I have spent a long time wrestling with depression and social anxiety. My way through is not everyone else’s. Let me take you through it, as a form of an example…
I don’t just listen to albums of animals being slaughtered to a heathen god; my tastes are more varied than that.
One of them was asleep on my front; the other one tugged at my hand, slouching her way down the wet, cobbled street. Both were deathly tired.
The Geordie accent is well-known, well-loved and oft-butchered by people who heard it once and failed to spot the subtle nuance of our local tongue. But our accent is only the half of it.
This is all an hallucination. I am currently strapped in to a dentist’s chair, in my old neighbourhood, having hallucinogenic compounds drip-fed directly in to my eyeballs.
A pre-fatherhood man is a different proposition to a father: you look back on yourself and weep for his childishness.
There has been a lot of talk over the centuries about the second coming of Jesus Christ.
Is my daughter God?