Corrina

Corrina came into my room and sat down on one of the two wooden chairs in there and I sat
down on my bed. And I looked at the poster of Unknown Pleasures above my bed, then at the
oil painting I’d down of a black cat looking out of a window, which was hanging over the thin
black wood-topped, metal-framed desk before my bed.
‘Well it ain’t much but it’s home’ I said to Corrina as I looked at her.
She was 19 and very beautiful and had shoulder length hair, that she’d dyed grey sometime
before I’d met her. And she laughed slightly at me.
‘So you came over at last’ I then said to her.
‘Yes!’ she replied, ‘of course’
I looked at her and nodded faintly to myself. We both sat in silence for a little while then I said
to her, ‘…hey wait, do you want to see something?’
‘Ok’
I got up and went and rummaged amongst the papers on my desk, and soon I produced a
drawing for her of the pretty, thirty year old lady who works at the hotel desk, where I work as
a cleaner in town.
Corrina looked at the work for a shortwhile then said to me of it, ‘I love it’ She then set it back
down on my desk.
‘Thanks man’ I replied returning to my bed.
‘Oh, and I also thought that maybe if you bought me a photo of you that you like sometime,
maybe I could paint it then give it to you later for your birthday present. That’s still in two
weeks or so right?’
‘The 19 th ’
‘Yeah. I don’t know man, was just an idea of course, would be up to you, whatever’
‘Wait, you’re kidding?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘That’s the nicest suggestion ever’
‘It’s just a painting, you make it sound like I’m angling to give you a kidney or something’
‘But still…
I like the drawing a lot by the way’
‘Thanks man’
‘She looks pensive… Yet friendly’
‘Thanks’ I replied with a shrug.
‘You really want to paint me?’
‘Mm’ I said as I nodded at her slightly, ‘yeah, sure man, happy to do it. Don’t really have a real
fuck of a lot else to do when I’m not working and they’ve only got me on, 3 days a week’ I
looked down at my hands for a bit then added, ‘I got my record player fixed in town too the
other day by the way’
‘Nice. So you finally have music again’
‘Yeah. Bit of Bruckner, Tchiakovsky, Beethoven of course. I got his 6 th and the 9 th With all those
beautiful voices of the ladies—and the men. Of course I’m not much, attracted to the men in
the same way, but there’s pathos there. Definite, definite pathos, an evocation of humanity in

all it’s horror and glory and—but the women, well one pictures them as rather lustful creatures,
with the orgastical pacing, sentiments of it. It’s, it’s a very fine symphony’
‘It’s a lovely symphony, yes’
‘Mm… Yeah…
And what else… Still hanging out at the chess club. My rating’s what, 1400 now, so I suppose
that’s not too bad. Numbers, insufficent material. The correct move, the incorrect move.
There’s not colour in it. It’s black and white.
Tal, Tal spoke of colour in chess, but there is no Tal so there is no colour in chess anymore.
I’ll tell you, after four moves there’s more than 300 billion different options to consider. I read
that somewhere, that there’s more 40 move chess games than there are stars in our galaxy. At
a point you forget you’re playing a game, you’re striving to turn your brain into a machine, and
you end up like what, Fischer, sleeping in a park, ranting about the Jews, Morphy, with your
wrists open in a bathtub surrounding by countless pairs of neatly arranged women shoes.
…What goes thru some men’s mind just, killers writing on walls, ‘please stop me before I kill
again’ that level of madness to me is just, chess.
The king the supposed king plodding around one square at a time like some impotent prick,
while the queen flits about the board one way or the other.
Tho I suppose the king only knows what the queens laces look like from his own.
I just…
What am I saying, C?’
‘…Well, if you hate it so much why do you keep going down there?’
‘What, to the chess club?’
‘Yeah’
‘Well I gotta do something with my time don’t I? It’s got, a certain destructive allure to it, like
smoking. Some cordialed poison.
…Getting the record player fixed was a good thing tho C. That’s, one thing I got on top of. For
whatever the hell that might be worth, my friend…’
‘Mm…
So it’s totally fixed now?’
‘Yes sir—ma’am’
Corrina laughed slightly at this.
‘Had to get a new stylus put in it’
‘Cool’
‘Yeah’
We were silent for a shortwhile then Corrina said to me, ‘Chess rating, what is that anyway?’
‘Each time you win a rated game it goes up a little, if you lose one it goes down’
‘Ok’
‘Yeah’
‘And all the games are timed. 30 minutes each side with chess clocks. You know what those
are?’
‘Yeah, I think so with the little…’ Corrina did a mime here.
‘Yeah’
‘I don’t know, I’ve never really loved board, strategy games’

‘Yeah. It’s not great. Don’t start. So addictive. But just, I don’t know, don’t always have the
drive, the inspiration maybe to do constructive things like, write or paint. So y’know, the chaps,
the old Jewish gentleman, grey-haired, solemn faced are sort of where you... I’m sounding like
an asshole, they’re not bad people, I just… Well, whatever, I don’t know, I’m drained from
work, I can’t speak eloquently’
We were both silent for a shortwhile then as Corrina looked over at the bookcase beside my
table she said to me, ‘What’s in that shoebox at the bottom of your bookcase?’
‘Just a bunch of old photos and junk’ I replied.
‘Can I see?’
‘Sure. Please’
She then went and knelt down before the bookcase.
And I watched as she looked thru the photos in the old shoebox.
And she soon showed me a photo of myself seated with a middle aged western gentleman, a
friend of my fathers whose name I’ve since forgotten, and his middle aged asian wife. ‘Who’s in
this photo?’ Corrina asked me, ‘is it your parents?’
‘That’s a friend of my fathers and his wife, they live in Chiang Mai now’
‘Where is that exactly— Chiang Mai, It sounds exotic... Asian’
‘It’s in Thailand man. I barely know him, he was, an interesting chap. He took my father and I
out for a nice dinner in west end while he and his wife were in town one night’ 
‘Oh...’
‘That’s where that photo was taken.
I remember him saying something to me… I was talking about, well this, this lad from my old
boarding house who, who hung himself I suppose, and I, I was the one who found him there.
And I spoke a little of Van Gogh, and what must’ve been running thru his head, and Morphy’s
and only just recently in fact Mr. Curtis’ and, and he spoke to me of a ‘mischief maker’ inside a
man’s head. Now I don’t know about all that, and I don’t know too much about this chap
Morphy, but I can tell you with Mr. Curtis and Mr. Van Gogh, they were both very talented
individuals’
‘Mr. Curtis?’
‘A singer’ I looked over at my Unknown Pleasure’s poster.
Corrina returned to looking thru the photos for a shortwhile then put the lid back on the box
and sat on my rug. And I looked down at my hands. And soon Corrina returned to her seat
before my table.
After awhile I said to her, ‘so did you have a nice day at school today C?’
‘Sure’ she replied, ‘could I have a look at your books?’
‘Please, go right ahead’
Corrina went back and sat down before my book case and started looking thru my books.
She took one down off the book and began to read it’s blurb, ‘This Business with Elijah’ she
read, ‘Sheldon Oberman’s work is rich, honest and engrossing, life-enhancing in the best sense
of the word. His writing is seductive yet true and so his world and its people become an
intimate part of your own. Do yourself a favour: open this book and start reading…
Is it any good?’ Corrina then asked me.
‘It’s shit, not quite so bad as Murakami, but still it’s fucking shit’

