| 1984 is that book about Big Brother by what’s his name that everyone pretends they read a bit like Ulysses by yer man, Joyce and 1984 is the year my heart was broken and these things are not connected except for 1984, which, in the end is just a number and these days it’s all about numbers yesterday it was 43 the day before the day after and all the days to come will be counted one for sorrow two for joy people become numbers everything will be counted and it’s 2020 and my heart is broken and the Queen is in her counting house and these things are not connected. |
| I dabble in poetry. |