Friday 28 November 2008

has no one told her that it won't last?

Large-brimmed hat, short tight skirt, stiletto heels. She was elegant, refined, had taste. With her head held high and an expression of feigned detachment, self-possession and total indifference on her face, she glided across the second floor of an underground car park as though she was Yves Saint Laurent's top model and the place was a renowned Parisian catwalk.

Thursday 27 November 2008

Cornavin train station

Pink pvc hat
Green coat
Flowery dress
Fishnet stockings
Gold boots

Cool.

Wednesday 26 November 2008

reading committee (I)

Reader A: "I love it!"
Reader B: "Great!"
Reader C: "Couldn't stop reading it!"
Reader D: "Love it!"
Reader E: "I love it!"
Reader F: "I don't."


Dear sender of manuscript,

Many thanks for sending us your work.
It was submitted to our reading committee and every member has examined it very closely. Unfortunately, despite its many qualities, we have decided not to publish it.
We thank you for your trust and wish you success in your writing.

Regards,
Readers of the manuscript.

reading committee (II)

Reader A: "No good."
Reader B: "Nope."
Reader C: "No."
Reader D: "Couldn't finish it."
Reader E: "No."
Reader F: "It's not that bad..."


Dear sender of manuscript,

Many thanks for sending us your work.
It was submitted to our reading committee and every member has examined it very closely. Unfortunately, despite its many qualities, we have decided not to publish it.
We thank you for your trust and wish you success in your writing.

Regards,
Readers of the manuscript.

Tuesday 25 November 2008

what had happened between them?

I saw you walk across the bridge in a long coat and a scarf wrapped around your head. A cold northern wind was blowing, flinging your fringe into a wild tango. You decided to stop in a café. For a little warmth. You turned the glass door handle with your gloved hand and opened it. And you stood there. As though time had just frozen. There was a man sitting opposite the entrance with his back to you, talking to two women. They could see you. He couldn't. You didn't move. You were sifting and sorting your thoughts with your hand on the door handle still and the bitter bite of winter blowing in. An elderly woman turned her head to see where the cold was coming from. You saw her. And retreated. The time was not right. So you closed the door again and walked back from where you had come. In your long coat and your scarf wrapped around your head.

Monday 24 November 2008

Zurich Hauptbahnhof

He had chosen a table in a corner of the Brasserie Fédérale, far from looks he didn't need. The only stare he was getting was from Niki de St Phalle's nana who was peering in from where she was suspended. But they knew each other well.

He ordered a Guiness. A large one. The larger it was, the longer he could stay. There wasn't much else he had to do. The larger it was, the longer he could talk to it too. Every day he spoke to the beer glass. Hissing abuse. Pausing. Making peace. Pausing. Shaking his finger. Sipping his beer. Nodding in agreement. Biting his lower lip. Swearing that he will never let it happen again. Ever.

Friday 21 November 2008

she moves forward nevertheless

When she thrusts a leg forward and her foot hits the ground, her knee turns to look at the other knee while her hip swings out sideways. Someone must be holding the strings. But they still don't know how to make her walk properly. When she takes a step, everything collapses from the waist down before she is hitched back into an upright position, ready for the next step.

Thursday 20 November 2008

what a lot of us do

We go by train, by bus, by car, on a bicycle, or on foot.

Every morning of the week
We go to the same place
At the same time
With the same kind of thoughts.

There is no time for change.
No time for dream.
No time for perspective.

Then we sit in front of a screen
Most of the time
In the same office
At the same desk
Every day.

And when evening comes, we do a lot of what we did to get there, only in the opposite direction.

Tuesday 18 November 2008

waiting for the train

It was dark already in the town where colour had long been forgotten. The station had been deserted for years. And barbed wire now surrounded whatever life had been left inside. A small hut had been placed on the platform with a bench outside. A man was sitting on it smoking a cigarette. A woman in stiletto heels and a cheap fur coat, with shapeless legs wrapped in pink tights , was dancing to music only she could hear. A young girl was calling home on her mobile. And a man had turned his back on everything, his front pressed against a derelict wall, to relieve himself.

