'Tell me I'm not in a dream. Or one of my trances.' She uttered the two sentences between gasps and seem-to-be quickening pulses. In midair, the tension between them kept growing intensely, trying desperately to meet its peak every second, before finally disappearing into the sightless distance above it. 'You're not,' the man said, his voice distant even when his face was only a few inches from hers, and cupped his free hands around her chin to calm her pale face. Her cheeks were warm in his palms, as if being burnt by hundreds of heaps of dying, yet ravenous flames. She closed her eyes, recording the touch of his perfect skin that seemed able to charm her endlessly since the first time she had fixed her gaze on his shimmering features. The angelic voice which accompanied it woke her a few seconds later. 'And even if you are,' he traced his soothing fingers along the reddening skin of her cheeks, 'I'll bring you back to life. Which is here.' He emphasised the last two words with a smile, a heartbreaking, infuriating smile - because of its astounding beauty, before tenderly touching his cherrylike lips to hers, making her start to tremble uncontrollably in deep confusion. She was, again, in the middle of these steep rocks without any aid to support her unstable weight, meanwhile the air over their heads began to twirl in circles, the weather around them getting pink and turning red in five seconds' time. She was lost. In someone else's magical world, with a rendition of one of The Beatles' hit singles from the 1900s or 1950s - she could not exactly recall which period of years it came from - playing smoothly in the CD player in the languid atmosphere of the living room behind them.
After a moment of enjoyment the kiss brought them he pulled back, before slamming his left hand into the tiny depth of his shirt pocket and taking a silver locket out of it. He threw a confident smile at her, and in one blink of his eye, the room fell dark. Petrified yet washed out by the sudden darkness among them, the girl let out a heart-rending shriek, which was followed by her heaving her body onto him, making his head hit the floorboards and the long necklace break in half. In seconds, blood-red light began to shuffle out of the center of the torn necklace, mingling with the air outside its shell and sending the woman into gradually-coming unconsciousness. She could now only see shadows, muttering and brimming all over the weather around her, and had not the strength to stand up apart from lying helplessly on the feathered carpet beneath. Before her, she saw how he started to rise and reveal his claws, and fangs, and bright red eyes above her. He laughed mercilessly. Instantly, she covered her sweating face with her hands - which now felt too shaky and she hated it, she loathed it very much - and brought out a despondent, lamented sound of cry. Her evil lover, at the same time, continued to soak up as much energy as possible from the change of circumstance.
'Again, I successfully, harmlessly tricked you,' he whispered this to her right ear. Around them, the horrendous wind potter faster and faster meanwhile their invincibly powered circles got bigger. 'You should thank me for that.'
'Th... Thank you for what?' She abruptly gathered her courage to confront him. If this meant that the end of my life was approaching, I would be ready, she thought silently.
'For letting me bound my ways into your life again, Em,' his angelic voice replied, and before she realised what was coming next, she wailed with all of her might when she laid her eyes on his real monstrous, vampiric face before her.
'I am indeed sorry to say that you - a clever and sanguine girl like you - was granted the chance to relish your life only momentarily,' he cleared his throat. 'You have always known that you could not outrun us at the end..., and so have your family.'
'No,' she mumbled, and drifted her gaze to his face - his now burning face. 'NO!'
'No,' he mockingly repeated her words, 'or YES, my dear?'
'Don't call me using that 'D' word, beast,' she put her best effort to yell at the top of her lungs, ''cos I am not your dear, and prefer death to becoming one of you!'
With those last few words, she scrambled to her feet, and stood up in just two swift movements. In her both hands, which he did not know were protected by the two stashes of garlic and one wooden cross in her dress pockets, were two shiny swords with special blades carved onto their two edges which were designated to **** vampires. Get rid of them. And their malicious world of beasts.
She stepped forward, and new powers began to regenerate inside her - despite the cries she felt start to roll into her heart, upon knowing that her beloved Joe had died. Joe had been deceased now. He was lifeless, and no longer able to help her here. She should never have ditched him. It dawned on her now, when everything was already too late to fix up. But she knew that she should never give up. Javier and his vampire family might have tasted every single drop of her other family members - and the rest of Ludirus town's residents - including her Joe, before she idiotically kicked him out for this pathetic, heartless beast who wore a disguise to displace him. She stretch the first sword - the one in her right hand - out to him. He took a step back, his eyes remained focused on her.
'You won't hurt me,' he pretended to be in pain, and in one and a half seconds, he transformed into the figure of the innocuous, blue-eyed prince once more.
'I won't be deceived by your looks, pig,' spat her, meanwhile her brain rummaged through a thousand ways to stick the two swords into his chest. That was, in fact, the only way to **** him. To drain his evil life out of him.
'You were, once,' he laughed, the sound of his devious laughter echoed in the very room, and later left it in such dread and wariness.
