fragile

On Sunday I was a pile of light autumn leaves being blown along in pastel winds.

I took home two glass animals carefully packed in bubble wrap as my only tangible souvenirs from my Glass Menagerie experience. The rest will be a sort of bittersweet memory, and snippets of a sepia-coloured story about social poise.

Tim gave me a hug and told me, "you'll do well". I appreciated that a lot, and I hope I'll get to work with him again in future.

a telephone man who fell in love with long distance

Then Matt called me, from Laos, and I was told how my Singa-British sounding 'a' sounds were refreshing, and how he missed me, and how his hair was long and sexy now. And I didn't know what to say, or whether I wanted to see him again...








I miss having someone to kiss,
and I want to make a film where silence is louder than music.

I drank in an ambient blend of traffic noises and the clinking of glass, and the chatter of people to whom I dare not name myself a friend. I wanted to sing, and to share my love, but the words they stuck in my throat and I was scared - scared to lose.

There were goodbyes, and my envy, and my inadequacy - how it stemmed from my laziness.

I never did fit in all the way with theatre people. I let myself be cut on opportunities made of shards of glass; shiny, pretty shards of glass that look like stars and the cobwebs of dreams.

I'll not settle.

My art will look like blue roses.