The third sense

Sight, sound, smell, taste, touch. That’s the order, right? It is for me, anyway, making “smell” the third sense. And not just a lowly third sense either, because something about this sense is transcendent – it has the power to link up with your sixth sense.
And if, like the lady above, you find something rotten in the air, chances are it’s indicative of an existential decay of some sort. Or, in some cases, it could just be a fart. Continue reading

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When all you’re left with is alone

One lonely robot. (c) Married to an Alcoholic

One lonely robot. (c) Married to an Alcoholic

It’s 5am. In the past three hours, I’ve reached over three times trying to find her little toes. Because by this time, she’s padded over the landing and crept into my bed because she’s scared.

And each time I reach over, I remember she’s not here. Continue reading

Inappropriate laughter

This is a short one, because my eyeballs have assumed the role of a slot machine, periodically rolling back into my head expecting to toss out a matching pair of cherries. I can’t seem to stay awake past 9.30 most nights. So, it being close to midnight means that I’m on the cusp of delirium. Continue reading

One hundred years of solitude

With Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s passing late last night, a memory. I open an old copy of One hundred years of solitude and find something unexpected. A note written in my handwriting, addressed to Ben. I gave him this book a few months after we got together. At the time, I didn’t realise how prescient an act that was. Continue reading