Sunday, March 25, 2007


Right I'll start then alrighty, this is going to be fine this is
going to be good.
Yeah, that would be a first.
I won't fill you in or start from where we left off I'll start from........
My doorbell ringing like a drag queen screaming for make-up.
It didn't stop.
Nor was I obliged to open it when it was being rung so rudely.
It was rape of a small electric appliance.
It was a headfuck.
It was bloody loud.
And I had a hangover.
A bitch one.
Bloody Smirnoff.
The Lancet have said it.
Alcohol bad.
E's are good.
Or words to that effect.
Oh that bitching bloody muddy doorbell!
I dragged myself from where I had fallen unconscious on the
Half my hair was stuck to my face.
Half was stuck up with...I smelt it, yuck BBQ sauce.
I had on my Twisted Sister T shirt!
Dee Snyder was heavy on the blue eyeshadow, but hey it was the
Not now, I mean when I got the shirt.
Oh and a pair of faded pink pants.
I opened the door and the guy standing there stood back, it must
have been the noxious fumes emanating from me.
Vodka and bile.
Just like Mother used to make.
Then it was my turn to stare.
He was black, very black and tall, taller then Alan or even that big
lox Mal.
He was dressed in a suit, very nice very P Diddy.
But older.
And stranger.
His eyes were the colour of smoke, grey and light and totally alien
in his dark face.
But eerie.
If he had been younger I would have put them down as contacts.
No they twinkled with humour and recognition.
I looked at my bare legs and saw in horrible detail that they had
stubby hairs growing out like spikes on a cactus.
"Can I help you?" My voice wrecked from a night smoking my guts
out and laughing like a loon had bestowed me with Olive from ON
THE BUSES tones.
What a little star I was.
Me not him.
"No but I can help you."
He said in a voice so posh and cultured it took a Butler and a Maid
to get it to my eardrums.
"You ain't got to save my soul, I ain't got one." I made to slam the
door in his handsome face.
His foot had managed to get in the door along with the rest of him.
"What the fuck?"
He laughed, richly, chocolate coffee and smooth rum.
"Patrick said you would be like this!"
"Yes he told me to look you up."
"Who are you?"
"Soloman." He grinned and had a thrilling gap between his teeth,
nearly as cute as mine.
"And you are a friend of Patrick?"
"That and more, of course he knew me by the name of Dada So."
Fudge. Reality went out of the window, Voodoo, Hoodoo.
My stomach lurched badly and I had to run to the loo.
Soloman followed me in and held my hair (how embarrassing!)
whilst I brought up ..............well you don't want to know really!
I was crouched there elegantly making sounds that would make
a bull hippo proud, with a strange S African holding my hair and
dressed in pants and a grubby tee (me not the African).
I chuckled deep in my chest, imagine if Alan was to see me now,
or the twins?
You know the drill!
"I guess there is a relevant explanation for this?" Said Alan, yep
he was standing there with the twins.
All looking at me like I was a Salem Witch.
Burn her!
Solomon smiled.
"I'll come back tomorrow." He moved so quickly, glided like one
of those yoga masters- yogis?
"Just who are you?" Demanded Alan.
Solomon looked him up and down and didn't even warrant him with
an answer. He just kept walking not even looking back at me.
"How fucking rude!"
The twins were laughing like drains.
"He's a friend of Patrick." I gasped dryly.
"Oh that explains everything!" Alan was fit to explode.
"Oh Rebecca, pack a bag, we are going on a journey."
"Who is this bastard?" Snarled Alan.
Solomon leaned right into his face. "I am your worse nightmare,
the man who will take Becka away forever."
He smiled.
I placed my face against the cold toilet and felt every pulse in my
Alan looked bewildered.
The next second he joined me on the floor.

Becka We are back Martin xxxxx

Thursday, March 08, 2007


Well times are a changing-who knew?

Which part of downward spiral do we not understand?

Becka Mxxxx