Dear Noel
Delphine Lecompte

Dear Noel,

yes,it’s me again,i hope you can forgive me for having set your car on fire,i got carried away,besides you probably got about hundreds of them posh cars,do you even read my letters??i’ve sent you about fifty now,i love you noel,you’re the only one i trust,you’re the only one i tell all this stuff to.

anyway,i keep bumping into lunatics,yesterday night i was roaming the streets,minding my own business,nailing my daft poems to all the church doors—and god knows there are many in this bleeding catholic town—and smashing the windows of the library and burning down a few schools and flashing my tits at the mayor and snogging a few cock-eyed swedish sailors and talking to a few stray cats—not very sympathetic animals,i’ll tell you that much—and jumping in front of speeding cars and peeping through the bedroom window where my beloved wee andy was sleeping and dreaming his silly rock’n’roll star dreams,he doesn’t wanna see me anymore,ever since i stabbed him with that kitchen knife,but ach i cut myself as well,i reckoned it could be a bonding kind of thing you know,cut each other and then press our wounds together and we’d be soul mates for the rest of our life,but oh no,the over-sensitive cunt had to panic—admittedly it did spurt quite impressively,but it was beautiful,but he failed to recognise the beauty of it—and then he called me all sorts of nasty things and then i hit him on the head with his bass guitar and he passed out and i called an ambulance,but the ungrateful cunt wouldn’t let me accompany them,and now i have to stalk him if i want to see him,and i want to see him,i wanna see him gyrate like morrissey,an imaginary mic in his hand,i wanna see him strum his bass guitar,i wanna see him sleep eat drink,i don’t wanna see him wank,wee andy can’t wank,wee andy is supposed to be genderless,except when i’m drunk and want to grab his crotch,enough about the talentless geezer,so yes like i was telling you noel,i was doing the usual stuff,nothing fancy,slashing my arms with broken beer bottles,sucking a few russian cocks,and giving the money i just earned to my homeless brothers—you see noel,i’m not all bad—i had a few drinks with the charming bums,there was a bit of humping and fingering but their dogs got jealous and there was no more booze and there were malicious junkies scowling at us so i left,i found an empty warehouse and i wanked over a morrissey picture i had torn out of a music magazine,at two am i called maff’s father and he asked me if i could take off all my clothes,and i told him that i was in a telephone booth,but he said “that hasn’t stopped you before,” so i said “fair enough” and took off all my clothes,“but if i get raped i’m gonna blame you” and then we talked about paul weller,but i was so fucking randy so i hung up and ran away,after a few miles i realised i was naked,my clothes were still in the telephone booth,but i couldn’t find it now,and besides i had almost reached my destination:the loony bin,i had to liberate a few friends,but then it struck me:Delphine,if they see you like this,stark naked,slashed arms,“MAFF” carved on your belly,two black eyes,burns on your legs (you see i stub my cigarettes out on my legs),scratches and bruises everywhere,they’re gonna lock you up in that horrible isolation cell and some sleazy nurse will arsefuck you and inject some substances in you that will make you reckless and horny and euphoric but you will be stuck there and all the ecstasy will go to waste,and they won’t let you listen to the smiths and they will take away your daft poems and they will be the ultimate proof that i should be locked away for the rest of my life,and they will make me go through endless tests and assessments and tiresome talks with social workers,shrinks,psychologists,nurses;and i will be so tempted to concoct new stories,and if they believe me i will be locked away for the rest of my life cos i’m suffering from post traumatic stress disorder and they will stifle me with their warped compassion and if they don’t believe me i will be locked away for the rest of my life cos i’m a pathological compulsive liar and they will despise me and rape me and sedate me and tie me to my bed and when i’m eighty they’ll smother me with my cushion,the same cushion i’ve been resting my deluded head on for the past fifty odd years,oh and i suddenly realized that i’d forgotten my morrissey picture at the warehouse and this made me cry,i ran away from the loony bin and its hostile entrance with all those spiky bars and the deceivingly innocent looking lawn,mind,noel,i did feel bad about having to leave my friends at the nuthouse,but what use would it be to them if i was tied and sedated as well?besides,the cunts let me rot away in there for two bloody years,though admittedly those were great years and i met some lovely alcoholic reprobates,and we stole the files and tears were rolling over our faces as we read how crazy they thought we were,oh and they analysed all our actions and gestures,poor buggers,are they really gonna waste their whole life analysing alcoholic reprobates??and yes,we drank quite a lot and we still drink quite a lot,and occasionally some of us will slip into a coma,but we’re high on life,mad fer it,we’re the ones in the trenches,but in the spotlights as well,and on the canvas,running,singing,writing,spitting in the face of the establishment,embarrassing ourselves and everyone else,but life is flowing through us,and while we are oceans,they are sewers,and if it wasn’t for all our “delusions of grandeur” and kinky habits and twisted ambitions,they’d be stacking milk bottles at the supermarket of death! but i’m digressing,anyway,as i was walking back to the warehouse where i left my morrissey picture,the one i always use to wank over,the one where morrissey is looking quite cocky and smug,and i marvel at his quiff,and i marvel at his strong comforting eyebrows,not as strong and comforting as your eyebrows though,noel!! so i was on my way to the warehouse when all of a sudden a handsome dark-haired man with a bewildered look in his eyes was coming towards me,he was wearing a night-cap which made me laugh out loud,and he was carrying a gun which made me shiver,he gestured for me to go inside,and since i think it unwise to protest against people with guns and since i wasn’t carrying any weapon with me,i went inside,oh noel,this man covered my puny body with a blanket and he gave me something to drink,calvados i think it was,i downed it and he pour me another one,and after ten glasses,it struck me:this man,noel,this man who covered my naked body with a blanket,it was my father!

best wishes,
Delphine


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