‘What’s wrong, why are you talking like this?’
‘Nothing’s wrong. It’s just shitty writing…’
‘You’re in a bad mood’
‘I’m not. I’m fine. It’s all good. I’m sorry’
‘What for?’
‘I… Nothing, I…’ I then affected a laugh.
Corrina continued to look thru the book in silence and a shortwhile later I said to her, ‘so have
you had any more ideas for your creative writing essay yet?’
‘So much homework...’
‘Yeah’
‘…How’s the painting coming along?’
‘I don’t know C…
…Well I can draw right? But adding the colours still spooks me a little. Van Gogh started when
he was 27, so I’m already 3 years behind him and he worked for 10 before taking his life. So I
suppose if I was just to take my life three years later at the other end maybe I might be able to,
of course nothing could be further in my mind than to compete with this gentleman, but to
explore, feelings towards, women, nature, oneself in a similar way, perhaps…
I just, the canvas, the half finished canvas, it can seem like a chessboard.
Maybe that’s why I’m always down at the club with those worn out old bastards, or else filing in
chess puzzles from that damned book’
I looked at the magazine full of chess puzzles on my desk, ‘Just; Do you think I’m getting better
tho?
-Do not ask my approval, do not seek my approval, you do not need my approval’
‘Who said that to you?’
‘Some old Indian guy at the club, it’s not important.
It’s just like, alright, I get it you’re not a father figure to me you’re just a man.
You wish me no warmth, no strong emotions and that’s fair…
…But hey, I meant what I said before by the way, C. About whipping up that painting for you for
your birthday. Just, if you ever happen to find any photos of you that you like, or want painted
or whatever just drop ‘em over sometime or whatever.
I mean, I only work three shifts at the hotel, not having a proper job and all so, always got
plenty of time to have a crack at the painting, if something…’
‘What’s wrong with your job at the hotel that’s a proper job isn’t it?’ 
‘Well whatever, I don’t know’ I then looked down at my mounted easel in the little art corner
I’d set up at the end of my table in the far corner of my room. The half-finished painting was of
a Hindi couple. The man in the couple was kissing the lady passionately on the cheek, while the
lady was looking distantly away
After looking at the work for awhile I looked back at Corrina and noticed that she was looking at
it too and our eyes meet for a moment.
‘I like it so far. Keep going’ she then said to me.
‘Ah I don’t man’ I replied, ‘their faces look like a bunch of mud smeared together, and the
oils’ve long since dried’
‘You can paint over it tho right?’

‘Better to get it when it’s wet. Bit of linseed will only do so much’
‘Yeah’
‘You use the linseed to thicken it, the turps to thin it. Apparently if you don’t get it just right it
might crack in time. But fuck it, if it cracks it cracks, I’m always up to hear another good joke
from Him’
‘I don’t think His sense of humor is that cruel, if He’s the one I think you’re talking about’
‘Yeah’
‘I wish I could show you this painting I saw in a book sometime, it was by this Portuguese
chap’s, whose name I’ve since forgotten now but... It was this series of two paintings’ 
‘A diptych’  
‘Well whatever you want to call it, it was this series of two paintings and one was of this couple
warmly embracing and the other was of the couple— this Spanish or I suppose they must’ve
been Portuguese—man and woman sadly hugging as they said goodbye and the series, the
diptych, was called, ‘the difference between a greeting hug and a farewell hug’ 
‘Yep. That’ll do it’
‘I’ll have to find it for you sometime, it was at my school, maybe I could like rip the page out of
the book, or no I couldn’t do that because that would be stealing and stealing is a sin’ 
‘Yeah’ 
‘…I couldn’t believe it tho, those two hugs, what really got me was the goodbye one’
‘Could you tell me some more about it?’
‘…It seemed like in that moment, he never wanted to hug another woman again.
Like they were as close to each other as a man and a woman ever could be in this life’ 
‘They were…?’
‘No they weren’t but they might as well have been just the tenderness of it’ 
‘Mm’  
‘But yeah the idea of it came to me and I just thought, that maybe you could do a pair of things
like that that contradict, contrast each other’
‘Like a farewell hug and a greeting hug?’
‘Yeah’
‘But the Spanish chap’s already done it’
‘Portugese’
‘Well whatever, he’s already done it’
‘Well it needn’t be exactly the same—just similar’
‘Hmm, I think I’d rather just like to paint you. A good painting’s visceral. Hits a chap right in the
gut. There’s no logic, reason in it, nothing to be said, you just see it, and you know. You look at
a girls lips and think how much they’d like to be kissed—you can see it, in Mr. Van Gogh’s study
of that peasant woman in the field. You can see too if a chap would like to kiss a girl softly or
not just thru the brushstrokes.
Fuck. What am I trying to say here, not that I—I know C, I know. Just, you’re a good friend and
I’d rather just paint you than any gimicky sort of stuff like that flit Oberman’
‘That’s sweet. You are sweet’
We were silent for a shortwhile then Corrina said to me, ‘How long does it take to paint a
portrait tho? I feel like it would take weeks for you to make a good one’

