Book by Darren Allen

Author:Darren Allen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-06-12T04:00:00+00:00

DEARSAM

EVERYTHING IS TRUE

Dear Sam

I live with a grey-breasted hill partridge. His name is Peligro. I have drawn him.

Peligro’s unique talent is that he knows when things should stop. When I’ve listened to too much music, read too much, not done enough exercise, eaten enough, planned enough or got to the point of a drawing where another stroke would ruin it, he gently pecks my ankle and looks up at me.

This morning I was sitting quietly and started worrying about the future. Peligro came up to me and smashed me round the head with a cricket bat.

All the best, and a healthy portion of the worst,

Bellamy Gurdlefeck

•

Dear Sam

A few years ago I invented a machine that enabled me to instantly and accurately express my true nature as it changed from moment to moment. Through it I could display, without doubt or delay, what was happening in my heart, in all its infinitesimal subtlety and continental variety.

But because my new invention was so faithful to my fears and desires, I refrained from using it. In displaying my feelings so truthfully it completely exposed me. I was horrified and ashamed to discover that violent cravings, cowardly fears and much else wretched and abominable resided in me - and was being broadcast to the world. Not all the time of course, but with this extraordinary tool even a momentary flash of anxiety revealed itself to be hideous; in a way, moreover, that I couldn’t hide from or excuse. Much safer to put the thing away. Leave it be.

But in recent years, my life has improved. I don’t mean outwardly; nothing much has happened there. Rather I’ve realised that the insecurities, worries and wants I’d spent so many years trying to deal with just aren’t here anymore. I no longer say things I later regret or miss opportunities. I don’t fear other people’s company, nor do I particularly need it. I am at home in the world, it feels, yet do not feel attached to it.

And so I went to where I had stored my earlier work and got it out again. It seemed the time had come to put it to use. It seemed that I didn’t have anything to hide anymore. I have therefore started to use my incredible machine, to broadcast the strange and lovely sensations and intimations that pass through me, to share with the world the miraculous feelings that I am daily - hourly - host to.

I’ve also decided to give my machine a name. I call it my face.

That’s all for now. More soon - but what of?

Runcy Trumphorn

•

Dear Sam

Every night, as I sleep, my breakfast leaves Peckham and runs up Pomeroy Street. A fried egg, two potato croquets, couple of pieces of toast and some mushrooms sprint through along the Old Kent Road at around four in the morning and then, as the sun rises, turn into up Tower Bridge Road. As I lay in bed, the breakfast items - exhausted from their marathon but undiminished - run through Whitechapel, up Grove Road, down my street and towards my house.

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