Sunday, 25 July 2010


I think of childhood.
It was OK
but a load of shit compared to life now.
Spicey curry Pot noodles,
fresh cream chocolate eclairs from Portland Rd bakers (South Norwood),
the one legged man in the swimming pool.
too revolted to share the same water.
Porn mags.
Guilt from as long as i can remember.
The sun,
through curtains into a darkened room.
On a hospital bed.
Bone dry mouth from the pink liquid i had to drink.
Faces above to take from my body.
My foreskin,
my tonsils,
my adenoids.
To prick my ear drums 4 times with grommits.
The discovery of them months later on my pillow.
My mutilated childs willy,
soaking the scabs off in the bath.
My friends,
Nitin Patel(chilli powder on pop corn),
Peter Hart(poor family,a bag of sweets for Christmas.His drunk dad taking his belt to him).
Shitting my pants on the reading mat at school.
Too scared to ask for the toilet.
fat Jamaican Claudet and her posse of little white bitchs
pushing the door open on me when i did actually use the fuckin toilet.
Laying in bed with my mum.
Listing all the animals i'd seen at London Zoo.
It's a start i suppose.

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