‘But Mr. Van Gogh, he did not paint good things and that’s why they were good. Or not, not
good,  Rapheal, or, or Degas, say not to cast disparagment on—but that was the beauty of Mr.
Van Gogh’s works the rough work-man ship, the, this is not exactly what the woman looked like
sure, but this is exactly how I felt about how or as damn close as I can get. And such works are
what? The space of two, three days perhaps, we’re not talking the Renassiance masters.
I—I wouldn’t ask for you to sit for me for two, three days naturally, but maybe just a couple of
hours perhaps if you had the time, then maybe say I could go from there. Or maybe if I got my
old camera replaced, I could just take a photo of you after you’ve sat for awhile then go from
there. Or I could just try and get as much of it down as possible while you were here then try
and fill the rest in from my imagination…’
‘Hmm, we’ll see’
‘Well sure, I mean, whatever, no pressure’ I then affected a slight laugh here.
I paused for a moment then noticing the tattoo on Corrina’s ankle again said to her, ‘what does
the tattoo on your ankle say by the way?’
Corrina looked down at it then said, ‘it says easy, no problem in Sanskrit’
‘Easy, no problem… Huh.
…That’s kind of a nice thing to have on your ankle right? Then if you’re a bit like, cornered on
the chessboard, whatever just to be like, ‘eek’ then see that and maybe like, ‘this is easy, no
problem’
‘Yeah, yeah, and that’s exactly how the guy who rescued us from the reserve in Ranthambore
said it to us. I told you that story right?’
‘Yeah I think so’
‘Just even when doubting or scared to be like, ‘easy, no problem’
‘Yeah. Easy, no problem’
‘But, really think about it. It’s comforting. I mean we were literally scared about tigers and
hyennas, and rhinos and elephants and whatever else. And if they hadn’t’ve found us. I don’t
know what we would’ve done’
‘Kind of nice to see man on the other end of the power spectrum for once. I mean, not to
suggest that… Shit’
‘Nah, I know, I think I know what you mean. It’s not like you want me to be eaten by a tiger—do
you?’
‘No, of course not. But they found you guys alright so…?’
‘Yeah. We were so relieved, when we saw their flash lights coming. It was just starting to get
dark, so we, were quite scared…’
‘Yeah. Well so, all’s well that ends well as the poet would have it’
‘Yeah’
‘Do you have any other tattoos?’
‘No, just the one. How about you?’  
‘No sir- ma’am’ I laughed slightly here then added, ‘God…’
We were both silent for a shortwhile more then Corrina said to me, ‘I think I might actually have
a photo of me that you could paint’
‘You do?’

‘Yeah, yeah ok so it’s a photo of me sitting in this dark, wooden floorboarded room, with my
knees bought up to my chest’
‘Sounds promising… In a content sort of way, or threatened or…?’
‘Content, I guess, just normal’
‘Ok’
‘I don’t know if the lighting is so good in it tho. It’s kind of underexposed’
‘Shit. Ok so, dark, underexposed in a wooden room. Perhaps it might work, like some of Van
Gogh’s more muddy brown earlier works. Peasant studies. Short brushstrokes. Perhaps some
light radiating from a bare light bulb in the corner of the room’
‘That sounds pretty’
‘Well, I haven’t painted it yet, I’m just batting some ideas around’
I laid down on my bed and we were both silent for a little while longer, then I began to recite a
sonnet I’d committed to memory out to Corrina, ‘So is it not with me as with that muse, stirred
by a painted beauty to his verse who heaven itself for ornament doth use, and every fair with
his fair doth rehearse, making a coupement of proud compare, with sun and moon, with earth
and sea’s rich gems, with april’s first-born flowers and all things rare that heaven’s air in this
huge rundure hems. Ah let me, true in love but truly write, and then believe me, my love is as
fair as any mother’s child, though not so bright as those gold candles fixed in heaven’s air. Let
them say more that like of hearsay well, for I’ll not praise that purpose not to sell’
‘Did you write that?’
‘Nah, it’s Shakespeare’
‘And what does it mean?’
‘Hmm, what does it mean...? If you truly feel something, you don’t have to scream it to the
world. Fuck it. I don’t know’
‘Throw me a pillow’
‘Ok’
I then gave Corrina a pillow from my bed and she laid down on my rug and rested her head on
it.
I laughed slightly as an idea for Corrina’s creative writing assignment came to me, then I began
to her in a sinister voice, ‘Four years ago in the House of Commons, the right to death act was
passed... and a so called ‘peaceful pill’ was introduced…’
‘Oh? What’s this?’
‘Idea for your creative writing assignment; And one rainy morning I found myself sitting in my
usual diner a block down the road from my apartment with my friend Christina... ‘I’m going to
do it Max’, she said to me, ‘I’m going to take the pill’ 
‘No, Chris, why?’ I replied, ‘Stop and think about this, why?’ 
…You said it’s gotta be about a pill right?’ 
‘Oh my goodness. That’s scary’ 
‘Well…?’
‘I’m more gentle than that’
‘Mm. Yeah’
‘Life doesn’t need to be so intense’

