gifco is here
Those who have failed to regulate the self. Those whose behaviours enact a medicating fiction. Those who flew to the Canary Islands on a cheap ticket in December 1991 & left the remains of their personality in the apartment hotel. Those who ran from everything in a zig-zag pattern, so fast they never found the transitional object. The unsoothed. The dysmorphic. The unconditional. Those who were naive enough to take what they needed & thus never got what they wanted & whose dreams are now severe. Those who were amazed by their own hand. The confused. The pliable. Those who look at the sea & immediately suffer a grief unconstrained but inarticulable. Gifco is coming. Gifco you are always with us. Gifco we are here!
Photo: the other Nick Royle.
Originally published here in 2012 as “those who know gifco”
Gifco is one of your most disturbing and nonsensical stories. For all that it make sense. It hurts to remember it. I pass Peckham Rye often. You found something there. Betrayed it. Failed it. But it’s there.
“Those are someone’s things … We’ll be next. Don’t worry about that. They’ll be throwing us in the back of a van next.”
Made to be discontinued.
Gifco has always been one of my favorite of your stories. I’ve never known why, and still don’t, but it still is.