Friday, December 8
`At fourteen I learnt the art of lurking. I had already given up sleep. At night I tiptoed down the attic stairs and the whole house trembled with my disobedience. I slid out of the front door and into the street. I went to the graveyard with its stone angels and pagan gargoyles and lay under a tree which was an umbrella with a canopy of lungs. I made up miserable songs which I sang in a low monotone. I was always looking for the artist. I drifted to the water meadow and walked through clumps of nettles until my ankles grew numb elephantine skins. I walked slowly, wrapped in a duffle coat, hoping that something would happen.`
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so I basically had that down at 6. I would wander the attic every night with my dog and we would go throught all the old boxes of my parents, and look at all their old photos and things....lurking is the best!
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