Love Letters from the Gutter

The Pink Collection #3 - Rue Lafontaine

My Dear Lost Button,

I'm becoming impatient. I've been here loitering up and down Rue Lafontaine since before first light. I woke at just gone 3am with the terrifying thought of you leaving a reply and the street cleaners hosing it down the drain before I ever had chance of seeing it. That's how fragile this world is that I cling to. I've crawlen so near to the edge that the slightest thing may finally serve to put my balance on the wrong side. It's frightening. It reminds me of the time I stood watching a father and his two children having a picnic on the steps leading down to the river. The river was at full tide and slapped up to the step one below them. The youngest child, just a baby, was looking at the water when a polystyrene cup floated by. It stretched out to grab the cup and just rolled over, headfirst like babies do, into the deep murky water. The father saw it at the same moment I did, but could do nothing. There wasn't even anything for him to reach out and try to grab a hold of – his baby was gone, sucked down and rushed away by dark, dangerous currents which never give much back. Can you imagine that? Well, I'm that baby reaching out!

God, now I'm just writing any old crap, probably trying to impress you in some way with my sensibilities towards the suffering of others... tell you in one letter what I couldn't show you in two months. Though the real truth is more likely that I only care about others suffering now that it's happening to me. Finally I can understand and cry the same selfish tears as my close evolutionary cousin 'homo-fucked-up-sapien'! Shit, maybe I shouldn't have written that??? Maybe I shouldn't have written any of this!

Oh well. Damage done. No quick select and cut when you're writing by hand. No spellcheck either. It's either balling up paper all day long, scratching out words and scribbling away until your handwriting looks like a drunk's stagger or you have to hand yourself in: faults an' all. I've gone for the truth... or as near as I can get to the truth without it looking too bad.

Anyway, back to the street cleaners. They didn't hose your letter away. Firstly because there was no letter to hose away, and secondly because each street is only cleaned twice weekly and today wasn't Rue Lafontaine's turn. Still, I reckon I'd be doing well to find out more about this rota, just to ensure I set my broken heart down around their disinfectant spray and not in it.

Oh Button, Button, Button, Button, Button... won't you give me a sign? Even if it's just to tell me to “fuck off!” I could handle that. I could somehow lay it at the feet of the french and go home never to return to these cursed shores again. It's the not knowing which is the killer. Not knowing if you are fleeing me or seriously having some alone time to figure if US is what you want. Of course I know it's not the latter, I know. Not one thing points to that. By the time you had even considered booking a ticket to this place I was already a dead duck, the bullet just hadn't hit yet. Was I really such an impossible lover that you couldn't tell me? Were my tears really so intimidating? I know they were torrential and came out as a bit of a flash flood, but there were 28 years worth, and they had to be cried at sometime... to someone. If I'd have known they'd have flushed you out to sea I would have held back and cried them through the night.


I've just gotten through reading back what there is of this letter and it's a sorry-ass-piece of self-centered trash! No wonder you wanted water between us. Jesus, there's so many things I want to ask you, simple things, like: “how are you?” “Will you return to study at the end of summer?” “Did you think any more about your plans to travel Europe?”(stupid fucking question that is seeing's how you're already here!) So it's not I don't have things to ask, I do... lots, it's just that anything I ask even a mite above general chit chat you'll interpret as being too pressing or asked with ulterior motives in mind. So I don't ask questions. I just leave letters around - stupid, fucking, hopeless letters...

