These voices in my head often mock me.
Sometimes they whisper sweet nothings.
Sometimes they become a torrent.
Mesmerising and overwhelming.
Sometimes they are downright stubborn
And won’t repeat a gem I’ve found awe-inspiring.
And sometimes they are loudest when
I have no way of recording what they’re saying.
Recent activity
- Young, Beautiful, Ill-fated, IconicAs a teenager, I was a devoted Elvis fan and that’s probably why on the 8th January – his birthday – I always spare a thought for The King. Had he lived, he would now be 86 and would probably still be gyrating and crooning like Leonard Cohen was until his death at 80. My … Continue reading Young, Beautiful, Ill-fated, Iconic
- The imagined musings of Nora Barnacle, wife of James JoyceWhat am I doing with this man? This child who forgot to grow up. This genius who understands little of his own mind. As Lucia sometimes lilts about her daddy: He writes and he drinks. He wobbles and he stinks. I won’t see my Lucia again. We sent her away. I did my best but … Continue reading The imagined musings of Nora Barnacle, wife of James Joyce