'Not anymore,' she bravely took a step forward and, without any further doubt, without caring about her being imprisoned for the rest of her life before getting her blood dried by the fangs of Javier's two older brothers, she stabbed the swords into his chest with all the energy she had left. And the effects sprayed out by the action were beyond any of her expectations. Thousands of blood droplets poured out of his body and onto the floor beneath her, flooding the entire living room and finally the streets outside the building until no litter, little scraps of food, and wheels of vehicles were seen anywhere in sight. Surprisingly, these endless streams of blood did not cause any floods, and rapidly soaked through every single layer of soil the earth had on its surface. The blood that had been consumed out of the poor people of Ludirus, the rural village in South Ireland, famous for its cruel killing rampage for several thousand years, where a group of aristocratic vampire ruled the lives of humans and their own species. But now, there would be no more of them. No more of their horrible treatments. No more of their sneaking-up-on-humans tricks they secretly did at night - to savour human blood, which was lawfully removed from the protecting-human law renewed every year. It was all a lie. Yeah, a lie. A lie that allowed Javier's family to approach Lucinda's family members to be victims in their lifelong killing spree. But now, there would be no more vampires, thought Lucinda as she kissed her holy cross and sets of garlic affectionately. There would be no more blood sacrificed to fend for those beasts' hunger, even though it meant for her to live alone. Live on her own, as she no longer had anyone around her to turn to. To soak up her tears when she was scared away by the bunch of vampire kids on the way home from school. To calm her with her melodious chords at the piano. Mother. To serve her the best spaghetti in the world as a reward for her outstanding grades at school. Sister Sheila. To rub her back and put her to bed at night - at the age of sixteen! Father. Luce's tears just would not stop while she kept counting her memories, as every single shadows of her deceased beloved came back to her. And finally, the sight of her Joe lying his tired head on her lap, and reading out loud to her his newest poem he composed at the office for her. All were gone. Dissolved into the ravenous sea of blood in the guts of those psychotic, simpering, abusive monsters.
But she was satisfied. She felt, somehow, proud of her heroic, or at least, brave actions. She had taken control of her fear, and that was one of the most important characteristics a woman should have to succeed in this cruel world, her father had once said. Now she could prove to them all that she was a newly reborn person, and was no longer the old Lucinda. Lucinda Hale who had always been the 'tail' of her sister while they were six and four, and the little, spoilt daughter of Jim and Aileen Hale who could not hold a plate properly in every banquet their family was invited to. Luce knew that she was now completely a stranger to her family. She squinted her eyes shut, trying to imagine how nice it would be to show off her new self to her late family if only they were all alive with healthy pink cheeks now. In her own peace and this momentary solitude, she found herself sinking onto the floating warmth of blood, but strangely, she did not fall. She did not plunge into the limitless red colour underneath, and remained flowing above it while her tears started to crawl out of her eyes. She did not know, and did not want to know how long this remained until she eventually felt the rough surface of the bearskin carpet again. She woke up with a dizzy head and quickly threw a hasty look around her living room. The prince, beastly Javier had vanished. Oh, there are his remnants, she thought and unconsciously, chuckled quietly to herself when she came to take hold of several white, lifeless bones laid in front of her. Then suddenly she understood what had just happened. The legend in that book she had borrowed from the library transported the knowledge back into her mind. All the members of Javier's family had been crushed now. They were dead. Her sacred tears, which came to mix with the blood flood, became the cure for all the people who had been ****** by the vicious vampires in town. They were now freed, and reawarded, although still mortal, but yet a very rare, elusive, privileged chance to be alive once again and start their lives all over again. They must not be far from her now, thought her. Without any further wait, she raced out of the room, and wormed her way onto the street.
And here they were. The streets of Ludirus were no longer deserted. Traditional markets with a thousand-metre long series of antiques roamed them, occupying every single tiny space provided to place racks containing jewels, valuables, and gold pots. There were also shelves of books about cookery, traditional healing potions, sports, literature, and anything else someone ever wanted to buy. And then she spotted a book with a bright yellow cover, entitled 'Love Poems: From 1900 to the Present, by Joe Grogan.' Her breath seemed to stop at that time and suddenly, before she even got the opportunity to touch the cover of the copy in front of her, two warm arms wrapped her waists and turned her body around to face the owner. Once again, she was at a terrible loss for words. 'Joe,' she mumbled.
'I am,' the writer nodded solemnly. And just like the evil Prince Javier had done before, he pulled out a beautiful silver box and opened it. Inside, two rings shined beautifully before their eyes, radiating a smile as bright as the one seen on others' faces among them. A smile that celebrated the comeback of their long-lost independence. Before she knew it, Joe knelt before her, and presented the ring upwards onto her.
'What would you like to do first, Madam? Marry me, or buy my book?' He grinned and held both her hands. Before she could answer him, he inserted her left ring finger into the perfectly made ring, and helped her right hand fasten his own ring onto his finger. She lifted him up and wrapped her hands around his neck.
'Do you have time for both, Sir?' She rubbed his smooth cheeks and kiss them before looking deeply into his hazel eyes.
'Absolutely,' he answered firmly, and scooped her whole weight into his arms and spinned her around. Luce could no longer say anything when a sudden wave of happiness washed all over her, and became even at a more unfathomable loss of words when she caught the sight of her beloved father, mother, and her sister, all alive, start approaching to deliver their congratulations. Here we are, she thought with a satisfied feeling. We were, are, and will always be meant to be together.

