Who Wants Less- Johnny Pulp and the Lemonheads
Sleeve Notes
Sometimes the obscure private moments can hum in their own soft cell I am a lost soul don’t you think? And you laughed , asked ‘are you being ironical?’ all at once. (Then): ‘My advice is not to be. A whole’s often less. Whimsy aside, what is the reason? Some have days, others lost decades. You should be here and married to me rather than there and not. Thrice? Now that’s a good ‘un. As in ‘ a good little ‘un.’ Or, ‘a good big ‘un.’ ie where the latter always beats the former. Plato’s real name roughly means ‘wide boy’. Plato’s just a nickname. Little Cock was another.’ (Subsides.) Now. Here’s a scene I remember. It was raining and he held his note book askance, angled, and said he thought art was something and living something in it. Did I mention the rain? I have lately been rethinking. Don’t look at me like that. Your eyes might pop. Here. (Now). Again. I find your sense of fun devastating. Yes, really. (Again, now). I was told Macfarland has new rooms, including an inner one which is all to the good. And the St Andrews archive is going well and expansive. Another swell shift. I promised to write the required 10,000. He was breezy and encouraging. Just knock it out. If needs be we can revise later. So it’s not as though everything is on hold. Or the day stopped turning on its wheel. But maybe the wheel’s turning darker. These days tell us how hot the sun really is and how cold and empty space. You always knew my studies were more than they merited or desired. I know just one Viking. The centuries have passed and the ancient ships are ghosts in dark estuaries, silent as death. They hold everything in thrall like a red sail in choppy seas, under clouds, shaking life. Loss is not always fatal but this one is. That’s what I meant before. I will be exact at the memorial just you wait.