nan cursed grandad for leaving on a trip to heaven without her. he fought tooth n' nail against leukaemia & prostrate cancer. —nan survived grandad & couldn't cope with it. wen I ger'up there I'm gunna throttle him into next week. I always found it funny how nan assumed the calendar in heaven mimics earth's. there is time for dementia to unburden us all of time. grandad wud a'bin… a dark shifting jelly a fragmentary curvature of matter —that is if the corrupted crow hadn't spooned nan's life out with its flashing beak before neurofibrillary tangles brought opacity. like coverin' yer ears with conch shells that regurgitate white noise. the intolerable burden of the body. how cruel to know so little about the matter we spark inside. the mind deforms like wet bread. flakey shortcrust pastry. wet dough. a cloud of flour. the patter of desiccated stuffs in cake tins. bacon and fried eggs rattle in a pan for brekkie. a heaped tbsp of bicarbonate of soda in the carrots & greens which made our bellies bloat & scuppered us into sunday-comas. these are things her mind enabled her to.