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Miranda July: The First Bad Man

I am inspired

Asylum

My first encounter with Miranda July’s fiction was in the Zadie Smith-edited anthology The Book of Other People, where her story ‘Roy Spivey’ was one of the best on offer. Then I read her collection No-one Belongs Here More Than You, which impressed me with its ability to turn between funny and sad on a sixpence. Now we have July’s debut novel, which turns out to be more multifaceted still, and already seems as likely to be one of my favourite books of the year as Dept. of Speculation did last year, or May We Be Forgiven a couple of years earlier.

Miranda July: The First Bad Man

The First Bad Man comes plainly packaged: black and white, block text only, no illustration, and no blurb. There are some quotes of praise which touch on the content, and my hardback came with a yellow belly band adding praise from A.M. Homes. It seems to…

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AirAsia Flight 8501

poetcaro's Blog

Flight 8501

When the body hits the
unmoving body of the ocean

It does not cease.
It fell from the sky.

The lights went out
that night.

A son waits for a
Daddy who can’t get home.

The fisherman waits
for a son in row D21.

A wife waits for a call
to say he will be late

she wills the call and she won’t
get cross this time.

Take all the time in the world
be late a thousand times!

Just promise you will
return to me and I

will cook dinner and
rub your feet and see you.

When this flight dropped
from the night sky

it fell and fell
but somehow, these three

were found together.
Hands Held Locked Tight.

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Life is ridiculously short

Re-reading this, I am reminded how painful it all still is. But, seek solace from what I have in my life now.

poetcaro's Blog

This morning one of my best friends mum died she was 63 and was diagnosed 6 weeks ago. It was cancer, everywhere. Last year my dad died it was a brain tumour he fought for 6 months. Those months were a living hell and I won’t sugarcoat it. For him and us; he lost all his dignity he was almost blind before it and the cancer robbed him entirely. He lost use of his legs and had to be bed bathed and pads changed near the end. He would cry out in distress in the night. What could we do ? Just be with him, tell him mundane things, anything to distract from the approaching conclusion. Life was a constant round of well meaning visitors and carers four times a day. It was rare to get a moment alone. But, somehow I did. We had 30 minutes while I visited…

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Cancer, Grief, LIFE LESSONS, Love, Uncategorized

Anthem for the never forgotten

So, sometimes you find yourself, as the years tick by – attending another funeral. By using the word ‘another’ I don’t want to belittle it but draw attention to it. Another person has passed on; unnecessarily. Too young and it’s cancer that is the culprit. For the last five years my life has been interlocked with this thing; Mum, Sister, Dad who did not survive and three of my best friends parents with only two surviving.

What are the odds? spin the wheel, I mutter to myself. Any many many more as readers you can testify. The cancerous journey is torture, your insides freeze as you are given the diagnosis concerning a loved one. How must it be for them? you are not sure what is the right thing to do. Do you discuss it, do you skirt round the hem and sort of discuss it? there is no rule book to chuck on the fire. All you can do is be there for them and talk about mundane things as I have tried to talk about in my poem ‘stay with me’.

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