{"id":2481,"date":"2012-05-09T15:11:15","date_gmt":"2012-05-09T15:11:15","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ink.verticalplus.co.uk\/archive\/?p=2481"},"modified":"2012-05-09T15:11:15","modified_gmt":"2012-05-09T15:11:15","slug":"chris-guidon","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/chris-guidon\/","title":{"rendered":"Chris Guidon"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><strong>Unexpected Sunshine<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>And the light\u2019s fading,<br \/>\nsyrupy rich sunlight that touched the faces<br \/>\nin the market, in the centre of town<br \/>\nbut didn\u2019t sweeten their appearance to me<br \/>\nas I wondered aimlessly on my day-off.<\/p>\n<p>The strange people are out,<br \/>\nthe ones that move slower, seemingly with no<br \/>\npurpose.<\/p>\n<p>Like the black anorexic girl who once chatted to me<br \/>\nyears ago, when I was trying to get a place<br \/>\nat the college and my girl at the time got jealous.<br \/>\nThe one I see drifting into D block.<\/p>\n<p>I saw her just now; eyes fixed, barely moving through the crowds.<br \/>\nHer face gaunt. Deflated. She looked like God had touched her.<br \/>\nI don\u2019t know what that means, I just kept thinking God. God. God.<\/p>\n<p>I have seen death. The dumb blunt finality of it.<br \/>\nAll fires burn out, no matter how fierce.<\/p>\n<p>In the sun by the church where Bobby and Emma got married<br \/>\nI closed my eyes.<br \/>\nI thought of the young girl in town with beige coloured jeans<br \/>\nI thought of her supple shape and my hairy stomach convalescing<br \/>\nlike the sunshine on the ugly market stalls.<\/p>\n<p>I remembered all the girls I\u2019ve fucked.<br \/>\nAll the beautiful pools I\u2019ve swam in.<\/p>\n<p>I feel like I\u2019m close to something.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Chris Guidon<\/strong> is a man who like chinese food and has lots of books. He&#8217;s a published writer, an occasional painter and a reluctant shift worker in a lab in kidderminster.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Unexpected Sunshine And the light\u2019s fading, syrupy rich sunlight that touched the faces in the market, in the centre of town but didn\u2019t sweeten their appearance to me as I wondered aimlessly on my day-off. The strange people are out, the ones that move slower, seemingly with no purpose. Like the black anorexic girl who [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2481","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2481","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2481"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2481\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2483,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2481\/revisions\/2483"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2481"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2481"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2481"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}