Event Horizon

I they took an arm, would I still be me? Of course.
Both arms? Well yes, still me.
What has to happen for me not to be still me?

Winter’s low-hung sun casts long shadows across the fields and streets of this serrano town.

Oxford University in 1978. I was there for two days of interviews to study Poltics, Philosophy and Economics. My straight path to join the elite was interrupted by a bug and I did not let on.

A laboratory will be looking at what runs inside me this week. My life-force will be reduced to numbers and hummed and hahed over by scientists.

It’s beginning to sound a lot like Christmas. There is an almost imperceptible tensioning in the air. This year it feels like an exam I have to pass. But this […]

Tonight I went to see a friend give a concert in my local bar. There were lots of friendly people there and much, much love. On my way home, buffeted […]

Branches lit by street lamps whirling in a cold winter wind. No other soul around. Just me. And I thought about how God must be there too.

You would think that with age you would become wise. Or senile. Those are , apparently, the only two options. Until you get old. Then you see that all your […]

If a man cries with grief, and nobody sees him, does it still count?
Is witness necessary to legitimise loss?
That awful pause in otherwise daily activity, that paralysing memento mori in moments of normality… do we talk about it?