Spoon fed... polidori

Thanks Fergal, received my first rejection letter today so this came as a timely boost for the spirits.

"But I was coiled into a loose sprung threadbare armchair that I suddenly discovered really fitted me; an armchair dreamer dreaming. Made to measure." i would agree that the piece conveys the disjointed thoughts when 'tripping' - but i did find it hard to read in places because it was so disjointed. It contains some wonderful description, but i felt it could be tightened further, as i lost my way a little in the middle. Juliet

Thanks Juliet, always helpful to have another viewpoint. This piece is a follow on from my previous submission: ‘Junk City …’ which journeyed through Evie’s seduction into the world of drugs and her decline into prostitution. The beginning of ‘Spoon Fed… ’ backtracks a little to provide some sense of background filler but I’ve taken poetic liberties with time scale and sequence, and I’m wondering if it is this that is unsettling your sense of continuation, as the rest adheres to a 2-3 or maybe 4 hour span in quite a conventional way. Of course I am aware that Evie’s wanderings travel to, as far as she is concerned at least, a disconnected place far removed from the squalor of the squat; I wanted a sense of displacement, as this is the whole crux of the matter. This has nothing to do with acid, but (I’m told) when a heroin user falls into ‘the nods’ they still have a sense of the world about them but climb into their own soft little bubble and either can not, or choose not to react. Evie is aware that something is wrong, that something drastic has happened, and I’m hoping this piece portrays that mental battle between reaction and escape. P.