Those future ruins of your city now shall have vanished under a blank expanse of trees and grass stones hills rivers lakes oceans swamps sun and weather, and shall have been blanked out of the ghostly minds or our silent solitary successors.  Once and always alone they are going on,  they will go on and you will drive them on, and they will betray you to what isn’t human, I was part of them once and I betrayed and betrayed, I betrayed you all and I could never betray you enough.

Michael Cisco
The Traitor

love like a fire

September 20, 2018

He uses me – uses all of me so I am lit and glowing with love like a fire, and this is all I looked for all my life – to be able to give of my love, my spontaneous joy, unreservedly, with no holding back for fear of his misuse, betrayal.

Sylvia Plath
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath: entry dated 6th April 1958

Betrayal features in my work and always has done. It’s a feature of human nature, the kink in the mix that makes us the strange and interesting creatures we are. (I mean, we betrayed our own species back in the Cretacean period (I think it was), when we mated with Neanderthals. That makes most of us between 1 and 4% Neanderthal). The betrayal of love, the betrayal of truth, the betrayal of honour, the betrayal of innocence.

Mary O’Donnell
Self-Interview with Mary O’Donnell – Spring 2014

all the way in

Diary 26th August – Just a fistful of fast, challenging, hot-wired mind-bites!

Yes, yes, she’s an angel. But she fucks with the combined fury of all the demons from hell. D’you know how many demons there are in hell? Go look it up in Johann Weyer’s Pseudomonarchia Daemonum. There are thousands of the buggers…But it’s Duke Sallos who makes men love women, and women love men. He alone rules thirty demon legions of hell! It’s all his fecking fault!


Like the sea at dusk, the waves rolling in only to retreat, slipping between your fingers, as elusive as an old lover. It’s like a song you know well, but have never heard before this particular moment in time.


Women are infinite mysteries, melodious, but sometimes spiteful as black widows. In the States S’s sister said to me: ‘You can’t leave that girl here…’

It was obvious to everyone that S had become besotted with her brother-in-law in the four weeks before my arrival. It was the hardest kind of betrayal. Her sister was trying to reconcile herself to her husband’s recent affair with a local woman. Rebuild their marriage. But S arrived and put paid to that…And she did it without a second thought.

Sympathetic to her sister’s plight, I brought S back with me that time. But it was too late, of course. The damage had already been done. Her sister left her husband in the weeks following. And she…? Well, she moped about like an unexpected return of winter in the middle of summer. She was in love, but not with me. She became a closed up secret, a locked diary that I could no longer read. And that, I guess, was the end of it…


If you’re doing it, and doing it without love, that’s okay providing you’re both enjoying it and no one is going to get hurt because of it.


So many people live the same year seventy-five times over, and call it life!


Is it true girls mature earlier than boys? Or do we simply excuse male immaturity for longer periods of time? Could it be more a case of society’s expectations, rather than any real difference between the sexes?


I keep confusing Donald Trump with Rumplestiltskin. I don’t know why, because I’m sure they don’t both eat babies? Although Forest Trump might , like dear Rumple, destroy himself in a fit of rage one day?


Sex games are fine until you lose the key to the handcuffs…!


‘What use is history,’ says El. ‘It’s over and gone. Not relevant…!’

‘Studying history,’ says Peedeel, ‘stops you believing rubbish – day to day you read in the press or hear in passing the same old myths, half-truths and outright lies churned out about the past. Of course most of our politicians, bless ‘em, want us to believe the rubbish. But you should always find out for yourself…The core task of the historian is interpretation, relating what was then to what is now. Hopefully, on a good day, it might even prevent us making the same mistakes over again – but I won’t hold my breath on that one!’