We'd Never Expect To Understand A Piece

There Is A Kind Of Poetry, Bad And Good, In Evrything, Everywhere We Look.

My Father Is From Newark In Nottinghamshire And My Mother Is From The Very North Of Ireland. They've Ended Up In Scotland, Where My Father - Well, Both Of Them - Will Always Be Seen As Having Come From Somewhere Else.

Remember You Must Live. Remember You Most Love. Remainder You Mist Leaf.

I Was At The Tail End Of The Family. The Next Brother Along Was Already Seven Years Older Than Me. I Remember Growing Up By Myself, Playing Games By Myself.

We're Well Past The End Of The Century When Time, For The First Time, Curved, Bent, Slipped, Flash Forwarded, And Flashed Back Yet Still Kept Rolling Along. We Know It All Now, With Our Thoughts Traveling At The Speed Of A Tweet, Our 140 Characters In Search Of A Paragraph. We're Post-history. We're Post-mystery.