deadfall — Max Ferguson

deadfall

Max’s second book Deadfall is a novel that weaves together writing and photography, inviting the reader to slide in free-fall through the life, dreams and memories of its flawed protagonist. We follow him back to a small village in rural France, apparently devoid of life, where he struggles to write, smokes too much weed and comes to terms with his isolation and insomnia. What is he running from and why did he turn up in the small village in the middle of nowhere unannounced?
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Unsure where I was I lay back for a few seconds. Then came relief that I was not dreaming.
But was reality any better? I don’t know. The room seemed bleaker than ever. What time is it?
There was no point trying to get back to sleep and I had no intention of sinking back into
that murky underworld, so I got out of bed, and giving myself to the hollowness of the room,
crossed the floorboards to my desk and the safety of the bare light bulb. Exhaustion and
insomnia know me well. I’m not sure which is which anymore and when I turn the light on
my elongated shadow throws fear and darkness around the room and up the walls. I shut it
off again instinctively.

Rumours said double-stacked Mitsubishis were dangerous and we double-dropped them
anyway. Handing out pinches in the dark. ‘inner city lifffee’. Dancing fractured by strobe
lights. Is she looking at me? The girls I loved first were from ex-communist countries. Monika
then Marta. Primary then secondary. Is that star a star or a satellite? Drum and bass echoes. Out
of the darkness into the light like moths to a kerosene lamp. Now we hold hands on the top
deck of the 23 night bus all the way to Grove. We barged past the driver without paying and
are 2sing my last cigarette watching London slip past the window. Suck your mum if you dare
to turn round. Save a chip for a zoot in bed and maybe we’ll fuck but this kissing feels so good.