Like a wolf A wild dog sat in lonely lockdown Another day goes by. To some this is loneliness But to me, joy.
Gives me time to reflect Sitting here, pen in my hand And my old Number 7 Jack Daniels, jotting down Thoughts and Reading aloud:
To the heavens Ploughing down rain To some this is hell To me this is heaven.
So thanks to the gods The old gods and the new Brood of the trickster We are the tales you’ll be told. Another day, lockdown me Life still rolls on By Ragnarok set free.
WHISPER TO ME ALONE gathers experiences of people who have experienced homelessness — and the experiences of other vulnerable people — in Manchester during lockdown, using journals of writing, art and song lyrics and phone conversations.The lockdown photographs of Manchester that illuminate this blog were by Sue Dean, using her favourite camera, her phone.
There have been many, many limitations to everyday life during the Covid pandemic. The isolation, the reduced services, the shutting down of shared spaces. But one limitation that doesn’t get discussed so much is the limitation on being able to protest. Here our Necklace of Stars writer Jo makes a protest against invisibility. This is one of a series of pieces by Jo that explore ideas of rebellion. By writing and sharing them, the protest has happened – in you the reader’s mind!
August 1st, the big day is finally here. She peers into the mirror asking the reflection if they are sure they really want to do this? The reflection answers “Yes and don’t be chicken.”
The door opens, a deep breath taken and with the first step a new phase commences. Its 20 weeks since her last venture out and everything even more beautiful than before.
She reaches her destination and sees a lengthy queue and waits patiently to enter the supermarket. Her turn comes; she takes the cart and walks through the entrance, her heart pounding. Her inner self is telling her “do it” “go on do it” and with the final push she throws herself on the floor and starts to scream and yell.
Workers and fellow shoppers watch but no one knows what to do. The yelling continues, her hands and feet banging the floor. The manager arrives and enquires what the matter is and offers help. She replies “Nothing, I just wanted to be noticed by someone, the last 20 weeks I have been forgotten and I just wanted to be noticed”. She stands up and makes her way to the checkout, feeling so much better knowing she has returned to the outside world and made an entrance no one will forget at Tesco’s.
Today’s blog comentary was written by Philip Davenport, arthur+martha. The short story Tantrum at Tesco’s is by Jo, from her series of written rebellions.