She seemed like a nice, pretty girl, so I had invited her to dinner in a small Italian restaurant. Over aperitifs (spritzer for her, scotch for me) she told me about herself. She was twenty years old, she came from Baltimore, her name was Lucinda, but her family called her Lulu. She had a passion for poetry, in fact she had just finished writing a poem, that very day: would I like to hear it?

In the circumstances, only one answer was possible.

I tried to look suitably impressed, and when eventually it was over, I applauded. "What imagination," I said, "What talent!" She smiled, reached inside her handbag and brought out a sheaf of dog-eared manuscripts. "Dear God," I thought, "There's more!" Oh well; there was still the possibility that after the liqueurs she might ask me back to her place, for ***. (Or, as she would probably pronounce it, "coffee".)

So on, and on, she went. The little lady had a talent all right: she could recite and eat simultaneously. Neither the pasta puttanesca nor the saltimbocca di vitello could slow down her almost-rhyming couplets. At last, the papers were all returned to the handbag. She looked at me expectantly. "So, do you think I could get my poetry published?" I paused, to consider my answer. But the pause was too long: she looked right into my eyes, sensed my mood, and in that moment knew what the answer had to be.

During the dessert she crumpled; large, heavy tears fell silently into her zabaglione. Poor lamb! I'd never wanted to hurt her. She didn't deserve the destruction of her dreams.

Who does?

For Lucinda*

Lucinda, Lucinda
Why didn’t I realise
The goodness that lay in your heart
The redemption that lay in your eyes
I feel so unworthy
All that you did for me.
In one moment of anger
I threw it away carelessly
I said somethings I didn’t mean
And I foolishly left for a while
Thinking that I could make it on my own
But I returned dejected to a smile
They way you hug me
You hug me like you really do
Mean it, god, I feel so unworthy.
I’ve never met a woman so true
With such a heart of gold
I just stand back in awe
The way you forgive what I’d rather forget
You find perfection where others see flaws
God must be a woman
No other being could hold such love
There’s not a day that doesn’t go by.
When I don’t that the Good Man above
For bringing women like you into my life
Because I was going god knows where to this day
For all the time I spent alone
You made me feel like I wanted to stay
I know I’d be happy if I knew I was your man
You build me up when I don’t feel tall
I am just standing here in awe
Girl, now I’ve seen it all

