Dec 21, 2017
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.