‘Yeah’
‘What about an allergy pill?’
I laughed a little at this too then added, ‘Yeah, but there can be beauty in suffering too tho, no?
If something’s fucked sometimes it’s actually really charming. Like, fair is foul and foul is fair
and all that. In a world where everything’s clean sometimes seeing something rarely fucked can
really be beautiful’
‘I’m not saying there isn’t beauty in it, it’s just… why focus on such intensity?’
‘I don’t know. That’s life right? It can be a bit intense at times. For some. Especially for animals.
I don’t know it’s just the world we live in right? It’s whatever’
‘Yeah. It’s just…’
‘I don’t know. It was just an idea. You do you’
‘Sure, I liked the idea’
‘Thanks.
You could take it in heaps of different ways anyway right? Like it’s just gotta be a pill right?’ 
‘Yeah’ 
‘Ok so, maybe you could do an invisibility pill’
‘Invisibility pill- very cool’
‘Or maybe a pill that lets you fly’ 
‘Or makes you teleport’
‘Yes! Just randomly or like a different pill for NY London, Cairo, all for sale next to the condoms
at the Boots? 
‘Hmm maybe the second one but occasionally they’d malfunction’
‘Yes’ 
‘This isn’t Cairo!’
‘Or no, wanting to go NY then ending up in like Cairo by mistake. Like something out of a Tintin.
Or if you wanted to like go really out there with it, you could have the pill accidentally take you
to some other plane or dimension. I mean people have written weirder things. Shakespeare
wrote the Tempest. That was a very strange play. And all his, or like, most of his other things
were like based off of histories and other stories and things that’d actually happened, the
Tempest he’d just pulled out of his gourd. Just, bam, crazy haunted island, let’s do it’
‘Yeah.
…Perhaps you could get taken into a dream by mistake…’
‘What’s that, from one of the pills?’
‘Yeah…’
‘That would be awesome. Taken into some crazy dream, like, death like some warm caring
mother leading you off to distant lands…’
‘Yeah… Write it’
‘You write it’
‘Let’s both write it.
…I still have a while’
‘Yeah, well, make sure you show it to me when it’s done’
‘Ok, will do’
I laid back on my bed and after a little while I said to her, ‘…I’ve just seen some, rather, full on
stuff, so if there’s a reason why my writings a bit dark or… whatever, then… I don’t know’

‘Guess it makes sense why you’d want to write about it then’
‘Yeah, I guess. Also I’m a big fan of Hemingway and Shakespeare, and yeah…’
‘You can control the situation when you write about it, make it more poetic and beautiful
maybe’  
‘I don’t know about that’
We were silent for a shortwhile then I said to Corrina, ‘you want to say a prayer for me C?’
‘Asking what?’
‘Just for him, or, whatever, if he’s up there, to help me to be better and maybe, play a little less
chess, have a bit more of a crack at it with the painting, or whatever’
‘Fwish! That’s the sound of a royal express letter being sent up to God’
‘Ah. Fwish. That’s the sound it makes?’
‘Uh huh’
‘Thanks kid’
‘Sure’
I was silent for a shortwhile then I said, ‘…Hey, I know another sonnet, you want to hear it?
Would that be lame or gay or whatever to recite another poem to you?’
‘So lame… So gay…’
‘Well do you want to hear it or not?’
‘Of course’
‘…When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, for all the day they view things unrespected,
but when I sleep in dreams they look on thee, and darkly bright are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright… whose shadows doth make bright—ah,
fuck, I forget the rest.
Wait could I read you one I wrote myself?’
‘Ok’
‘Wait’
I then got up and looked around on the papers on my desk until I found the poem I was looking
for. I returned to the bed with it then began to read it out to Corrina.
‘I sit silently and stare at her. She is not from this world. Friends who live in plants and
mushrooms comes to visit her some nights. They dances for her sometimes and other times
they show her the moon blossuming as a flower, comfort in the here after. Some evenings the
grand witch will delight her with kisses, and other times they will be content to simply sit in
each other’s company, she whispers to her of peace and freedom, excitement and adventure,
of open cages, wide open fields and skies, and birds falling down in drones on pilots who’d
spread death to those below…’ that was the end of the poem, ‘And that’s all I got, just about a
girl who’s like a witch or something, maybe…’
‘Is the girl me?’
‘I don’t know, I mean, it’s whatever.
…Could I—would you let me put a record on for you C?’
‘Ok’
I got up then went and got Unknown Pleasures out from the cabinet beneath my record player
and put it on and went and sat back down on my bed, with my back leaning up against the wall.

‘…What does it mean to you, this record?’ Corrina asked me.
‘I don’t know’ I replied.  
‘Like you listen to it and feel sad?’ 
‘Perhaps less alone.
…I’ll, I’ll lend it to you if you want’
‘It’s so important to you tho’
‘It is. To me this record, is the bible of music, this and Closer, also by the same group’
‘I would scratch it or sit on it something. You know how much of a dope I can be at times.
Especially when I’m tight’
‘Yeah… You sure tho? I mean, I could definitely lend it to you. I mean, it’s not like they don’t sell
other copies in record stories. We’re not talking about a golden egg here, if you want to borrow
it you can’
Corrina looked at me and I shrugged.
‘Can we just listen to it here?’
‘Yeah sure, I mean it’s halfway thru so we might as well finish it’
We continued to listen to the album.
Midway thru another song from it I said to her, ‘You know I had a dream about you the other
night, you were this kid and flying and…
I want to do something with my art Corrina. I don’t want to be stuck at the motel for my whole
life… But I’m just, I’m not cut out for sales. I can’t convince people to buy things I’ve painted.
And otherwise they just walk right on by. I’ve tried before. Laying my stuff out before the
subway. I’m not a salesman Corrina.
I just, every man in this world, well near every man in this world, is looking at women, right?
With a certain…
And well, everyone wants to appear pleasing to women, tho one can’t aim to be pleasing to
women any more than one can aim to be happy… So to try to be happy, alluring, for a woman,
is to try to build a machine with no other specifications than that it should run noiselessly’
‘Well if it was all running noiselessly, where would be the music in that?’
‘…I guess…
…The errorless game is colourless and all that?’
‘Who said that?’
‘Tal did’
‘Your idol’
‘Yeah. They said he didn’t move the pieces with his hand but a wand. Yeah fuck it I’ll sac the
queen however many moves in and see what happens. That was when there was beauty in
chess, in Fischer’s immortal game when he was a 13 year old, utterly down on material got his
somewhere on the back rank. I… Creativity, y’know? Daring…’
I sat up and looked at a rather basic abstract-ish painting of a lady in the art corner of my room.
‘That one, down there’ I said to Corrina.
‘Yeah?’ she replied sitting up and looking at the painting.
‘I did that one the other day’
‘I love it’
‘Thanks man. I, call her Linda…’
‘Linda?’