Muse, Fée Ensorceleuse,
Lucinda Darling !
Ce matin je me suis réveillé
Castrat
Enlacéré
Strephon et Philander
Avec un air sur l'oreiller
Ton parfum libertin qui dansait baroque
Au milieu d'une jungle d'alto, violoncelles,
Violons et contrebasse.
Entre couplets et refrain
Cet air pour soprano
Cette douce suite incidentale
M'a envahi dès la première mesure de l'été
Tu étais Aphra. J'étais Jemmy
Et en même temps Maure,
Abdelazer défiguré
Et toi Lucinda, transfigurée par Purcell,
Tu fredonnais en anglais
"Lucinda is bewitching fair
All o'er engaging is her Air
In ev'ry song Lucinda's fam'd
She is the Queen of Love proclaim'd "

As we walked I wondered if this Avenue of trees ,
where birds of paradise were lined in cages hung amgst the leaves ,
as far as the eye could  see .
Is that what you think of me ?
That love we share ,
In birds so rare ? said I
“ My darling don’t arose love “ she said
for these things are for heavenly creatures,
such things are not meant for me
for I am a creature of the dead “
and with that she shrugged her head .
“ But I do love you and that’s with all my heart
and if that were true in what you said .
Then Why does my heart leap like a young buck before a small bud
can reach  the sun ?





That is when the dark heavens awoke,
to thick dark clouds ,
and puffs of smoke ,
Where nothing would ever be the same .
Thou lighting bolts from heaven called out her name.

Lucinda I weep for you “
as  the might oak was split in two ,
It’s bark burns in  front of you Lucinda ..
as Men and women arise from where they slept .
and thunder bolts of dazzling ray ,
With a smell of death from beneath my belly wails ,
as she walked away .

And my walls of stone have been brought down ,
they lay before me on the ground .

And where is the sun ?
the moon and the stars ?
How the loved ones gazed apon.

their dazzling array .
and the sun by day ,
for they have vanished from our sight ,
thou it be the dead of night .

For the corn is wet and no good to eat ,
all ruined in this Bog of peat .

Yet I walk and must never stop ,
bid it not this journey must end .

Make haste that I should find my friend .
Are you there is that you ?
a horse and cart I meet along my way ,
but they are in great haste and don’t delay
The kings post must not be late “


The birds are circling far above ,
a young Buck that once bound and  lept  for love
now lies dead in a field of mud.

And I grew weary when will this end ,
to walk alone without my friend .?

So I looked out into the yonder road
and yet I did not see her ,
not now ,
not then ,
not ever again ?  .

On good nights, I like to send messages to space, outer
or deeper though direction and dimension are lost on me.
I get answers but no translations, no key or stone to this alien
and spacy thought.  What?  You say you bet you could

rephrase space in a language even I could understand? After all
you passed algebra, walked around school a big shot, finding X
or its equals. I should have paid attention, but mine was fixed
on Linda, Lucinda, Corinna, Corinna where you been so long?

I might have learned the meaning of words from long forgotten
gods, frustrated issuing commandments, ok in their day, but
ignored now, passé.  I was absent for those god talks, apocalypse-isms,
missed out on saints with half-moon halos and beatific visions.

I heard only rumors of women, words like smitten, enchanted,
obsessed with love like striated bark on trees, canals on Mars,
rain and that sound that creeps under sod.  And so I wait
for an unambiguous, intelligible answer from anyone in space.

For Lucinda*

I tightened my bandana
On my sun-kissed skin
I rubbed my three-day beard
God, I need a shave
God, I was going god knows where
I thought I was heading for old El Paso
As I picked my pack from the floor
But I stopped as I started for the door.
Life is just empty
When you’re walking alone.
So wherever you’re going, girl
I want to go there with you.
I sit there and watch you sleep
So innocent and so peaceful.
Last night’s cherry lipstick
Last night’s Vanilla *****
You gave me the freedom to stay; Lucinda
I could ramble a thousand miles
But what Good would it do?
I’d still hurt in the old familiar way
I’d just be sweating
I could go coast to coast, seaboard to seaboard
And never find the light
But the light’s right here, in your eyes,
You gave me the freedom to stay.
I sit on the bed and just look
Look at you in awe
What’s the point in chasing a falling star?
When the light’s in your heart
Why keep on running, when here you are?
I could ramble a thousand miles
And never see the light in your eyes again.

