Why is 'why' so important to me
And why not 'who', 'what', 'where' or 'when'?
Why can't I be like the others I see
Who don't seek the motives of men?

I've searched for the truth
Through all of my youth,
But the answer I still cannot find.
Should I ask 'why' no more,
Close my eyes, shut the door?
Not while reason lives on in my mind.


Wore my t-shirt with 'Why?' across the chest today, very slightly raised at the 'W' and the 'y', understated, with a quiet hint of greater things to come. Nana said it looked daft, that people would think I didn't understand anything, that there was no point in 'Why?' when no-one knew what the question was, that I'd be better off with 'Because' than 'Why?', that at least then people would think I had the answer. I fear that Nana will never make a philosopher.

Ode to the reviewer who described me in a broadsheet newspaper as beautiful, confident, clever, successful, much-loved and loving

There are some who brush against your life
With the gentle touch of an angel's wing
Never knowing how much joy
That touch can bring
Your paths may never cross
You will not know them
But in their hearts
They'll hear a young girl sing

I looked up and saw the clouds parting in the sky
Torn by the dazzling light of the summer sun
I listened and heard the sound of a thousand angels
All gathered to applaud what this man had done
Loudly they heralded his arrival
With voices that were clear and pure and true
But of all the angels gathered there in heaven
None, Luciano, sang as well as you