I created the text below using cut-up sentence fragments taken from each chapter of ‘1980’, a novel by David Peace. With the kind permission of the author.
Out of the shadows the darkness, and for a moment the living soul is here, eyes still open. Lord, break off these hard veils and give relief to the pain that swells my heart and rains down blows upon my flesh.
Dark Grass – Prince Phillip Playing Fields at Night: Photograph by Tom Rodgers 2012
Who are these faceless people from the silences? The tears they first wept, made for them in crystal freeze from the shadows of the sun. To the place you spoke. Wasteland. The darkest. The farthest. It is hard to hear, here among the dead. If you are not weeping now, do you ever weep?
Stare into her, and lie together under the big trees. Still breathing, the starless endless black smelled so sweet, so clean, like a flower almost bursting underneath her. The damp dew and the flattened grass: tall trees watching my brown hair for the last time. Know this face, love me; all my leaves gather in this mournful forest. She cannot remember: she is: and she will never find suffering equal to this. There is no greater pain than to remember in our present grief past happiness. Save me.
Who is this one approaching, who without death dares walk into the kingdom of the dead, hands opening? More powerful than grief, the sphere that circles all.
detail from Constellation: pen, ink and gouache on paper: Emma Bolland 2012
The snowflakes are dancing on the radio. As we ascend, hear me cry. Milky way, you will hear me call.