‘Sure.
…She’s from Spain. A very passionate woman who loves to… cook’
‘Wait, did she actually exist?’
‘Nah, man, I just went to the park on my own to paint and decided to add a woman to it. Like,
I’d initially just gone down there to draw the trees but there were a lot of girls walking by, not
much on for the heat so…
Would’ve been nice to have lived in Van Gogh’s era. See all the ladies in all their old stately
outfits in the park. A different time’
‘No penicillin’
‘No penicillin, no’
‘I like the detail of her hair, and the different colours in her skin’
‘Thanks man.
Yeah…
...I guess it is kinda good to y’know, have dipped a toe back in. It’d been awhile.
A friend once said to me that things seem less serious when you’re painting about them.
It’s like you’re sitting before a girl on a wooden panel and she’s there man, it’s no longer a piece
of wood it’s a girl and sometimes you feel like she wants to be painted, she wants to be
touched by the brush, have her hair fixed up, whatever.
…Fuck it, you think less when you paint and fuck thinking.
And you can stop fighting against it after awhile; just the painting and theories and ideas to get
it right, and it’s just not a fight anymore, it’s not a man saying, ‘er, I gotta make it look great or
I’m trash’ it’s like, you’re just going with her or something, and waiting for her to like give you a
certain smile and you’ll know that you’re done.
It’s just like, ideas and theories can melt away in it and suddenly you’ve just saced your rook a
dozen odd moves in for a laugh—very classic Tal’
‘I think you’re right. Things can seem less serious when you paint about them’
‘Yeah...’
‘And also you can talk to God when you paint. Just have a conversation with him’
‘Yeah. Ask him about the pigeon problem in greater London’
‘Yeah’
‘Is it just me or are there way too many pigeons in this town?’
‘I don’t mind them’
‘Well I do. Bloody little rats with wings’
‘You really don’t like them’
‘I really don’t. I try—I’m trying not to be too hateful a person these days, so best not ask me any
more about pigeons’
‘Ok, I won’t. …The pests!’
‘Yeah’
‘…And I am glad you’re painting again’
‘Thanks. Yeah I just think, if I just study and try to get better at chess…
Well, to speak frankly with you—can I speak frankly with you?’
‘C’mon, you know you can’
‘Well women don’t often swoon very much over chess players, not in the way they do the
footballers or guitarists or…’

‘Yeah’
‘Hi, I turned my brain into a computer. And I’m obsessed with women’s shoes. Show me 64
squares and a handful of pieces scattered around them and I can tell you whether it’s a pin or a
fork or a trapped piece or an x-ray or a skewer.
-Oh, darling, I can’t resist you’
‘…Then quit. If you hate it so much’
‘Mm, and it’s not just this funny little old board game of ours, it’s life too that seems like a
game, 64 squares around a bar, and… Material and… I don’t bite. But do some girls like biting?
Not in a literal sense but—ah god what am I trying to say? What the hell am I trying to say?’
‘Well how then can you disconnect from the game?’
‘Love... Painting. Maybe. I don’t know. Sleep’s a big one... But it always has a way of ending way
too soon’
‘Sleep…?’
I shrugged, ‘is that sad, not exactly living life to the max is it?’
Corrina shrugged as well.
The first side of the record came to an end. And I went and lifted the stylus from the record and
then lowered it back into its cradle.
‘Could you put on the other one you mentioned?’ Corrina then asked me.
‘Which one?’
‘That you said was your bible’
‘Closer’
‘Yeah. Do you have it?’
‘Of course’
I put Unknown Pleasures away then put Closer on. And Corrina continued to lay on the rug and
I laid back down on the bed.
‘Do you think nice guys finish last Corrina?’
‘No’ she replied.
‘Oh?’
‘I respect Christ and he was the nicest guy there was’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah, he was the sort of guy who’d see you wasted at a bar and be like, ‘let me get you a water
and walk you home, you’re drunk. I got you’
‘Yeah. Yeah.
…Do you have a favourite bible verse Corrina?’
‘Yeah. It’s from the book of Peter. Do you want to hear it?’
‘Of course’
‘Make every effort to add to your faith goodness and to your goodness, knowledge, and to your
knowledge self-control and to your self-control, perseverance and to your perseverance
godliness, and to your godliness, mutual affection and to mutual affection love, for if you
posses these qualities in equal measure, they will keep you from being ineffective and
unproductive in your knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ’
‘That’s nice’
‘Yeah’

We continued to listen to the record and after a bit I had to turn it over, and as I laid on my bed
again, I heard Corrina say to me, ‘tell me a story about something’
‘…Alright, ok so, I’m picturing this wood right? Fairies in it and mermaids out in the bay and a
witch who lives in a shack deep within the woods…’
‘Go on?’
‘…That’s all I got for now. I’m sorry, I’m tired, I’ll tell you the rest later’
‘Ok’
We continued to listen to the second half of the record and awhile later I said to Corrina, ‘I’ve
been having these really weird dreams lately…
I commited suicide in one’
‘Oh my gosh, what?’
‘I was like, camping on this beach somewhere and it was night out and I could see like this
cornfield somewhere like, beyond the beach’
‘Yeah’
‘And then there was this big dump truck nearby and it had a heap of my paintings and belongs
in it and it was tipping them all into this big garden waste shredder.And all of these people
were just standing around watching, and I spotted my old, perhaps friend Marsha, amongst
them, and then I was in the back of the dump truck and all my paintings were slidding down it
and getting destroyed, and I yelled out to the people around me something like, ‘turn this thing
off! Help me!’ but none of them reacted at all.
And there were these wires above me, above the tray, and I just, reached up and grabbed them
and around then I woke up’
‘Max. 
That’s really scary’
‘Well I mean, who gives a shit, right? If a man wants to kill himself, he has that right, and no
one’s going to talk him down from the ledge. I mean, there’s no room for the weak.
And besides I mean, it’s just a dream, I mean, they don’t mean shit right?’
‘Don’t say things like that, I know you’re smarter than that’
‘Yeah, maybe’
‘It makes me sad that something so horrific could reach you even in your dreams. It’s so specific
too’ 
‘Mm’
‘Maybe you could try to create an alternate ending in your head, like where you survive’  
‘Sure…
You know there’s two things I like about you Corrina’ 
‘Mm?’
‘How you always say what the heck and oh my gosh as you don’t like to take the Lord’s name in
vain’ 
‘You noticed. I don’t always manage to do it but I try’ 
‘Yeah, it’s sweet…
And also how you always seem to be able to find some positive spin to put on things’
‘Aw’

