Image - 'Response to Holy Nowhere' by Low Coney. (2016). Analogue collage from found imagery
It’s just after eleven on Boxing night. The
pubs are spilling out. I’m with Simmo on
a rooftop overlooking town. There’s lights
below us and lots of them are glowing green.
The pharmacy, the all-night garage. The
snooker-hall sign. The crucifix. The whole
horizon an iridescent blur. Another year gone
and I’m thinking about dying again, though
not in a morbid way; I’ve had too much to
drink and I can hear music from a nearby bar.
I’m trying to sing but I can’t express how
I feel through the song. Then suddenly the
feeling escapes me. I feel it leave my body.
And Simmo’s laughing ‘cause there’s a tear
on my cheek. And then I realise, and start
laughing too. It’s like I’ve woken up. After
that I decide I have to make him flinch for
a while with a few jabs. So he remembers