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Thanks for reading, Sooz. We have more than a little circumstance in common, I think. Barking dogs. Americans are partial to cutting out the tongues of their more vocal doggywogs (no racism comments, please) but I think you're far too lovely and British to be dong that just yet. It's heartwrenching to watch a dog go to bark and nothing comes out. Absolutely pitiful, but so typical of certain Yanks. If it don't work, fix it, and fix it good!

Hi Insert, I know what you mean about the other people in the story; almost not there. It's the gambling mind-set (that no one else really matters)that I'm trying to put across. Primarily, this story is intended for other gamblers to see themselves in with the hope that they may acknowledge through their dastardly self-centredness and use me as a reflection to get through hell with, like a self-help book without commands and steps and theorising and psycho-babble. Gamblers don't like to be told. However, I'm now writing the rest of this (ages 28-45) and you should find more love/loss/colour as time wears him down to various rock bottoms. This gambler, though, is just happy that you're finding it an interesting read.

Cooey, Sooz. This is deeeep. There's a competition with wordswithjam.co.uk that this might work well in. The comp is based on flinging vitriol at someone, so you may do well to juice it up even more. I'd go for it myself but surprisingly I can't get mad at anyone apart from radio denver. Maybe I could use him as a muse. It's free and you get published with them as a prize, although I don't know much about them. Check it out. I think you have to send it in the body of an email and not as an attachment.

One omission that surely deserves to be included in this; leaves on the line. That's an excuse that always gets me laughing my socks off. All the best Richard

Surreal setting, the unmanned expo screams of the future; the infinity of nothingness (dusty cobwebs on the stalls would have been welcome), and the truth that marketing is all show and no love, a sad soul-destroying job. It's a better world without adverts and tie-ins and supposed freebies. This is ticking along well, Rob. Thought provoking.

You capture the frenetic, incongruent beauty of a child's easily disillusioned whim absolutely perfectly, especially at the end, which made me laugh out loud. There's a kind of loneliness to this, too, but the comedy in the child's mind wins hands down. He/she is undoubtedly a survivor. It's so hard to find the right voice and tone to storm into a child's wild caprice but you've done it here. Well done.

A great take on the spectrum of life.

This took me straight back to Lagos. I was 13 years old and visting my father with my mother. It was 1978. Dad worked for a wealthy industrialist and lived in a flat above a swimming pool on his employer's estate in Yaba. Only problem for me was that this palatial home was surrounded by sickness and poverty. When I looked out of my bedroom window for the first time, I saw directly on the other side of the estate's wall, literally from the wall and to as far as I could see, row upon row of tents, made-up buildings and dirt. Children were wading through muck along tiny passages and it made my stomach crawl. I felt guilty and confused. That was the last time I looked out of the window, but that morning I was taken to the Ikoyi Club (where ex-pats take their children) for the first time in a chauffeur-driven car. On the journey, I saw a young man face down in a gutter. I went for the door handle to help him out, thinking he was still alive, but it wouldn't open. The doors were locked to stop thieves from getting in. I asked the driver to let me out but he just laughed his head off, then I think he could see that I was in shock and started telling me the way it was in Lagos. I can't see the dead man any more but I don't think I'll ever forget the view from my window.

I know. Live and learn, though, and I'm now in a place that's less rigid/intense. Check Big Issue (Streetlights section). They published another story of mine ('Welcome to my World') issue 813. I've done a story for Pakistan and just about to put it on abc. Hope you're well.

Another rollicking ride. 'It'll still be filthy when you've had your tea'; he's got something, this comedian. I'm trying to put a finger on the feel and voice of this story in terms of who it reminds me of, but I can't yet. It does seem to smell of money, though. I was sure he'd find the pills his Mum's on but maybe that's for the next installment. Measured delicately teetering on the edge, these two are.

Good call, Delapruch. If you ever feel like leaving the sinking ship, or find yourself in a position when to do so is by far the best solution, come and join us here in Europe. You'd be most welcome but something tells me you might be there for the long haul. I'm appalled by America's attitude and can't imagine what it expects to achieve from being so nasty to everyone. Illuminati? New world order? Religious, fear riddled totalitarian brainwashing? It's backfired whatever it is, but pride is an awfully good master to the blind and bloated. The real terrorists search for scapegoats to justify their pitiful, hate filled delusions.

Thanks Tornado. My stuff's always quite long so it's nice to know that a poet enjoys it.

Hi Chuck, I wrote this in February as an antidote to my gamling habits. Luckily, I had no money so I just wrote about it instead. It was good to do but, like yourself, I now find it's not got the same feel as Sticks. Putting it out on abc is quite a good way to gauge work and I appreciate your feedback as always.