Button, the day is up proper and so I guess it's time to leave. But it's so hard. I feel I could write away to you all day, tell you magical things of skies and breezes and insects and skin and lazing around with nothing but love to waste our time on. I could tell you how sometimes I get caught up in thoughts of you and forget to blink and then I'm crying. I could tell you how if I close my eyes I can see orange and feel you besides me and how at such times I could just fall backwards and float away to another heaven. I could remind you of the first week we spent together and how you told me not to trust you, that you was a bad one, and when I said I didn't care and that I do trust you and we'd be like no others, how you broke down and the night fell with us in a frenzy of tears and ecstasy and wide saucer eyes full of orgasm and madness. I could tell you how when you left so hastily the city lost her stomach and beautiful memories then hurt my head and I saw ghosts of us running for buses, holding hands and jumping over garbage bags... your red summer dress in a twirl and london dirty upon bare feet. Oh, and how desperately I needed to contact you!!! But how??? How I staggered around with my palms upturned, showing the world the thin skin on my wrists which protected vital arteries, and how I wanted just one person to see my pain and somehow help. I could tell you all these things and more, but they'd surely only push you further away. It was that smothering which made you crave room in the first place. My uncontrollable need to be around you, to constantly need proof of your feelings... to give you proof of mine. God, no wonder you left! And now I'm saying I'm a changed man, then realize I'm writing you this letter sitting in the street, in a foreign country, ready to drop it in the gutter and insanely think you may somehow find it and reply! Hahaha... even I can see the craziness in that.

It won't stop me though... logic can go fuck itself. This is love and there's nothing logical about that. And so with everything from The Laws of Possibility to the City's street cleaners against me, I drop this letter and make a wish: Rue de l'Espoir... I wish to meet you there.... X


  1. oh these are so good, and i can hear the guy's voice in my head as i read them. i like how it's playing out so far and eager to see where it goes.

  2. "the bullet hadn't hit yet", wow!

  3. Really very well written this post..i appreciate it..Thanks!


  4. Wow .. this is wonderful ,,, such depth of emotion.. you have such a talent mate xx

  5. ..and that comment was so lame.. the first paragraph blew me away .. as I have been there and felt like that.. different street though ;P xx

  6. it felt exactly like coming across a private letter and reading it instead of letting it be. I felt almost guilty reading it. I felt i shouldn't be here....I mean that as a compliment. I know I should be here and will be everyday...

  7. It's a terrible position to be in, losing a Button... after all, without your Button, how can you fasten your coat and keep warm?

    (I'm sure there's a metaphor there, if you look hard enough).

  8. Indeed, there is no logic to love. G =]

  9. 'I'm that baby reaching out!'

    Talk about self-centred!

    Turning a tregedy like that into part of his own pain

    All the ills in the world are reflected through his P.O.V.

    He's beginning to sound seriously deranged.

    The poor woman is better off away!

    It's funny but the background now looks like a white furry fireside rug. Still very Babs. And very fitting.

    (When I tried to comment earlier it said I had to be a member. Even after I subscribed it still said that. Then I tried to comment on Memoirs and it wouldn't take. It may be just some weird problem my end unless others have had trouble too).

  10. joe m- i have that comment problem all the time but i've found if i just click on the comment thing a second time it takes. which make s no sense, but whatever.

  11. Hiya Everyone... The comment problem came from me I was messing around with settings and must have saved the changes. On Memoires Joe I have a problem with 'spam comments' and a few people have unsubscribed because 90% of what they receive are either offers for Luis Vuitton handbags or Russian transexuals trying to flog penis pumps (go figure???) Maybe the two are connected (or it has something to do with my search history, haha!)

    Anyway, commenting should be fine again here and on Memoires I'll go and see if I can choose a better setting. X

    (Individual replies to follow....)

  12. Hiya ID... I'm still finding this person. I think after a few more letters and things he says I'll be more comfortable. I also think that once there is someone to interact with he'll come alive a bit more. X

  13. Hey Jim... you liked that one hey? You can have it!

    One of the weird things that sometimes happens to me when writing (and for no reason) is that I'll suddenly begin overusing a certain word. In these letters it's been the word 'just'. You won't really notice as I edit them out before posting, but it can take a lot of time and messing around. So that sentence you picked out was one of the survivors. X

  14. Maddy stop posting your spam crap here please. That you're a real person going around physically doing that is sad and desperate. As I've an old friend who used to love reading spam I'll leave it for his memory, but any more and Princess Agipoki will be on your case!

  15. Hiya Ruth, I'll let you guys decide if it's good or not. I used to have an opinion, but when I realized every writer in the world thinks their own stuff is incredible I stopped taking any real notice of myself. That doesn't mean I let the public define if it's good or not, but a certain handful of people I respect, yes.

