The Light of Pie

By 12:55


If I had to take 15 million steps back (give or take a few), I’d find myself in the exact same place, where I found him. On the edge of a continent, on a street that is Long, in a club now closed and at a party that would make even the likes of Chuck Palahniuk proud, we stood contently beside each other as strangers…or so we thought.

I know now that I knew him long before that fateful night (4 am, Rum Diary drunk in a club). Long ago, under a different set of stars, on a different street, as someone not too unfamiliar from who I am now. We knew each other.

63 million breathes have ushered us to this point. SIXTY-FREE-MEEEEEEERRRRRION…..sixty fucking three million moments…


Moments of jumping off bridges, sleeping under stars, rolling down hills in giant plastic zorbs that would make any hamster jizz their pants. Moments of bribing caretakers in coastal dorpies to feed some godforsaken octopus that Moth remembers from a family holiday long ago. Of sleeping under the night sky in summer, off getting kicked off farms and invading others. Moments of self-inflicted madness, getting lost in the height of summer in apple country with no liquid or music in sight or sound…after an insane trance party…which I take full responsibility for. Ahem! Moments, dressed as memories…decorate the halls of my mind. Suit and tie, ceremony and pomp…when underneath they reveal the true identity of us. Two (now) barefoot kids hurtling towards each other at the speed of light.

So it’s been six years. Pats self on back. We’ve come a long way him and I, from getting caught by the poh-lice trying to catch a free show (they were actually nice and just doing their job looking for some runaway kid, they even told us where they wouldn’t likely find us…so we went there instead)…. to having a place of our own place. Our first place was so empty when we moved in that we’d create multifunctional zones. Amongst them we had a designated MMA/ capoeira area and a breakdancing zone, this was partly due to a bout of insomnia I was having and CTV (love me some community TV). Now, we have a small Nation and a few surviving plants. We pay our TV licence. We are anti-procreation, he proports to be a militant atheist but every month I’m sure this is challenged when he’s as grateful as fuck. So he’s gotta be praying to someone.


I’m always grateful… and I will pray to anybody/thing to secure the integrity of my bergina…and sanity. I also believe in science, so either way. I don’t pretend to be on the forefront of what makes us work (however, I feel strongly that the no-kids-thing helps), what I do know is that it does and that he has my heart. And in the quiet of the night, when darkness asserts its dominion over us all, I lie awake restless and listen to his heart beating.


Two and a half BILLION times over, each resounding thud provides mortal assurance to the inevitability of the next few billion heartbeats to follow. He is my heart and keeps me safe in the warmth of his. Because at the end of the day all we need is somebody to love….smoke bongs with…and cuddle.

About the Author

She peddles her words for pennies. She likes to dance in the corner. She's chronically overwhelmed by life and love. She's many things....things she doesn't even know that she doesn't know about.

It's complicated....but isn't it always?

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