To Tory and Lucinda, you finally got your poem*

Ok honey, I’m about to go
I’m about to blow a gasket
I’ve been working all day
Like a regular dog, got up
At the crack of dawn.
I’ve been saying yes Sir
All day at work and
I’ve been saying yes
M’am all the time to
You and now I’m
Ready to go. You
Can only push a
Man so far before
He loses the will
Or the effort
To try and please
Someone who
Can never be
Pleased. I
Need to get
My things
Together
And jus’
Reacquaint
Myself
With Jim Beam
Because I’ve been being
Good for much too long.
Now a good boy's gone bad
I’m now taking my time off
For bad behaviour.

Lucinda, Lucinda
Why didn’t I realise
The goodness that lay in your heart
The redemption that lay in your eyes
I feel so unworthy
All that you did for me.
In one moment of anger
I threw it away carelessly
I said somethings I didn’t mean
And I foolishly left for a while
Thinking that I could make it on my own
But I returned dejected to a smile
They way you hug me
You hug me like you really do
Mean it, god, I feel so unworthy.
I’ve never met a woman so true
With such a heart of gold
I just stand back in awe
The way you forgive what I’d rather forget
You find perfection where others see flaws
God must be a woman
No other being could hold such love
There’s not a day that doesn’t go by.
When I don’t thank the Good Man above
For bringing women like you into my life
Because I was going god knows where to this day
For all the time I spent alone
You made me feel like I wanted to stay
I know I’d be happy if I knew I was your man
You build me up when I don’t feel tall
I am just standing here in awe
Girl, now I’ve seen it all

Little lady, my perfect neice
Unconditonal love will never cease
Captivated by your smile
Important to me by a mile
Never will you need a thing
Delicate angel without wings
Aunty Katie wrote you this
(written with love and sealed with a kiss)

They said Keith couldn't *** without a finger up his ***,
they said Ruth was a **** for not sleeping with her man.
They said George was a woman because he couldn't grow a beard,
they said Molly was autistic, because she was a little bit weird.

They said Mr. Winchester was a ******* because he wore an overcoat,
they said Ms. Wheeler as a witch, and once sacrificed a goat.
They said Mr. Winter was so fat, he was more or less bulletproof,
they said Ms. Walker was not attractive, but if it came to it:
she'd have to do.

They said Lucinda was thin because she chose not to eat,
sitting by the bathroom doors in the lunchtime canteen.
They said Leonard was a ****** with his long, blonde hair,
they said Luke was a downy because of his vacant stare.

They said Mr. Fresco was a drinker who beat his wife at home,
they said Ms. Finkel was a *******, seen standing out in the cold.
They said an awful lot of things that decayed away over time,
but it takes a strength to train the mind

to not trod the tracks of a lifetime past,
to keep yourself to who you are,
not those ancient words,
nor those faded scars.

I kept quiet as a mouse
Soppy did too; we stayed snake close
to the ground in the tall grass

we didn't hear no hounds,
but that didn't mean them dogs
weren't there

Soppy and I had done
what old lady Lucinda said--waded in the deep creek
a good hour to leave them curs nothin' to sniff

with my one clear eye
I could see them flames bobbin' up and down
like gold ghosts in the willows

the air smelled like rain
I prayed real hard it would come down
drown out them fires

that would be one mighty sign
the good Lord heard my prayers
and took pity on us

Soppy, me and whatever other souls
hid in the devil's dark, watchin' the flames,
fearin' they meant eternal damnation

Everyone knows its a bad part of town,
no one lives there by choice.
Its this place called The Heat
down at the corner of holy gate
and 1-deuce-deuce.
There a girl there,
her real names Lucinda,
they say friends call her luci,
which is short for Lucifer,
and she works in The Heat
which is slick for hell.
They say she's called bass
"cause it look'a like a wide mouth bass
smell 'bout da same"
Nicknames and false alibis.
Luci works the Heat on taco Tuesdays.
They say she'll serve it hot for ten a song.
Fish taco Tuesdays.
They joke that it always smells like tuna anyways
even without fish taco Tuesdays.
They say on a good Friday,
The Heat almost becomes bearable
and every body watches old bass
swinging widemouthed and tasseled
around every pole in the bar.
But I can't bare it,
the kind of sadness in places like this
where they serve up breakfast
and Tuesday specials
for ten dollars a song.

