L’etranger – or thoughts on the Black Eyed Dog

I haven’t posted for a while – the black eyed dog has been barking at my door, but today it has quietened down. Telling it to do one, doesn’t always work, but somtimes a treat lobbed in its general direction allows the muses to come back into my life and the words to flow. “Here it comes and then it goes…and it hits me takes me home and I don’t know where I am going – let it flow.”

Words beget songs in my mind as songs beget words, and this post and the one to follow it combines both. I am endlessly enthused by music and literature, especially those with the transformative potential of abstraction. This piece is the opening of a short story…a letter to an unnamed person, that speaks of a soul struggling to adjust…to adjust to life and living, to a world without words to express emotions, and the need to break free from the constraints of insular society…to create a bonfire of the inanities.


Saturday December 26th


Notes taken by PC Rhiannon Rees 25/12/07. Found by Gina Davies 26/12/07

Home of Sion Rhodri Davies (45), Myfanwy Gwenllian Jones (49), Seren Cerys Sioned Jones-Davies (6), and Rhys Royston Bleddyn Jones-Davies (5).

Only body of IC3 male present. Cards in wallet identify body as Sion Rhodri Davies

No-one else in the house

No sign of forced entry

Bags packed in hallway

No external marking to the body, no outward signs of trauma

Celtic band tattoo, upper left arm, Polynesian tattoo upper right arm

There isn’t anything else important. Ambulance called.

Letter found at 345 Portland Road, Canton by PC Rhiannon Rees 25/12/07

Why didn’t you come and see me, yesterday? Was it the misunderstanding? You know I love our time together you randomly quoting Rochester between Velvet Underground songs and me skinning up how can you know so much, but so little about me, or about anything? You said you would and you didn’t and I needed you and you weren’t and now, I’m not. This is my vitriol. Ignore it all, it doesn’t mean anything anyway. The only way to fight the pain is to inflict more pain on me on me deflect it from you get in the way because I am already in the way. Now is the time to let it be to leave it all drop and move swiftly on. If I punch myself in the head maybe I‘ll start thinking in straighter lines and start being me again rather than this pale imitation (that’s a joke – you like jokes). It is embarrassing – I am an embarrassment you know me as well as me, so I have to just let me be. Here and now has become is there and then a gossamer spider web and I am trapped; I try tried to wriggle free but I only geot tangled further. The problem with learning the lessons of my past is not that I haven’t learned them well – I’ve studied hard and these grades prove my mediocrity – I’ve learned the lines too well that I have forgotten how to act. Repeating someone else’s script, stripping words of nuance, subtlety and meaning…I stand before you going through familiar emotions and moving no-one least of all me. I can’t change me. They can all see it now I need to write the next play myself, shape line, character, and space. I need to make this my own – shadows are good for hiding in, but suffocating to live in now how comfortable is this pre-fabricated pied-a-terre. It is time to resurrect a familiar favourite, but there is no light, not even a spot. I can’t stand another second in my company! Time to say goodbye and move on like a roadrunner…roadrunner once…roadrunner twice. It isn’t anything for you to worry about is it? Is it? I need to feel happy in my skin, but you can’t, not yours and never mine. You did it, but you didn’t need to, one day you’ll see I’ve sent you a letter I got eighteen years ago.


Freedom is just another word for when you have no-one left to hurt…but my soul isn’t on fire – you know where that comes from, you played it to me and I listened and said nothing as you closed your eyes and cried inside and outside and then left before I could say anything; it is burning, twisting, self-aggrandising, selfish, and soulless me. I thought that I could find the answer within and without, but all that I found was a hollow vacuum where my heart once was. There is nothing left. There is truly no-one left to hurt there is no more damage to do apart from to me. Where do I go from here…ever onwards, ever forward, further and deeper into the heart of darkness. There is nowhere left to run, every time I turn I am just facing in the same fucking direction facing the same thing, confronting yesterday today. If you can’t trust your mind, your feelings, and your instincts, what is left? Nothing. The end, only the end; nothing and everything. I feel everything, every knife cut plunging deeper and further until it disappears inside me and then it is done, but it starts again, I turn around again, but I still cannot see. The fog just thickens and obscures, consumes and constricts until I have to rely on all the other senses. They are supposed to compensate, right? Well come on then, just fucking do it, just fucking bring it. JUST FUCKING BRING IT.

One love forever, Cariad mawr Sioni x


2 thoughts on “L’etranger – or thoughts on the Black Eyed Dog

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