A curiously new mood settled upon me this evening, like a flock of birds

by Christos Polydorou

There is no one here to
help. So I am going to help
myself. I am going to do this in the
following way. I am going to take the word boyfriend,
and I am going to subvert it. The purpose
of this lexicological experiment is
emotional, i.e., I am trying to save myself
from falling into an emotional hole
on Christmas Eve, because I took a day off
into The City of London, only to find a city
slumbering into a two day sleep, and it was just
Japanese tourists and the odd stylish nuclear
local family, some waiters smoking on the streets
with stylists, not everything was open. I ended
up on Regent’s Street and looked at the wire
angels suspended over the street, to which
there is already an unusual sense to its
tilt or its latitude or something, it is not
my area of expertise, all I know is that
it made me feel like I was at the top
of a mountain that I climbed, too effortlessly,
all I had to do was take a train. It felt unusual
seeing London spinning slower than usual,
it affected me, it made me want to do the same.
It has been a rough year. So many important
recording artists died. I found a kindred.
I lost a kindred. I found a kindred. I lost a kindred.
On the train back, I cried. I cried because I lost a kindred,
I cried because I missed my nephews back in Cyprus,
and I missed my dog, too, Betty, I’ve written about her
elsewhere on this website, I cried because I missed my
mother, but most I did it in order to let the past go,
for myself, in this moment, kindreds, terriers. None
of them are alone on Christmas eve. But when the tears
ended, I felt such a relief, that bordered on happiness.
And then I felt happiness. But now I am beginning to feel
like the London I have seen, ready for my two day slumber.
One cannot remain unaffected. Not when there are cities
this old and we as artists trying on all the masks, until
we find that fits isn’t a mask at all, but our very own face.
There is no one to help, so I am going to help myself.
I am going to treat myself as if I am my own boyfriend.
Or girlfriend. Depending on what you go for. It is all one
new love. You will have so many kindreds, believe me.
There is no such thing as there is only one soulmate.
Jesus died, but two thousand years and sixteen will
still celebrate his birth. Jesus spread like wildfire.
As did our spirits, and there are only seven kinds.
Or is that types of noses? I know it might be something.
It won’t be perfect, but for this night, it will be something.