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Grandpa Liakos

Details

Hi Helen I learning to "text" on iPhone 6 xxx

Well done. It's 5am here though, you woke me up. What time is it there?

Hiatus say hello

Hiatus

Yisyis

Is broken

Yiayia

Hi yia yia.

Visit before she die

Pardon?

Come for holiday xxx

Or she make you life a roller skate.Ha ha

She know you smoking fagarettes

Tell her Dio quit fagarettes for new years, she has one respectable grandchild in England.

έλα!!!

Σ’ αγαπώ

Glad you've learnt how to switch keyboards but can you use English, please? I'm still half asleep.

S'agapo kopela mou xxx

I love you too.

That's not English though, xazoula. That's Greek on an English keyboard.

I English for you but you no Greek for me

Only xazoula!!!!! Where is respect!!!!!!! 😱 😜 🙈 🇬🇷 🇬🇷 🇬🇷

Okay. Maybe when it's not 5am.

You too many complain 👺

Bye Papou I'm turning my phone off. x

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Inbox

Re: No Subject

Jamie Oborne

to me

Thanks Hel, you champ.

It's honestly up to you. Speaking as a friend? Yeah, there are some things I worry about. That's beyond my job desc as your manager though and I'm not inclined to come at it from a PR angle. One of the things we emphasised during your very first meeting was artistic and personal integrity and the fact that you'd never be polished or marketed in a way that felt unnatural. I stand by that. You're a smart woman and I'm not in the business of intervening in your personal life. We're overdue for a proper chat though so we can speak about it in more detail when that happens, but look after one another in the meantime. It's been a long few months and I'd describe the collective mental state at the moment as "precarious." Currently sending out cancellation notifs for tonight's event. Nightmare and a half.

Ps. Thought you might enjoy this photo from the office a while back. See you in a week, trouble. X

Jamie Oborne
Managing Director
All On Red Artist Management Ltd
19 Portland Place, London, W1B 1PX

Messages

Claude

Details

Can you do me a favour?

What do you need?

Can you check in on Gus for me? I had horrible fucking anxiety nightmares about him and I know it's dumb but I just need to know that he's okay.

Talked to him a day or two ago, I think he's okay. I was telling him to come and jam with me when he's back in London. I'll keep an eye out. Is he not talking to you?

He doesn't want to talk to me, which is fair, but I left something OH WOW OKAY NEVERMIND ACTUALLY.

WOW. Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

What's going on, babes?

You know when I said that thing about how when something seems to good to be true it usually is? Yeah.

Can you come over?

Leaving now, be there in thirty. Worried about you.

I'm sorry about this, I'm going to scream into a pillow for a bit and then I'll be able to do words by the time you're here. Audsjsgh AHHH.

Not sure what's happening but Sister Act 1 & 2 are on Netflix and I'm about to get on the overground.

Nothing you could say can tear me away from my Claude (my Claude) 🙏

Send

Playlists

Temazepam

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Clear

Delete

Rewind
Kelela Hallucinogen

Get Away
The Internet Ego Death

Unstoppable
Lianne La Havas Blood

Life Worth Living
Laurel Laurel

Sparks
Beach House Depression Cherry

Retrograde
James Blake Overgrown

Inbox

Your meal is on its way!

Deliveroo.co.uk

to me

Thanks for your order, Sister Mary Clarence!

Freebird Burritos
86 Shoreditch High St, London, E16HU

1x Bottle Of Prosecco - £20.00
1x Naked Vegetarian Burrito With Guacamole - £6.00
1x Chicken Burrito With Guacamole - £6.00

Subtotal £32.00
Roo Charge £2.50
Driver Tip £4.00

Total
£38.50

Special instructions:
No sour cream on chicken burrito as Sister Mary Patrick is watching her cholesterol. Please bless this meal standing in the direction of mecca. Shalom.

ESTIMATED DELIVERY
30mins

I've spent far too long trying to fathom what I am. I enrolled once in a series of online lectures about what a soul might or might not be, have read stories about a scientist who tried to weigh them, bored myself with all the age old pointless postulating and shrugging over questions we can't really answer. Sometimes late at night, against my better judgement, I watch the German man in the hat who performs autopsies. He slices through soft layers of skin and subcutaneous fat that fall away from the scalpel like folds of jelly, prising cages of bone apart with ease. Here is a brain, where all of the memories and nuances of a life have lived and died. Here is a heart, just a lump of meat now that the strange, sophisticated magic that kept it pumping blood has fizzled out. We can dissect it and observe our own machinery with wonder.

The idea of my body being no different to that which hangs in a butcher's window gives me an existential pang. Being reminded of your mortality and that you're nothing special is bittersweet. (The sweet: imagine if there were some great meaning in life beyond the very easy act of loving what is around you to be loved, some terrifying higher responsibility or purpose. Imagine if the earth wouldn't take me back into itself, if I weren't carbon made like everything else. Imagine if life were infinite and therefore meaningless, colourless, barren of discovery and urgency and mystery. Thank god it isn't so.) I feel like I have to acclimate myself to it, to imagine thousands of deaths so the real one doesn't take me too sharply by surprise, so I can suck the marrow from every moment and see in technicolour and never be complacent.

I kill myself every night so that I can be reborn in the morning. But for brief moments with you I have forgotten to wonder if my body is just a lump of meat; forgotten to wonder, every time a rush of air announces the train coming hurtling down the tunnel towards the platform, how it might feel to step in front of it. I hope that you're able eventually to see past everything that I am on the surface, into the deep recesses that are unreachable by bone saw or ouija board. I am made of blood and black magic both. I am an old woman and a child and an oak tree and a feral animal, and right now, in the midst of this white heat I am nothing that matters unless you see it. What does that mean, do you think? I don't know why it feels so important to be known by someone, but if it doesn't frighten you then I would gladly unravel, let you wind your fingers around the vines that grow from me.

Always,
Helen. x