Ive had a couple of bad days this weekend. A combination of the usual Gish-related traits that pop up more often than not. I reveal too much. My sister felt she had to bribe me with high grade parmesan cheese to call my doctor tomorrow.

I reveal too much.

I was driving to my sister's place in North London and caught sight of the original Apostle, and...well, nothing of course. He's a nothing, a black hole kind of nothing in my life.

Instead of that maudlin bullshit, lets talk about fantasy. Dreaming, and feeling like it's right around the corner.




It's Morocco, and hot. The night is so hot that I take off my tshirt, wearing a camisole underneath. I walk around with the shirt tied around my waist. He walks ahead like he doesn't know me. I take pictures every time he stops and gives the look of "hurry the fuck up, will you?"

I hold my breath and look at the perfectness between his collar and hairline. We'll go back to our hotel and eat warm mango with sweet water and talk about the things he's seen today. I'll put my camera on a slide show and listen to the melodic sounds of the water fountain in the courtyard outside our window.