There is a war coming.  He comes in coked out of his mind, demanding money and sex and affection.  I watch her die.  I want to smash his already fucked up face.  With the knuckles of his right hand dragging behind, those of his left are tightly clenched around her braids...his sweat covered vest disgusts me.  If he touches her again I'm gonna scream.  But I've lost my voice and it lies somewhere deep within the witches' cervix.  I know not what I praise.  I know not what I preach.  I know Nothing.  

*            *            *

The subsequent posts will be what I will refer to as a layered narrative and be pulled from personal journal entries kept over the past 5 to 6 years.  They will contain multiple stories that run parallel to the main narrative and, though intertwined, will indeed have a beginning, middle, and end.  I want this to become a timeline of sorts.  Temporary Lovers will see its start from when Ella (the lead track off the newly recorded EP) was first written in a damp tenement on Rupert St. in Glasgow, chronicle the days leading up to the formation and first public appearance of Starship Nicola and continue on to our next performance together at Eden Festival 2016.