … like a worm … like a loathsome spotted reptile … like a piece of slimy refuse … I abase myself before her, pitifully grateful for the momentary attention she deigns to bestow upon me.

I sicken myself with disgust at how readily and cheaply I am prepared to demean myself for just the breath of a kiss and how desperately I will long for more.

The problem is though that, when we kiss, Time stops and the World disappears for a sizeable chunk of Forever.

And that’s seriously addictive <sigh>.

She doesn’t necessarily tell them to me in order either … and in time they may be re-ordered as the correct sequence becomes apparent — they were written over the course of a quarter of a century and in five different countries … whenever and wherever she felt like using and abusing me.

Anyway … for what they’re worth … here they are.

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Where Angels Fear

There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live and too rare to die.