Videograms

We can’t afford to make videos, so we shot some with words.

Good Luck Child

You walked like a millionaire. There was no-one there like you, nor anywhere else. I looked but I knew from the second I looked at you first and you smiled like the sun’s first child.

Out Into the Light

Then a human was an object of mockery, and it became a crime to remain silent in their presence and not emit the jabberings of submission.

Dodge

“How many times would you think I’d been the fool? And I could do it all again for her” – pointing with his ear across the bar. There was only the lace left at the end of his pint. “God knows, you can’t judge by what’s on the jukebox.”

Hitchhiker’s Guide

Take a piece of root ginger, boil it with water in a pan, then make your tea with the water. That’s how she made his thermos when he left home in the small hours.

Underground Rider

A bottle, rolling drunk, missed its stop again. Terminates at Modern, says the Northern Line brightly to itself.

Before You Fall

He strapped himself in behind the Fender and turned the ignition, then looked down along the neck for a long time, where the chords had eroded the finish.

Thank You, Henry

The mouth filled with caterpillars suddenly shut, paused, spoke some smoke, spat more wings on the pool of butterfly components not up to scratch. Bulging with atmospheric pleasure, a retread stunned itself by the pool.

Drinking Water

Whichever way she chose and whether she went left or right or kept straight on, each turning brought her to the same thought, of a breeze once that put its budding arm around the shoulders of a tree.

Uptomystic

We cycled a root-riddled track, spread ourselves out in the clearing, with bracken unfurling at the foot of a ruined oak. We’d lost all we had to lose, for the time being.

Blues and Stout

Big plywood notes, a new moon and so on, spraypainted silver and aged to a soft oxide grey. From the stage, a foot or two high, you easily touch the stars.

Howling Wolf

The great darkness lies under there all afternoon with one eye open, on a bed of the dead needles and under a cover of the living, more of stone than of flesh.

Open Up the Doors

Second bell from the top, she said. Up the scuffed and narrow stairs they shared were friends we hadn’t seen since the hard times, and some we’d never met before, and some we’d never see again, sat in their orbits on the floor, gravitating to the wine.

Grey Cat and the Blackbird

In petallic bloomlight, among thorny nightshade, Daisy and Violet and Iris await the outcome.

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