‘Nah, I mean that. We could be landing on Normandy and you’d probably say something like,
‘may God watch over us, if we make it thru this today or not’
‘…Well, if a man was loved by everyone and nobody wanted to shoot at him, and he was happy
and confident, he wouldn’t need God.
He could be his own God and live by his own standards. But we do need Him’
‘Yeah.
Come drink a cup of tea with me dear?’
‘Ok, and I could smoke a cigarette’
Corrina and I went into my small communal kitchen and made some tea, then went back into
my room. ‘Wait I should’ve asked, do you mind if I smoke in here?’ Corrina then asked me.
‘I’ll open a window for you’ I replied, then went and opened the large window behind my bed
for her.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ she then asked me.
‘Nah, it’s fine’
‘Do you have anything that I can use as an ashtray?’
‘You can use my water colour jar. It’s on the table’
‘Ok, this one?’ Corrina asked as she picked up my empty water colour jar.
‘Yeah’ I replied.
We then sat down together on my rug.
‘I can’t believe I smashed up my fucking camera man. That really is a dick in my ass’
‘A dick in your ass?’
‘Or whatever…
Ah well, I guess just, when I run out of money I’ll have run out of money…’
‘Yeah.
…Nice tea’
‘Thanks’
‘And I’m sorry about your camera’
‘I mean shit happens. It’s annoying, I guess, but like, not as bad as living on the Falklands or
being factory sow or whatever...’
‘Yeah it is, but it’s still ok to get frustrated over small things’
‘Yeah…
…Sometimes I just feel like all the other people are so boring compared to you…
Or maybe I just haven’t met the right people’ 
‘…Some people lack focus on important things, but I like so many people who are plenty
interesting’ 
‘Yeah. Yeah. A lot of people are great, I guess’
‘Or maybe you just haven’t met the right people’
‘Sure.
…I’ve got to paint. I’ve really got to start painting again. Fuck chess. The hell with becoming a
real man like all the others. I fucking hate all the others.
Just— I work three days a week, that’s more than enough time to paint when I’m not working.
Ample I should think.

A man can paint or sit around like some asshole, cutting thoughts and memories and ideas
apart like some frog pinned to a bit of card and what good would it do? Who could care what
hypothesies he reaches? I want to just—ugh.
Live, to just go to the river at dusk, something, his café terrace scene, the, whatsamacall it,
starry night over the rhone, some of Le Sidaner’s…
I don’t know.
…Do you want to get stoned? I have weed if you want to get stoned’ 
‘Hmm... alright’
I got up and took some stuff out of the shoebox at the bottom of my book case, sat back down
on the rug with it and began preparing us a joint.
And over the joint I said to Corrina, ‘if you could invite anyone you wanted, living or dead to
dinner with you?’
‘Hmm, so many people. Jesus Christ, Adolf Hitler, Stalin, just so many different people, a lot of
dead ones, and then just have Jesus talk to them all’
‘Yeah’
We continued to smoke and a shortwhile later Corrina said to me, ‘You working on any stories
at the moment?’
‘I had this idea for one…
It, the idea for it came to me in a dream actually…’
‘Yeah?’
‘I told you I keep a dream journal sometimes. That helps me remember some of ‘em. Just, stuff
scrawled down in the middle of the night, or first thing in the morning but, anyway, yeah the
dream, or like, the story idea I got from its fragments…
It was gonna be about this girl, who’s like sad and bullied and traumatized, and who goes to
take her life, like she goes to this lake to take her life, maybe wade out into it with rocks in her
pockets like old Virginia Woolfe, or whatever and then she finds this race of little people living
underwater in it, and perhaps they might give her a mushroom or something that lets her
breath underwater’
‘You dreamed that?’ 
‘Bits and piece of it’ I replied with a shrug’
‘That dream is intense... You think of such magical things’ 
‘Thanks, I—’ I then made to kiss Corrina, but she turned her head away and moved a little back
from me then said, ‘No. I told you not to. I said, I wasn’t going to come over here if you were
going to. I told you last time we went out in Camden. I said, ‘you can’t kiss me I’m 19, and
you’re 29’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t’
‘Don’t be like this’
‘I’m sorry’
‘It’s fine, but listen Max it’s getting late I should probably be heading back to the station’
‘Yeah sure I...’
I got up and Corrina did too.
On our way to the door Corrina stopped and looked at an ink portrait of a young woman I’d
affixed to the wall near the door.

‘It’s pretty’ she said of the work, ‘I love the detailed background in it’
‘Thanks’
We walked out of my room, and a shortwhile later as we stood at the front door to the
apartment block, I said to Corrina, ‘you know I’m really glad I met you C. You’re a good kid. I
mean that’
‘You too Max it’s a good friendship’
‘Nah, I mean, I really wish you the best C, you deserve it’
‘Why, what’s the matter, where are you going?’ 
‘Huh?’
‘Just, the way you said that it made it sound like you were leaving, going someplace’ 
‘No, just, I love you Corrina. Just as a friend. You’re a special girl, you’re a special kid’ 
‘You’re not going any place tho right?’ 
I didn’t respond anything to this.  
‘I love you too’ Corrina then said to me, ‘You’re one of the most genuine and loving people I
know’
‘Thanks. I don’t think I, or my sentiments are particularly valuable to this fucked world, but for
what it’s worth, I think Jesus would be proud of you’
‘Max, why are you telling me all of this like this? I so appreciate it. It’s kind but it’s so abrupt’
I shrugged at this.
‘Are you sure you’re doing ok out here in this little room, with your little board game all on your
own?’
‘I’m doing fine man’
‘You promise?’
‘Yes’
Corrina looked at me, then said, ‘…I’ll see you later, ok? And I better not come back here to find
you in a pool of blood’ 
‘Ok’ 
‘I mean it Max. I don’t want to find you like Morphy in a bathtub surrounded by women’s
shoes’
‘Ok’ 
We hugged, then looked at each other for a moment then Corrina left.
Later that evening with a whiskey soda on my table, I began to think to myself, ‘Perhaps I
should write that story about that girl— a teenage one, a Christian girl who loves her father as
he always tells her great stories— but then he dies in a car accident or something— and the
girl’s mother is a real cold evil step mother type figure and she gets bullied too and perhaps
some other traumatic things happens, maybe she gets raped, or some severe moment of
bullying happens and she then goes down to the lake near by her house to drown herself or
take pills or whatever, but instead she see the little people in the water, and they lead her to
some different world, some queer civilisation down there, inhabitated by queer little aquatic
people, little water nymphs and fairies, perhaps some real innocent voyage of the dawn
treader, the water babies type stuff with the chimney sweep boy, who dies then goes to life
with the water girls.
Maybe a Minpins, kind of sort of deal.

