Here’s the deal, there are only two types of people.

Here’s the deal, there are only two types of people. Those who have killed someone and those who haven’t. I know that sounds bland and obvious, but it’s honestly the most profound thought I’ve ever had.

Just two types of people. Not male or female, religious or atheist, gay or straight. Just those that have killed and those that haven’t. Any other labelling or categorising is inconsistent. Any other attempt to define by refining, separating, dividing relies on our opinion and reflects our flaws.

The only consistent case for a, them and us, scenario is them who have killed another and us that haven’t. Horrible sentence, grammar and idea. Consistent.

If we are to pre-judge on race, then we can pre-judge on ear lobes and belly buttons. You hate a skin colour, I get to hate those who’s ear lobes join up to their neck. Or those with out-y belly buttons. The freakish fucks.

The very concept of a nation state is an aberration born of wilful ignorance. I was born on the border between A and B, who am I now? And how the fuck do you move a border without recognising the futility.

For every other definitive, binary division you think you’ve found there exists a sub-division. For every atom a nucleus, every nucleus, a charm.

A couples’ post primary coital poem.

Sat up, leaning back against the wall, smoking, duvet covering legs to belly. Looks down

“Are you, my love.

One of them?


one of us?”

Led on side, facing away, duvet to neck. Eyes closed but awake.

“Tell me, my love.

Who are them


who are us?”

Blinking, from smoke in eye and looking away.

“They killed one of us,

my love.

They killed one of us.”


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