Monday, 30 January 2012


I enter the room.
Late Paleozoic.

Did I misdiagnose the self diagnosis?
Did I imagine it all?

Perhaps this is just normal.

Everyone waits their turn.
Silent. Pensive.
Are they too, imagining worst case scenarios?
Am I uncommon?

I get nervous.
As if the schoolmaster is about to deliver the bad news.
I failed.
Health check failed.

I’ve had cancer three times in the last half hour,
AIDS, insomnia, rabies and a mild condition of yellow fever.
And the worst is yet to come, when I enter that room and (almost in tears) deliver my diagnosis and the doctor confirms that indeed, I am a hypochondriac…

Sunday, 22 January 2012

Silence... a thought.

Life has gone out of hands.
With all those cells and cancers, and dust, mites, plastic, telescopes and televisions- aerodynamics, patisseries, black holes and submarines, oil, coal, trains and radio transistors.

It’s gone out of hands; there’s no room for simplicity in this madness.
Nothing is ever quiet with the noise of fridges, lamps, hissing chargers and public transport.

Even birds seem to have fallen asleep…

Friday, 20 January 2012


I have a small watch hanging from my neck.
Tic-tac. Tic-tac; as I imagine time is meant to sound.
Time is not sounding.
Time is surrendering.
To itself.
To the world around it.

Maybe the world-
(the whole of it)
was only created to explain time.

‘According to the second Law of Thermodynamics,
the entropy of the universe can never decrease.
The steady march from low entropy to high entropy is what we perceive as the passage of time.’



Not a word.
Not one.
The notebook loses pages like a rainforest in deforestation.
Its intrinsic literary biosphere threatened by the shadow of my pen.