I'd have tied myself up in tiny knots if I'd attempted to write this and it would have taken a while to unravel them for it to make sense, but by then it would probably have become so blurred that I'd find more knots that needed unravelling. It's a tricky business, comedy, but you're pulling it off with style. Keep 'em coming.

Powerfully poetic expression, not a wasted word in sight, even with a second read, which only expands the mind further. Oxygenic and like a lighthouse of imagination. All the best Richard

Excellent. If only it could have gone on until he made a real fool of himself, maybe trying that little bit harder to impress her. A little sniff for mothballs on her blouse. I'm sure you could develop this. Cracking imagery; an old man sneaking a peek at her breasts. Priceless.

Thamks for reading, Insert. Know what you mean about the nationalities. It must read like an Arsenal program.

I had a feeling that 'She' was going to be 'Nature' or 'Mother Nature', so Egypt, being a part of nature, wasn't too far off. I'm not sure on the title, probably because I don't see a country as purely feminine, but the story itself was quite evocative and i liked the forgiving side to it at the end. Keep writing, for sure.

Sepia ancestors, I like that alot. Very well written and a joy to read. Thank goodness for gallantry during crisis.

Proper Scottish slice of life and in a setting both detached and familiar at the same time. I woodnee lake to be arooned the narrator in a tate sport. All the best Richard

Nice micro-idea, and well written. Would it have been better as a story unfolding, rather than an overview? More work, I know, but it's a good enough idea to get your teeth into.

I like your work. I needed a laugh badly and you delivered. Life can be so bland and this showed me the funny side. This is very visual.

Thanks for reading, Florian!

Thanks for reading, Pia!

If only. Chance'd be a fine thing. What if? I know. Wouldn't it be nice for the powers to grow up. Unfortunately, most of them were bullied at school and have now graduated to being bullies. The chain remains, and nothing changes. It's like the homelessness agencies; the myth is that they are there for the homeless, but they're not. See, if there were no homeless people, there wouldn't be the agencies and therefore no jobs in homelessness agencies. Ta for reading

Suffocating and all-consuming, this goes a long way to explain the lengths we go to stave off emotional homelessness. The author's desperation is measured by her need, after years of plodding through the real world to no spiritual avail, to return to the one person who, she had thought, accepted her as she was, if only he was himself, but this alliance was doomed. Feeling equally unworthy of a place in society, his addiction to the pipe seemed the only real peace process worth taking, and so, with the author's time invested, her hopes pinned to this pitiful man, who wastes away to inertia's smile, the inevitable. I didn't see the end coming because my own hopes, so firmly pinned on her freedom, would not allow me to think the worst. This is, for me, writing at its very best. Its message, so accessible and informative on the human condition, can help many people stuck in abusive relationships and addiction. I hope it's brought to the attention of addiction magazines, journals, and anyone in the business of chemical dependence. Its beauty is that both sides of the relationship are observed without judgement. Only someone with an enormous heart and soul could ever write this and something tells me the author will be put on the right path very soon. Brilliant. Richard

Ah, you old beauty. No licks up the arse ever worked for me but a good hug's always welcome. Sorry you can't make this next one. I started reading your BOAD2 and then had to look up something on google. Now going back to it. Good to see it's progressing.

Right up my street, this is. Shows the pointlessness of marketing characters, the laboriousness of capitalism and the idiocy of consumers, believing that an unbelievable product will be what it says it is on the ad.

You're not wrong about gamblers; leopards...and the psychologists are right about our selective, subjective memory.

Talk about going into the unknown.. I think Shaggy would be doing his teeth-chattering, and Sammy wouldnae like that. Swimming in a dysfunctional swampland and laughing in the face of fear, I'd be interested to know what these two intrepid rapscallions want with Sammy. Can't help thinking they're way out of their depth but that just adds to the readability. surely it's not just for a wee bit a dope? Keep 'em coming, Peskmeister.

Oh they were made for each other, only she's much cleverer than he is. Thanks for reading.

Good show. This highlights the immaturity of adults and the maturity of children. Unfortunately, that all backfires when the kids grow up, because they realise they never had a childhood. Crap Dads (and Mums)are everywhere, targeting their kids as a means to an end rather than something to nurture. Capitalism sees to the drippings of their downfall, as portrayed by the doorstep debtor. Broken promises come at a price and I bet the kid never gets the holiday. Well written

Get on down, ChickenHawk. You'll love it.

Cheers, and I think I know what you mean. It throws the reader to jig back and forth in time, but sometimes it just seems right to whip it in to the mix.

