Artex Artex Artex - 2019
Rung Magazine - East Bristol Contemporary - 2019

 

I have a recurring vision of my head screwed to a desk.

Doubled over, face down as if praying.

(Head) securely fastened and immobile.

 

Once the vision is in place I’m not experiencing the hard flatness against my forehead, or the cartilage of my nose being compressed. I’m witnessing the act out of body, like when a dream flips from first to third person. I am Ebenezer Scrooge being shown his potential future or past or whatever—I don’t mean Ebenezer Scrooge from A Christmas Carol either, I mean Albert Finney in Scrooge from 1970, peering through Bob Cratchit’s mucky window, with that little tit Tiny Tim singing out of tune.

 

As a kid my friend Chris used to watch that film all year round, and not just at Christmastime.  He told me that in some instances TV channels would completely edit out the Hell part because it was too scary for family viewing. That’s my favourite bit. There was this one year where I swear that I was reminded of Christmas in one way or another every single day. The problem is—once you start thinking that—it’s really hard to switch it off, it’s like a self-fulfilling prophesy, or some sort of curse.

 

A self-fulfilling prophesy, or some sort of curse.