Expressive Explorations

Shame is a pervasive weed, that withers in the hands of your green fingered friends. It takes bravery to share your shame, but that courageous risk can cast shame skywards; when it soars above us, heads back and laughing, tension unknots. But some will have to wait, until tolerance and trust come to release the rooted shame. 

The comedians story of hometown eccentricity, now contains the pre-stage anxiety and sweet audience laughter of 60 nights on tour. The memory has morphed, with the perfectly timed passer-by, into the memory of the telling. Whether it happened or not, it's true. Rememberings are like hair-dos, they take the shape of the need of the day.

My eyes open, but I can't move. The nightmare hasn't yet faded and the fear is still pumping through me. It is Christmas Eve and I'm a small, scared boy, lying on his back in bed. My door opens, but my night time visitor brings no presents. It is a skeleton, creeping towards me. Moving slowly, to toy with me. It exudes ominous intent. I can hear its joints grinding, a tense, crunching rising.  The anger in its empty eye sockets pierces me, and suddenly I can move. I flip over, and hide under my duvet, and cry. I listen to my breathing slow, until sleep slowly returns and the nightmares merge.