“I’d been listening to men talk since I arrived in New York City. That’s what men liked to do. Talk. Profess like experts. When one finally came along who didn’t say much, I listened.”
“Tell me, Muslim uncle, can a man make himself vanish with poetry”
“What do you mean – like vanish through black magic?” He looked at me. “Yes, that can be done. There are books for that. You want to buy one?”
“No, not vanish like that. I mean can he… can he…”
The bookseller had narrowed his eyes. The sweat beads had grown larger on his huge black forehead.
I smiled at him. “Forget I asked that. Muslim uncle.”
And then I warned myself never to talk to this old man again. He knew too much already.
“let this be my annual reminder
that we can all be something bigger”
“The crows seemed to be calling his name, thought Caw”
“We were walking through Leeds and it was just fucked and I said, ‘Look, these kids ain’t got fuck all.’ and he goes, (solemnly) ‘they got us’. And that was the end of my relationship with him”…. “What do you mean ‘they got us’? A pretentious comment says to me you’re not real, I can’t waste my time on you.” Tricky on Damon Albarn to Mojo magazine.