Audio: Readings by the author
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The Power of Words:
As I approach my parents' house, I see a rolled-up newspaper at the foot of a local council litter bin.
The voice once again makes its presence felt with the words:
‘This is a test’
I unroll the newspaper, a copy of The Sun, like a sacred scroll.
On the front page is the photograph of an ordinary man with the headline:
‘MONSTER!’
The accompanying story reveals the man is a convicted serial paedophile.
I place a healing hand on the face of the Demon and put the newspaper in the bin.
The voice states:
‘You have passed the test.’
Later that day something inside snaps.
I climb the stairs to the bedroom at the top of the house and reach into my father’s wardrobe to remove his black shirt, with the intention of setting it alight.
A clearly audible hissing breathing emanates from the closet.
Unfased, I take the shirt downstairs, remove a copy of Mein Kampf (first edition) from my dad’s bookshelf (Da was no Nazi but he adored books), walk through the gate at the bottom of the garden, hang the shirt on the railings that border Langley Beck, and set fire to it. Opening the book, I kiss the portrait of Adolf Hitler printed on the inside page, throw it into the embers, and watch it ignite.
My father was furious, insisting:
‘When people burn books it’s the end of civilisation!’
I countered:
‘It’s when people write books like this, that civilisation is under threat.’
We were both right and were forced to agree with each other.
The most bold and impactful printed advertisement I have seen, was a full page spread in a Sunday supplement promoting Waterstones. It depicted a chard book alongside the caption:
‘Hitler was right about one thing … the power of words.’
As I approach my parents' house, I see a rolled-up newspaper at the foot of a local council litter bin.
The voice once again makes its presence felt with the words:
‘This is a test’
I unroll the newspaper, a copy of The Sun, like a sacred scroll.
On the front page is the photograph of an ordinary man with the headline:
‘MONSTER!’
The accompanying story reveals the man is a convicted serial paedophile.
I place a healing hand on the face of the Demon and put the newspaper in the bin.
The voice states:
‘You have passed the test.’
Later that day something inside snaps.
I climb the stairs to the bedroom at the top of the house and reach into my father’s wardrobe to remove his black shirt, with the intention of setting it alight.
A clearly audible hissing breathing emanates from the closet.
Unfased, I take the shirt downstairs, remove a copy of Mein Kampf (first edition) from my dad’s bookshelf (Da was no Nazi but he adored books), walk through the gate at the bottom of the garden, hang the shirt on the railings that border Langley Beck, and set fire to it. Opening the book, I kiss the portrait of Adolf Hitler printed on the inside page, throw it into the embers, and watch it ignite.
My father was furious, insisting:
‘When people burn books it’s the end of civilisation!’
I countered:
‘It’s when people write books like this, that civilisation is under threat.’
We were both right and were forced to agree with each other.
The most bold and impactful printed advertisement I have seen, was a full page spread in a Sunday supplement promoting Waterstones. It depicted a chard book alongside the caption:
‘Hitler was right about one thing … the power of words.’