My friend, Armitage.

I met this fellow in Year 12, or maybe it was Year 11. My teacher loved him. I remember excited discussions as the class discovered him more and more and I remember loving how he says things so bluntly yet so beautiful. I've kind of came to view his work as having a cruel, heartless emotion behind it, but I love it, because there still is feeling, but this drawn out distance. Like his poem about killing a hitcher, but its ambiguous as to whether it was just a fantasy. And Gooseberry Season, and November, and My father thought it bloody queer and Mother, any distance greater than a single span and Poem and The Shout and the one that starts 'Tricked into life with a needle and knife.. and so much more. And hardly any are online.

If I were to own any book I would want Book of Matches.

I've made out a will; I'm leaving myself

to the National Health. I'm sure they can use
the jellies and tubes and syrups and glues,
the web of nerves and veins, the loaf of brains,
and assortment of fillings and stitches and wounds,
blood - a gallon exactly of bilberry soup -
the chassis or cage or cathedral of bone;
but not the heart, they can leave that alone.

They can have the lot, the whole stock:
the loops and coils and sprockets and springs and rods,
the twines and cords and strands,
the face, the case, the cogs and the hands,
but not the pendulum, the ticker;
leave that where it stops or hangs.

**

'Boy with the name and face I don't remember,
you can stop shouting now, I can still here you."

Wikipedia says he is known for his 'critical seriousness'. It is all serious, but I like it.

Today was amazing.. talking to Jackie for the strengths finder = wow wow wow.