As I sit here-with great difficulty-attempting to find a position, any position that is comfortable and pain free-I try to distract myself with my writing and indeed the writing of others...My back is causing me tremendous problems this week and am trying to remain positive in the face of pain and immobility. Shit happens! It will pass... In the meantime I'm waiting FOR NEWS-to see if I get some financial backing to get my novel put into print and get a pro editing job-if not it's back to me, myself and I. I've just come back to the prologue of something I've mentioned before-what may or may not be my next novel-or short story...The title is personal and is part of a project with images and poetry which again may or may not come to fruition; In the meantime-I leave you with an extract and I shall return to my deep heat, hot water bottle and pain killers! YOUR FLESH IS MY SHELTER PROLOGUE I gasped at the image before me; both shockingly explicit and macabre. “I told you to concentrate: That the best was yet to come...” he shook his head in wonder, marvelling at what he perceived to be a stunning piece of cinematic excellence: Japanese erotica, a classic portrayal of sexual passion and obsession. I was still shocked and taken aback by the graphic horror of what I'd just seen and yet simultaneously fascinated and titillated: To carve off your lover's genitals? What drives someone to such lengths? And to then continue on in a state of macabre ecstasy, yielding them as a prize? * Less than a month later as I sobbed alone in my bedroom, consumed by frustration and grief; a painful gaping hole in my heart that now spelt his eternal absence; I began to truly understand the all consuming passion and intensity that drives someone to that level of insanity and irrationality. The image of us screaming in my room: An explosive dangerous combination of frustration, anger and sorrow at the inevitable; I see myself raise my fist in rage, vision blurred red with the ferocity of my emotions. I stop myself in time and collapse in shock: What the hell was happening here? What had we become? This was not the violent actions of the person I thought I knew so well; myself. The birth of my insanity: Perhaps some would object to that term but I see it as pretty reasonable. Since time began us humans have known how love can lead one to...well, to no longer be of sound mind let us say. Crimes of passion: A frightening term that no doubt many have used to excuse themselves of hideous acts of wanton violence towards their supposed love ones; but maybe , just maybe, in very few cases, one can understand how in a brief moment... After all they do say we hurt the ones we love the most. * I sit here contemplating everything that was once his; the unmistakable scent that still lingers on the sheets, his books and clothes scattered around me, an eternal shrine to his everlasting memory. I lick the blood from my finger and wince at the pain: It grows, spreads, threatening to overcome me. The room explodes: Breaking glass, an eerie unearthly animal like cry escapes from my depths. I explode, I implode, I unravel.