tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17818341790371666992012-02-16T11:17:08.574ZMarkus Lloydhttps://profiles.google.com/113716897467403546415noreply@blogger.comBlogger41100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781834179037166699.post-35726941065261368022011-12-09T01:05:00.001Z2011-12-14T23:49:46.751Z

Tears stir just below the surface, it reminds me of live bait - I will think of my father, the grubs and worms he used when he fished, which is all he ever did after they shut the steelworks - I have to look straight into their eyes, I'm paid to do that, and I say '...your job is at risk' - their emotions are stampeded - they would cry, but you don't, do you? - the stink of gut oily fish on my

Markus Lloydhttps://profiles.google.com/113716897467403546415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781834179037166699.post-85245917352806936102011-11-22T12:59:00.001Z2011-12-09T01:04:24.792Z

What I do, is nothing. I don't mean I do nothing. I'm a bleeding grafter. It's - just - it's like Tinkerbell - what I do it exists because it is seen to be done - it's believed because it is seen to exist. Do you get that? Tinkerbell is a figment of belief, and you want to believe in her or else she's not there to believe in. I'm the knock, knock man - I'm a foot in the door. What I

Markus Lloydhttps://profiles.google.com/113716897467403546415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781834179037166699.post-81897230936644730932011-11-10T07:08:00.002Z2011-11-13T16:12:54.916Z

Never could abide hot beverages hot—nor take them milky, though the milk cools them—I've always waited on luke warm. I used to drink tea from the saucer, as a nipper, it was something my gramps did, he taught me. But I grew up and I had to make do with cups—now I'm overgrown, I could be a gramps myself, I can drink from a saucer again—I don't have to wait.     They assume I'm a film buff. I'm

Markus Lloydhttps://profiles.google.com/113716897467403546415noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1781834179037166699.post-65476475315164678672011-11-08T16:11:00.000Z2011-11-10T19:40:20.464Z

Guess what, they never ask. Heads coat me in the bird shit of their desperate need to natter, they come out with...[shakes his head]. Well, they throw snippets of their tedium in the air like bird seed, like I'm a bird, like I want feeding - when it's them, they want reassurance because it's intimate, barbering. I mean I touch them and they blush, they do, it's what starts them off, attempting

Markus Lloydhttps://profiles.google.com/113716897467403546415noreply@blogger.com0