    So thanks for all you say... because it's only due to people taking the time to say things that I can have an idea as to how my words affect people and whether they need to be changed or not. X

  16. Thanks id. I did try a few times but it was still the same. Anyway it got me to subscribe which I couldn't see the point to since I was a follower, but I see that you get an email when there's a new post, so you don't have to check every day (or every 5 minutes if you're me).

    I liked on Memoirs where you could tick a box before commenting and get an email when somebody else commented. Of course it mean I still get emails when spam appears on ancient posts but I don't mind. I DO mind all this recent Chinese spam I've been getting on Hot Mail. I'm seriously thinking of ditching that and setting up a new one. But it's such a hassle. I recently moved from Internet Explorer to Firefox due to constant freezing. Now I don't get any. Microsoft is crap. I'm thinking of getting an Apple Mac. But they are 2 or 3 times the price of ordinary laptops. My not even 2 year old Advent laptop goes off after a few seconds of being switched on, a common problem according to the net. We're all being ripped off.

    I think it will be interesting when Enola starts interacting since he can't go on like this for too long. Be interesting to see the new form of 'report'. Are we going to get a one-sided account a la John or dual/multi (perhaps conflicting) reports. I'll definitely be doing a bit of that with 'Abigail'.

  17. Absolut Ruiness, that's good you felt like that because this mabn is desperate and saying things which he'd probably never tell anyone else. We have a chance to read of such intimate things because his desperation has pushed him to go public... he no longer cares if the worlds sees his insides, just as long as the person he's paining for see's them too. And it's not so much the feelings that are intimate, but the desperation which they fuel... it's always hard to watch. X

  18. John, it's even worse if you're fond of Levis 501's and your cock keeps on falling out! You can get in serious trouble for that under these new anti-terror laws!X

  19. Hiya Joe,

    that story about the baby is actually true... I saw that. Only in reality the father was drunk... on the steps with his kids and cans of super strong beer. I must have only been about eight and the father started going crazy and so I ran. But I never ever forgot that moment and it's one of the reasons why rivers hold such a dark place in my mind. I'm not sure if you've realized but in my writing the river comes up a lot... and it's always a dark palce where dangerous things happen. By the age of ten I had known three people who lost their lives in The Thames.

    What background looks white? The nackground to the blog or the letters? The blog should be a pinky beige and the letters almost the same but with a kinda washed pattern over it. Saying that I've just remembered that I've been meaning to slightly change the colour of the letters... I'll try that later.

    You should be able to subscribe here to comments too... if not i'll pop your name in the behind the scene settings and you'll get them to your inbox as soon as they're posted.

    On the subject of laptops I've just been given a really neat little mini laptop... it's perfect for writing. I can take it anywhere and never lose a moment. My last one... you saw a pic of it a year ago, but now... OH la la!!! You'd be amazed what all these words were written on... it literally had no keys left and i was typing on the little rubber mounts that are under the keys. It was also plagued with hundred of bugs and could only be used in safe mode... it's a real museum piece. I'll put a pic up of it somewhere. Anyhow, got a new one now and i've sworn to look after it a little better and keep cigarettes away from the keys!


  20. Hiya Gurney... that's actually one of my own lines I keep nicking! It's turned up on just about anything I've ever written... It's even in WFJ if I remember correctly.

    Well, that shows me up... telling Ruth above I have no opinion of my own writing and then five comments later admitting to plagiarizing myself!!! haha... can there be anything more arrogant than that? maybe I do secretly think I'm good! X

  21. I hate water too - well am scared of it I suppose. I dreamt last night that the Glasgow streets were covered in ice. But when I started walking it started melting, big cracks/fissures appeared and there was an ocean beneath. God, it's that awful vastness I hate.

    Now the background (to the letters) does look beige, with a pattern as you say, and a pink border. It's probably my screen going funny. It looks good like that.

  22. that's odd, the background on my screen is a plain pale taupe (with cigarette ashes statically attached). But who the fuck cares. Just give me the words. More, please....


If you're here to write something malicious I thank you in advance for wasting your precious time on me. X