“Book Descriptions: When I was a boy, there was a tramp who lived in a derelict factory near our house. On the way to school, we’d often see him, standing at the side of the road, staring at the spot where the train tunnel ended and the tracks emerged into the outside world. As the trains thundered from the darkness into the morning light, he’d launch into a tirade of nonsensical babble, shouting curses and abominations.
I understood him. Not his words, not his shouts and curses, but his purpose. I too shared a need to expunge the detritus which built up in my head. I required a cathartic expulsion of the madness and chaos which festered in my thoughts.
This collection is just that: a medley of insane and inane shouts and screams, a collage of verbal ticks, a cornucopia of inky doodlings. Some are random ideas which sneak into my brain, others are heart-felt and personal reflections, and a few are just humorous cul-de-sacs. Some are the germs from which stories or novels have grown, but most went no further than the form in which they are replicated in this dosshouse of words.
I am not a poet. A few of you might find something which amuses, and others won’t. Whichever group you fall into, I want to thank you, because you are my train, thundering out from the darkness of the tunnel, and I’m just a random tramp, screaming abuse at you.” DRIVE
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