Monday 17 November 2008

you can't put 'and' at the beginning of a sentence

Her mind was as narrow as the space between her legs.

Sunday 16 November 2008

giggle sigh ooh

The three of you were standing outside the hairdresser's. Hands waving, palms against your hearts, squeaking exclamations. A young bird had fallen off the roof and landed - as well as it could - on the pavement below. There you were, looking down at this little bird. With it looking up at you. Helpless. The four of you. You knew how to deal with hair but you didn't know how to cope with feathers.

Together we picked it up and put it into a small cardboard box. One of you took it to the vet down the road, and came back half an hour later to give everyone the news in small excited pants. It would be fine. Flying soon. You would call every day to see how things were.

A ripple of relief spread through the saloon. Thrilled scissors clipped a lighter clip. And three young men felt closer than ever.

Wednesday 12 November 2008

still a wee girl

You had just bought a black evening dress to wear at your first big party. You tried it on with your long slim legs. And put on a pair of tights and high-heeled black shoes. All of a sudden you were ten years older. And beautiful. A young woman.

Ten minutes later, I saw you sitting texting still in your evening wear, with your legs wide apart and your shoulders round.

Lovely.

Tuesday 11 November 2008

once in a lifetime

Whatever there is up there had sent down the colours of a rainbow and splashed soft red across the hills. It was very early morning on the train. You were all busy with other views. Reading books, absorbing newspapers, texting messages, working on PCs.

I saw it.

Monday 10 November 2008

get a life

Someone had taken something that belonged to you. And because you don't know how to communicate, you led a child to the tribunal. You used the easy way out. You didn't need to get involved. It didn't take guts. You didn't need to understand. You chose the place and the way which allowed you and your frustrations to hide behind the judicial machine.

Sunday 9 November 2008

very important people

They had read, criticised, discussed and finally judged her text. They had taken her story apart. Unveiled all its secrets, dissected all its meanings, understood all its nuances.

There was no curiosity for the mind which had written it though. No interest in the author who had created it.

But they gave her a prize for it.
Drank some champagne in the name of it.
And had their photo taken for the sake of it.

Saturday 8 November 2008

perspective

You were walking down the street bent over double. Something just below your shoulders must have caved in and left you watching life one head lower than you had been used to. But you didn't seem to mind. It hadn't taken the mischief away from you. Or your smile. You couldn't lift your head anymore so you turned it sideways. The world was all the richer for you now because you had been given the opportunity to see it from a different angle.

Tuesday 4 November 2008

Geneva is full of them

Your whole face had dropped under the pull of frustration. Eyes judgemental. Lips thin. Jaw heavy. Years of comfort had shrivelled your thoughts. Years of convenient indolence had twisted your fate. Nourished mediocrity. The lack of life was pouring out of you.

Silk scarf. Little black bag hanging off your frail wrist. Neat navy-blue shoes. Skin-coloured stockings. Expensive black leather gloves. You had everything outside. Inside, there was hardly anything left to see. And what remained was so crumpled and wrinkled that nothing could have evened out the creases.

Fabrice told me this story

When you were a little boy of ten, one day you felt the need for pocket money. You knew your mother or father wouldn't give you any. So you chose a dining-room chair, dragged it down the stairs, heaved it onto your little boy shoulders, and took it to the antique shop down the road. It was a beautiful piece of furniture and the man inside gave you exactly what you had hoped for. Twenty francs.

Your father gave you what you were half expecting too.

Sunday 2 November 2008

i wonder who you were

She bounced into the café. Short short hair. Black black skin. And a smile that made your heart melt. I smiled back. She came up to me, shook my hand and whispered into my ear "I've lost my voice." Then moved on to tell anyone else in the café who would tilt their head to lend her an ear too.

We left the café. So did she. Short hair, black skin, white smile. She caught up and squeezed her way between us. Giggling with mischief. Out loud she announced to us that she had to meet someone but didn't really want to go, and as she left to cross the road she wished us both 'Monsieur et Madame' a lovely evening.