A testy, tricky little ditty that leaves me wondering; if the God that is is in all the places where the God that isn't is, He must be very tolerant. Perhaps the God that isn't is the one that's in our heads before we come to believe in the One that is. My God doesn't depend on where life finds me, but my life certainly depends on whether I find Him. He hopes for the best in me and knows I'm human, and that I will experience operations, accidents, war and insomnia, all brought about by me and not Him, and it's the moment I realise that I depend on Him that I start to really live. What I'm saying is in no way trying to condradict or misinterpret this thought-provoking poem. I'm just saying how it is for me. Thanks for the read Richard

Spilt milk needs a mop, spilt spunk needs a period. Is that why it's called Harley Street? Nice and visual, this piece, especially Ma and the poker and the Jammee Dodger/Digestive analysis. Thought I should tell you; there's a Michel in there, and he sure don't sound French.

I like the ambiguity of which age this person is. It could be a Dad and his daughter or a boyfriend and his girl. Tactfully executed.

22 miles apart in distance, a million miles apart in mind. Guillaume even revised the English language for us! I enjoyed the tone of this; a smidging of Python and a dash of insight. Consult your muse and bequeath to her your undying love! She's bound to succumb.

This had a fish out of water atmosphere about it and I also thought that it tied in nicely as a reference to alcoholia/addiction. They say a leopard never changes its spots, but one can but try. Bold imagery and great wording. Haven't come across phosphorescent for donkeys years.

Thanks Insert. I reckon this lad's a very brave boy. I had 'One for the Rude' published in Big Issue under my name (it was you who gave me the tip of not submitting anonymous work, so thanks, hun). It's called 'Mirror Man' and it's in this week's edition.

Love it. A blinder! Metro and the Standard are nothing but free brainwashing tools made by sniggering shysters to divert the horror inside people's minds from the journey they endure to jobs they despise and a life they abhor. Enjoy tomorrow's day off! All the best Richard

That's weird. I just read your no.10 and posted a comment, then came here. I get what you're saying, I think, Christine. I'm going to take it out. Thanks.

Hi Peskmeister, I'm not sure about the inspiration yet, if there was any. I had a dream last night that was horrific. In the dream, I found out that for some reason my brain had been put into the head of another man who looked very similar to me (maybe I'm changing). My friend, I can't remember who it was, also had the same thing done but he didn't seem too bothered. I was appalled, obviously. Then I woke up and started thinking about a faithful butler fussing over his dead master. I think this is about dependence and powerlessness and also to do with a mad strain of unconditional love from a man whose life was centred around another man, both equally dependent on one another. Perhaps he couldn't come to terms with the death of his master because that was the only life he knew. Thanks for reading, Richard

I hear you, Tony. Sometimes, I get to the end of an unfinished story from years back, think..oww, that might be a goodie but only give it the second-hand treatment without really tasking myself. It's always been a more rounded, believable story when I started and finished it in one hit, and I think you've seen my half-and-halfheartedness for what it is. I'm not sure that David's Jewish. I think I always saw him as a high-aspiring Englisher; harmless, socially dim but economically sound. I don't know what my reaction to finding out that I had a pig's heart would be, but I suppose I can justify the ending as a potentially fitting way to end long-simmering resentments over the way he may have been raised by his folks. I know, I'm justifying again. Many thanks for your comment.

To conquer oneself is far greater than to conquer a country.

This is surreal stuff. Detective-style writing in a Blade Runner world with the psychosis of 1984. I went through all eleven in no time. A pleasure to read.

I'm up for helping out. Doing the reading evening in London gives me a real buzz. It's a great way to get out of the dumps. Giving to others takes us out of ourselves and then brings us back to our senses. My sister lives in Newhaven so I'll ask her if she knows of anywhere around Brighton (she's a carboot queen so she knows alot of sites where landowners may be swung to hold an event like this). Brighton's got its fair share of literary types but London's definitely more accessible for all on the whole. I wonder if there's much paperwork to do to hold an event in Hyde Park, Hampstead Heath or Wimbledon common? If it helps a cause, there's a good chance that it could be swung for peanuts. It'd be good to set up a food and refreshment stall. This sounds like something I'd like to help with very much. You can access my email through the site if you want to get in touch. Also, I'll be in Newhaven for alot of April so if Brighton's where you are we could meet up and get things going then.

You seem to know a good deal about the economic world and I'd be very grateful if you could tell me who all the countries owe the money to, ie. debt. This is something that I've always wondered about but don't seem to be able to find out. All the best Richard

Good to hear from you, Madame Insert. You're right about the hol, only the next part seemed to be more important to start right. Thanks for the feedback. Wouldn't have noticed otherwise.

You got the library feel so right I could almost picture myself ducking the bolts of lightning in a quiet corner. This one is really good and there's oodles of great comedy in the diehard bloodfest theme for our intrepid hero and heroine to bounce off. Very slick and visual. All the best Richard

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