To Lucinda*

There you stand in the door
And after all the fights we’ve been through
When the-you-know-what hit the you-know-where
You still can bear to look at me
I see the tears twinkle in your eyes
I see the hands on your hip
And I dread to think what you’ve got to face
They way you’re working over your top kip
You never shout, you just look disappointed
Your eyes say: ‘back down that stony road’
And now even though I hurt you
You helped pick your girlfriend up out of the road
Because there was a ****** old truck coming
She just broke down to bawl
And yet after all that
You’re a proud woman standing tall
You sit down on the bed next to me
And you speak ever so slightly
I feel your warm breath on me
In the cool of the Texas night
You say, ‘Oh Dan here we are again,
I thought we talked about this.’
She’s out there crying in the other room
You should know nothing goes amiss
And if I get caught in here you know
I’m going to be dead meat too’.
I apologise profusely, counting my blessings
You just look at me like you always do.
‘Now, you know I got to go console her
You know I’ve got to go and get supplies
Of tissues and Kleenex and toilet rolls
But please just give it time
Let everyone cool down, storms always blow over
It’s the only way a friendship can be saved
With that she left, back to the toilet a girl bereft
And as I heard the sobbing I know I’d take that to my grave.

To Tory, Lucinda and Brioche. The poem you deserve.*



She’s no good at being phoney
She never tells a good lie
She knows when I got to be alone
She tells me when I’m too high
She always walks beside me
Never too far too far behind
And whatever I seem to do
She stays in that good place all the time
Because no matter what I say
And no matter what I make out to believe
She will always be a special lady
Especially special to me
She’s got that heart of gold within her
She’s got the ability to keep the pace
She doesn’t take no crap from me
She’ll **** well put me in my place
And yet at the same time she’s gentle
She understands why I am like I am
And I know there will be soft words
Whenever I need a helping hand.
I think these women are one in a million
Richer than any gold or diamond ore
And I hope in the future that
Their boyfriends won’t want any more
Because they’re good women as they are
It’s quite plain to see
They invite me round to play cards
And let me watch Eurovision on TV
I’ve never been welcomed so much
I’ve never felt less alone
When these girls are around me
I don’t need to wander cos I’m home
And when I blow a fuse over something
That’s really been driving me round the bend
They just smile and shrug their shoulders
When it’s time to start over again.
She is so good to me, it’s true.
I know I have many faults as a man
But when I see those eyes, I’m not stupid
I know how lucky I am. X

I was born for misery in every way
When God came by I was fast asleep
when the devil spoke he said I was cheap
When opportunity knocked my door was hollow
when chances were given I insisted to borrow
When marathons were ran I broke my bone
when houses were given I lost my home
When life was produced, Lucinda was taken
when love was excepted, mine was foresakan
When intelligence was tested I was dumb
when reflexes were tried I became numb
When fathers were there mine was gone
when statistics were taken mine were wrong
I am born for misery in every way
When God speaks I do not hear
when the devil threatens I do not fear
When opportunity knocks I answer slow
when chances are given I never know
When marathons are ran I walk along the side
when projects get restless I run and hide
When inteligence is tested I do not study
when reflexes are tried, I am never ready
When first looking out I could not see
when then and now I was born for misery
SDPope

...And they’re ******* playing the song
Lucinda would sing to
Right outside my window
After she failed to return my calls
Two days ago
I laugh
It’s all that stops me from crying.
I have decided one thing,
Me and fate don’t like each other.
Perhaps cos I told him I never needed him.
I know this much
If fate was a person
I’d be punching him in  the  ******* face
Right about now.