And all the while it’s unclear if she really died or it’s actually happening or something...’

A few days later when I got back into my room after my work I called Corrina, and said to her,
‘Hey C’
‘Hey Max’ she replied.
‘Had a few more ideas for the story if its not a bad time and you want to hear ‘em?’
‘Nah, let’s have them’
‘Alright so, the girl, she gets bullied and her father dies who she loves and her mothers real cold
and unloving…’
‘Oh no’
‘Yeah and some terrible, traumatic thing happens to her and she goes down to the lake to
drown herself, or whatever, to like fill her pockets—the pockets of her coat up with rocks, then
drown, and then like when she’s down there, she sees these little water fairies in the water’
‘That sounds really intense’
‘Thanks’
‘Have you started it or is it just an idea at this stage’
‘Well y’know my typewriters, fucking jammed of course. And no ribbon and… So can’t really
work at the speed I’d like to until that’s sorted out’
‘I feel like this sort of thing keeps happening to you’ 
‘Yeah well alcohol and cogent thinking haven’t always had the best relationship...’
‘It and motor skills are the three ameigos’ 
I laughed slightly at this then said, ‘Sure…
…Oh and I made a self portrait recently. Very bleak, very dark tones’ 
‘Realism?’ 
‘No abstract still but... yeah’  
‘Why so bleak, why such dark tones?’ 
‘Just like my mood or something’
‘You make me worry sometimes Max’ 
‘…Yeah, just body image blues and stuff...’
‘What you’re a handsome young man’
‘I have a weird thing about my hair, seeming to go back a little’
‘What like Picasso’s or Van Gogh’s?’
‘Something like that, I guess’ I then took another sip from a whiskey soda I was then drinking.
‘Your hair looks fine anyway, it’s totally normal for people in their late twenties, mature, it’s
fine’
‘Mm. I look like a fucking scarecrow, I hate it’
‘Max, you do not have a receeding hairline. I’ve seen people with receeding hairlines and you
don’t have one’
‘Thanks’
‘How’s everything else?’
‘Just playing chess with that dickhead down at the club. Do not ask me if you’re improving. You
do not need my approval’ I took another sip from my drink, ‘and thoughts and thoughts and

thoughts, the usual’ I paused for a moment and Corrina seemed to be listening to me to
continue.
‘Got paint on the blanket of my mom’s nice old quilt the other night’ I then went on, ‘and had
to spend ages trying to get it off then I saw I’d gotten some on the sheet as well and now all my
shit smells like turpentine still...
And sometimes it’s just like, I want to give up, like it’s no good, and I just want to give up.
And it’s illogical but you can also think ‘maybe people would give a damn about my paintings
and stories after I’m dead’ and I know I wouldn’t be around to see that so it wouldn’t matter
but you think it all the same. Vincent started at 27, I’m 29 now, worked for ten years then shot
himself so, that’d give me like what? 8 more something like that to create a similar body of
work similar to his, if, if I could try…
…Look, I’m sorry to have off-loaded all that on you.
I appreciate that you’re young and I didn’t mean to spook you or whatever.
It’s just you’re really easy to talk to and you listen to people, like, you actually fucking listen to
people when they talk to you, so it’s, yeah, that’s not everyone, and it’s easy to say things to
you I guess…
I shouldn’t‘ve gotten so heavy with you tho, I appreciate that you’re young and all...’
‘We need to meet again soon’ 
‘Ok’ 
‘Ok?’
We were both silent for a shortwhile then Corrina said to me, ‘Tell me something’ 
‘About what?’ 
‘Anything, whatever you want’ 
‘…Well, I had another weird dream the other night…
It felt like a movie I’d seen long ago, a black and white one at my parents place on late night tv.
That Lucky Number, or That Lucky Ticket or something like that. Very vague, half-remembered,
just the feeling of it, being happy more than the plot, too much, and there were girls and
women all around me. And it felt real like I was actual there, like something out of Modern
Times or The Kid, or the dream scene in The Kid or something’
‘And it was in black and white?’
‘Yeah.
Or, no, I don’t think so—I’m not quite sure, it just felt like that, if that makes any sense’
‘…And the girls, did you talk to them? Where they friendly?’
‘It’s hard to say. You know how it is with dreams. There’s was more to it naturally but it’s gone
now’
‘Damn. What about your dream journal?’
‘She only ever really gets fragments, flakes. I don’t know.
…You should keep a dream journal too.
It can be good fuel for your creative writing it’s probably definitely helped mine from time to
time’
‘To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I really want to do creative writing so much I just took a
course in it, cause it seemed interesting’
‘Mm’

‘I’m more interested in becoming a teacher’
‘Mm’
We were both silent for a shortwhile then Corrina said, ‘to tell you the truth I’m actually kind of
busy with school stuff now’ 
‘Oh ok’ 
‘And probably will be for awhile, at least the next 2 weeks or so until midterms are over’ 
‘Ah, oh ok sure…’
‘…Look, I like talking with you, just don’t take it personally that I’m super busy right now’
‘Yeah, no, sure, don’t worry, I get it. I won’t be too needy or whatever’
‘Look, I didn’t mean that. I just mean please don’t put in on yourself when I’m just a busy girl
for these next two weeks’ 
‘Yeah sure, it’s fine. Really, I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it. I get it.
…I, I dreamed I was a ghost the other night too and I had a ghost friend and we could walk thru
walls together and we—‘
‘That’s, great Max but, you’ve got it in your dream journal right?’ 
‘Yeah’
‘Yeah ok so you can tell me about it another time when I’m not so busy’  
‘Ah ok, yeah sure, good idea.
…So I guess I’ll see you round?’ 
‘Sure and look after yourself, will ya?’ 
‘Yeah, yeah will do. Well bye’ 
‘Bye Max, take care’ 
‘Bye’
I then hung up the phone and made myself another drink.
I continued with my job and the chess puzzles in the magazines, and with the casual and rated
play at the club for about three weeks or so, and one afternoon, as I was working on some
more puzzles at my desk I got a call. I picked it up then heard Corrina say, ‘Hello is Maxwell
Hudson there?’
‘What do you want?’ I replied.
‘Well that’s a fine way to greet an old friend’
‘Ok’
‘…I just read something and it made me think of you’
‘What is it?’
‘Well I’ve got it right here do you want to hear it or not?’
‘Yeah, sure, please’
‘…however God doesn’t ever pigeonhole his relationship with you, this goes back to God
creating you in that special unique way. God speaks to you in a special unique way too. If you
are drawn to nature, maybe you experience God thru the peace and solitude of hiking and
camping. 
If painting makes you come alive, then maybe God is using this craft to draw you closer to him’ 
‘You just, read that just now then called me?’ 
‘Or not right now but when I did I underlined it to show it to you later’ 

