Pressing no. 46

Moorgate, 2008
Moorgate, 2008


So ______________ There is is a screech and some stalled movement. Embarkation and debarkation, beginnings and endings. An awful lot of travel.

When I zone into what I’m being told, in this shitty little rest between platforms, I can step outside of myself and see that what’s happening is the equivalent of the lurch upon station approach.

What The Lady says does this: Punches my skull; collapses my facial muscles; de-stabilises me; trips my tongue; stutters my thinking; voids my emotions; robs me of my gravity; fogs my navigation; murders who I choose to be.

And, slowly, I know I will get better. Other hands hold me until we came to a complete stop, and I get to keep the memory of a journey.

© Matthew Sheret, 2008


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