Twelve years of difference
I still can't stay away
I've been swept up in your voice
And pulled into your games

The thought of loving you petrifies me
But the thought of forgetting you stabs  
It seems I'm stuck; not a soul at my side
Doomed to wander, heartbroken, through the lands

Here I stand in the darkness
As my heart swells at the mention of your name
Our story is as great as Daniel and Lucinda
Yet, I bet we could put them to shame

So, as the days are rolling by so slowly
And I just wish to call you mine
I'll sing the song of a hopeless romantic
Trapped in the wrong time

Before the hordes of his extended fashion family descended on Somerset House last night, Sam McKnight was pacing through the two floors of an exhibition of his life as one of the great sessions hairstylists. He stopped in front of a formal British Vogue portrait of Princess Diana, taken by Patrick Demarchelier in 1990. “I put on the tiara and had to make her hair big for it,” he remembered. “But, oh, God, then we had such an amazing day afterward. We were chatting and she suddenly asked, ‘If you could do anything, what would you do?’ And I said, ‘I’d cut it off!’ And she said, ‘Well, let’s do it now!’”

Thus, Diana, Princess of Wales, got the best slicked-back look of her life, the cut that defined her chic, grown-up, independent years—and her cutoff from her marriage. “I didn’t realize at the time,” McKnight said, “but in retrospect, with everything that was going on in the background, she wanted a change.” McKnight, after that, became Diana’s entrusted hairdresser. As photographer Nick Knight puts it elsewhere in the show, McKnight has that general effect on women when he’s working. “When he goes near the girls, they relax.”

It’s a testament to McKnight’s popularity in the magazine and fashion show milieu he has worked in since 1977—nearly 40 years!—that so many (who are sometimes so difficult) cooperated and gave permission, and that Chanel and Vivienne Westwood lent spectacular clothes to illustrate the interpretive cut and ****** of what a great hairstylist contributes. Straightaway, as you step off the street into the exhibition, you’re plunged into the next best thing to a backstage hair-and-makeup station and the kind of frenetic scene that goes on minutes before Chanel, Fendi,Dries Van Noten, or Balmain shows take to the runway. In place of the mirrors there are videos—say, of Kendall Jenner getting her Balmain hair look at a recent presentation—which have been recorded by GoPros worn by McKnight’s assistants. Every facet and every angle of the transformations—sometimes with four pairs of hands working on one girl’s hair—are captured.

From then on in, it’s easy to see how this exhibition will become a magnet for kids who want to experience the atmosphere of fashion and worship at a temple of a sublime hair alchemist. Shonagh Marshall, the curator at Somerset House, has run the numbers on the hairstylist’s Vogue covers, many of which are displayed on a faux newsstand. “Sam has been involved with 190 Vogue covers, which is more than any one photographer, or anyone else over that time,” she reported.

That’s not bad for a Scottish lad, born the son of a miner in 1955, who made his way to being a central team player with photographers and editors in the high supermodel years. Glorious images of Linda Evangelista, Christy Turlington,Cindy Crawford, and Tatjana Patitz abound. “It was a golden era. We were on the road the whole time with Patrick Demarchelier, traveling the world with the same 10 people,” McKnight said, laughing. “We were making it up as we went along, really.”

The massive sweep of the show brings out the important collaborations of his career, with photographers Demarchelier, Knight, Tim Walker, and more; with fashion editors Lucinda Chambers and Edward Enninful; and makeup artists Mary Greenwell and Val Garland. It’s studded with celebrity—Lady Gaga, Tilda Swinton, Kylie Minogue—and honors the spectacular shape-shifting talents of Kate Moss, from her early days as a fresh tousle-haired ’90s teen in love on a beach: “Johnny Depp was there,” McKnight recalled.

There are the moments when McKnight changed models’ fates with short, blonde crops—Jeny Howorth’s in the ’80s and Agyness Deyn’s in the aughts. We see his process, with the hairpieces, wigs, and frizzing techniques integral to creating Westwood and Chanel shows, in both videos and installations masterfully laid out by Michael Howells. Right at the end, there’s a room Howells describes as “Sam the Man,” the walls checkerboarded with pictures of flowers from his garden and the ridiculous varieties of wigs he poses in on his Instagram feed these days. It’s testament to the energy and humor of a talent happily adapted to an industry that is constantly working on the new, in the now; an inspirational treat for all those who remember and for all the many thousands of young eyes that will be opened for the first time by this extravagant journey through one man’s career.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses

