"silence is grey" "silence is golden" "silence is the stone in my mouth."
London, England. One Love.
"When you walk through a graveyard, do you envision the bodies under the ground?
I do. Except they stretch to the grass in between the roads and the pavement and the floorboards
in my living room, and then I’m sitting cross legged on a chair because I don’t want to put my feet on a coffin.
I have an involuntary, irrational preoccupation with the dead.
It has been with me since I was young. There are corpses in place of monsters
under my bed. They slump in parked cars, lie in front gardens, sit butchered on shelves,
in pieces, in the fridge. They were headstones then, grew into caskets,
and now I am older I can see the whites of their eyes that stare mindlessly and roll in the backs of their heads.
They don’t move. They don’t hurt me. They can’t, of course. They’re dead."