Perfect Blue
Kona Macphee
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Commentary: Pleurisy

I've often remarked on the oddly prophetic nature of creative writing. Not infrequently I've experienced some revelation, only then to notice how that very realisation has been heavily foreshadowed in my writing in the weeks or months beforehand. Sometimes it's gone so far as to predict actual events - for example, the precise circumstances of an ex's forthcoming infidelity (nobody could say I didn't see it coming, I guess!). The unconscious figures out a lot of stuff long before the penny drops in the conscious mind.

When I sat down to write this poem, I mistakenly believed that Pleurisy was one of those quaint historical diseases that nobody catches anymore. Despite my aforesaid experiences of poetical prophesy, I was certainly not expecting to come down with a case of Pleurisy myself, just a few months later! I can't recommend it; it felt like I'd been kicked in the ribs by Bruce Lee - or, more accurately, by Bruce Lee in stilettos.

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