Smile, he said and it’ll all be over soon
She forced a smile upon her face
Her head turned away
He thought she loved it too
In a dark lit motel room
Unwashed curtains partly open
Upon her face that smile retained
And with it, the pain of what she did every night
Lucinda from Annawan came
Left school and moved away
The promise of a job well paid
That’s the pull that took her away
But when the factory closed, she still needed food and to be clothed, that’s when things got desperate
And so she walked the streets, holes in her shoes, water in her feet
Stain upon the dress she tried to keep neat, her hair blowing in the breeze
“How much do you think you’re worth”
this guy whispered into her ear
“I used to think a lot, but maybe now not so much,
how much have you got ? my dear”
And so that was that, men would come and men would go
Slip her money and never look back, time passed so slow
By 1984, she saved and saved
Even got her own little place
A child, a cat and bills were paid,
Only because of her body that was worth more than the living wage.
At night she would work
Her boy all tucked up in bed
"you know the score I’ll be home in the morning"
That was what Lucinda said
But in the day she didn’t sleep, she just sat up and cried
At the end of the day she had little money, and in her home she had no pride
With every man that came, they took a piece of her soul
Until at the age of 34 she looked so old
That’s when business was slow, times got hard real fast, like the youth and beauty she took for granted her money ran out fast
Until all that’s left was some hollow shell of a woman, her eyes still cry in the daylight, for that soul she sold for money

As Jerome played the violin,
she hung there
suspended
between the light in his
eyes and
the veins in his hands.

She,
intent on the melody
only saw what a
lover sees, only
heard the sweet whisper of
love in the air
and
Jerome
played on unaware
that
Lucinda
was hanging there
and
his hands wove the thread
that kept her suspended.

I have a feeling that Lucinda
depended on
that.

Thank you to mystery girl,
Who showed me life can still be fun.
Thank you to Lucinda
Who showed me I'm not as bad as my mind sees.
Thank you to SPT
Who showed me what being a grown up really means.
That sometimes life will not be in your favour,
But still enjoy it.
Thank you to Nameless
Who showed me that there's always someone who can help,
That sometimes giving up is the best option.
Thank you to Impeccable Space Poettess,
Who showed me that sometimes a little care goes a long way,
Thank you to Julie
Who showed me that no matter how heavy a heartbreak is,
It will come to pass.
That although people walk different paths,
The experiences are similar.
Thank you to Mandie
Who showed me that if you follow your dreams,
You will find your happy place.

To my new Hello Poetry friends who has helped me see the light once again. I know I've been an emotional wreckage the past few days, but I thank you all for the support you have shown me. I promise you I will stand on my two feet and carry the world on my shoulder again one day. Special thanks to carol, spt, nameless,rosalind, julie, lucinda and eve who have taken the time to message me and encouraged me to keep on writing as well as made me understand myself better so I can better myself. I thank you all. Thank you Hello Poetry for showing me what it's like to appreciate stars in my life without having to look upon the darkest part of our lives; the night.

Tonight is the night
I finally get to take Lucinda out for dinner
I have never met anyone like her
Yes that sentiment has been expressed a million times before I am sure but she is an exquisite woman
Her lovely skin reminds me of condensed milk
Hair luscious like fresh strawberries
eyes like dark chocolate
and words sweet enough to melt any mans anger into pure honey
Sorry she is just an amazing cook
I hope she likes seafood though
there is nothing better then succulent lobster, garlicky shrimp and fresh fillets glazed in a golden sauce, on a wintry night  
She works in an art gallery downtown
Art is her passion and I say that she is better then Tamara de Lempicka
She is simple in her attire and taste
But I wonder why she always has that oval pendant around her neck
she wears it all the time and never takes it off.
I fancy her but the sight of that necklace makes me uncomfortable
An simple oval pendant on a thin silver chain
My skin looks flushed and I get antsy
I cannot sit still or pay attention to her
I wonder if that necklace was a present
from the alcoholic father she told me about
from the brother who passed away at 19 from tuberculosis
from the abusive ex husband
a past lover with copper locks and green eyes
These questions are giving me a headache
Oh Garcon  I would like a drink