lady day...

shoved around her small Cypriot frame, her short
hair scraggly, her eyes wild, the left a little higher
than the right, slight tears in them... Pica had spent
a month at the Hospital, mostly because she was an
addict, the loveless marriage of addiction is tragic
sometimes, it dismounts a person from reality, they
then live in this constant flux, that is not boring,
but too eventful, too wickedly skewed towards
some other being, she called the Ugly Spirit, quite
aptly, though Pica was far from Melania, not near
Claudia, she was mostly uneducated in the old
fashion sense: a few GCSE's, perhaps three at best,
and short lived attendance on a few courses, Hair,
Typing, which seemed a strange thing to study in
this day and age, I thought, but there were such
places, she comments, it was near Finsbury Park,
I'd take the 276 up there and this teacher, this guy
would teach us Typing or how to Type quick, but
he was always really trying to get off with the
students, she added, he was always trying to get his
end away, shag me over the desk... she displayed an
honesty that was at once devious, but childlike
too... i let him fuck me once, she mumbled in the
Park across the road from the Hospital one
afternoon... dissonance, suicide and Wittgenstein
were not in her line of thinking, but she had this
coyness I found framed in a picture I believed to be
beauty... this idea floats in and makes decisions...
...drugs after High
...high after Prayer
...sex after Violence
....clouds after Rain
...laughter after Teeth
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