‘Where’s it from?’ 
‘It’s an article from a magazine. 12 practical ways to feel closer to God’
‘Oh, alright, well thanks man.
…So, when do you feel closest to God?’ 
‘…probably when I’m in the ocean. Sometimes I’ll pray in it’
‘Yeah. Just like those beaches at Normandy all the men must’ve prayed on’
‘Yeah. Something like that’
‘You know sometimes I really do hope there is a God, I mean Van Gogh believed in one.
Like, maybe not a guy in a white robe, but just like, something caring for us or something after,
or something that just wants us to be good to each other or some shit. I don’t know what I’m
trying to say’
‘…Me too, I mean, I wish that too’
‘Yeah. I... Did you go to the ocean while you were in India?’ 
‘Yeah. It felt very restorative. The water. The lights on Om beach at dusk’
‘Yeah’ 
‘The ocean is so healing, and so powerful, and beautiful, but so strong and kinda scary, and
deep and mysterious’ 
‘Yeah’
‘I think it’s one of the holiest places on earth’
‘Wouldn’t surprise me’
‘So how’s the painting coming along?’
‘Well feel like I’ve hit a bit of a brick wall with it of late’
‘Oh?’
‘I don’t know’
‘I think it’s quite important that you continue with it tho’
‘Yeah’
‘Maybe you could paint something you think God would like to see. I wonder what it would look
like’
‘Yeah.
…Would you let me put a song on for you?’
‘Ok, sure’ 
‘Alright, hold on’
I set the phone’s receiver down on my desk then got up and found, ‘Girl from Impanena’ in the
cabinet below my record player and put it on. On returning to the phone I then said to Corrina,
‘Can you hear it?’
‘Kinda. What language is that, Spanish?’
‘Portugese, I think’
We were silent for a little while then I said to Corrina, ‘…Give me an idea for a new short
story…?’
‘Ok, well, so how about this?’
‘Shoot’
‘There’s this guy who’s traveling around India by motorbike and he crashes and hurts himself
somehow—‘ 

‘Like, in rear window?’ 
‘I don’t know what that is’
‘Hitchcock film. Jimmy Stewart. It doesn’t matter go on’ 
‘Ok, well anyway he crashes his bike and ends up really hurting himself and then he has all of
these different encounters with people at the hospital just a curtain away from him’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah’
‘That’s actually not bad. You don’t mind if I take that?’ 
‘Nah please take it, that’s what I told you about it for. 
…I’d be interested to see what it looks like as a story’ 
‘The idea for it just came to you then?’
‘No— well kinda. Gina came off her bike in Goa and had to get stitches in her chin’
‘Shit, did I ever meet her?’
‘I don’t think so. And anyway, it could be all of these different people’s stories, from the guy’s
ward’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah…’
‘Ok so… A wounded soldier’
‘Yes’
‘An old woman near the end of her life… A little boy who’s got a nail thru his hand… But, he
would have to speak Hindi to be able to understand them all’
‘Well that’s no matter just have him speaking Hindi as well as English, some guys can do that,
either that or you could have him as a native’ 
‘Nah a white guy on holiday seems better more romantic somehow— who is this guy, how
come he can speak the language? It’s sexy’ 
‘It’s sexy or he’s sexy?’
I laughed a little then said, ‘a bit of both maybe. Real exotic Roger Moore, Bond type figure’
‘Oh yes. That I would pay to see’
‘Tell you what, I’ll get the smith corona fixed, and a new ribbon for it, write it, then fire off
another letter to Mr Moore’
‘Good idea’
‘…You’ve got to write from what you know tho and like I’ve never been to India or met a
wounded soldier or an old lady or... 
My grandmother maybe, whatever but you know what I mean’ 
‘Yeah...’
A short silence followed.
‘So how was your day?’ I then asked Corrina.
‘Eh’ she replied.
‘Just, eh? No highlights, no low-lights?’
‘Just school, nothing special’
‘Mmm’
‘Pray for me to have the courage to keep on with the realism’
‘Ok, I’ll pray for the patience and courage you need to do it’
‘Yeah, please do, that’d actually mean a lot’

‘Of course’
‘It’s important to you right?’
Yes’
‘Well, I want it go well and I’m excited for you’
‘Thanks Corrina.
…I just want to say you praying for me and everything it, it means something, really’
‘Sure’  
‘Mm, yeah I’ll get back to it keep trying with it I guess if I can. 
Stumbled drunkenly into my easel the other night, knocked it over and fucked up the wet
painting on it, so that was fun. Life’s playful little frustrations…’
‘Yeah but at least at the end of the day we can let go of all of life’s frustrations and start again
brand new in however many hours’
‘Mm’
We were silent for a shortwhile then Corrina said, ‘you going down to the Wetherspoon
tonight? Pick up some girls?’
‘…Please stop smoking my love. Maybe you’d make a really good grandmother. You’ve already
got the grey hair’
‘...Yeah, I will stop and cut back.
…As long as you stop this Vincent Van Gogh shit, about only 10 years left because maybe you’d
make a beautiful grandfather and your grandchildren will adore your art and want to learn from
you’
‘Yeah’
‘…I have to get back to work, but talk soon ok?’
‘Ok, sure, talk soon. Love you’
‘Love you too, bye’
Corrina disconnected the call and I then hung up the receiver.