im the kind of questionable character who takes his daughter into a bottle shop, and makes her enjoy it - she instantly wants to go into the cool-room, so we sneak in there, instantly telling each other how cold it is and finding it hilarious - i drag her to the beer fridges and grab a slab - careful to hold her hand tight to ensure she doesn’t go running down the aisles, catching a glimpse of some cartoon-gimmick craft bier-label that catches her eye, knocking over a derryn hinch amount of of red-wine in the process - the dude at the counter likes my style, or my daughters, and is happy to help us deconstruct the slab of beer and jig-saw it into the storage areas of the pram - with much difficulty - i get momentary pangs of guilt and shame for holding up a line of sensible mothers in fleece jumpers and their net-balling daughters, and my dirty denims and sunglasses aren’t helping - but we get all 24 cans packed into the pram, and my daughter jumps into the seat as happy as a tic-toc biscuit - we head home and make the most of the wind and fly a kite - i think about how many people can see it flying, as we reach the limit of the string and take a seat, letting the wind do all the work - it was a beautiful feeling, and a quiet, loving and thoughtful moment between us i hope to remember
my story won’t be released until im awoken into death
wow - that was a trip - everything makes sense now
how silly - the calming swallow, green and purple blankets
warm denim
tired eyes
no need to pray - just worship sleep
at anytime, it is anytime
the days of the week don’t exist
months, they don’t exist
years, the don’t exist
i measure my life in by the rules and obligations i ignore
not money
not stuff
not advertising
at least once a day, im silent
i move soft in a hard world
though when it rains - the mud is soft
and makes a sound as i walk through it
im covered in mud most of the time
earth-paste
i move closer and closer
the music is getting louder and louder
everyone else - behind me
one or two say goodbye
i read no message - i see no signs
though i feel it all, i explain nothing
every step sweeps through micro-seconds
universal possibilities, and only one is chosen
a continuing infinite never realised
(that is what they mean when they say - all is one)
a constant moving mess of existence
but we’re burning out, casting shadows
we’re nothing but a big bang’s echo
fading, with each wave of realisation that overcomes us
and i brace myself - eyes closed, head tilted sky-ward, limbs loose
whatever, i say - it’s not a dismissive attitude, but all-embracing
whatever comes - whatever goes - whatever is
soak it up warm and deep
the soul is a magnetic-mist, mauve and faintly fragrant
they can move, meld, dissipate
the soul never leaves paradise
however, the mind wanders
i wish my commute to work resembled a simon and garfunkle song, but instead it’s a consistent example of why i distance myself from my generation-delegation, and people in general - my disappointment used to stem from the buzzing-best-selling childrens books my peers were reading, but now i just wish more people were actually reading - now it’s just a meat-freezer full of people scrolling through junk-mail on their phones - and those reading are doing it electronically, for reasons i don’t understand - but im sure a sales-person has given them good reason - however, it doesn't stop me listening to simon and garfunkle - that makes me feel good - until i see someone mentally strong enough to simply sit in this dragging-peak-hour scenario without book, headphones or anything other than their thoughts - some people never bend with the downfall
im waking up jazzed - these days have me hanging, over and over - i open the curtains and think of global warming - i should put some more clothes on - instead, i scan my music collection and can’t decide on anything to play - it was so much easier when i only had 9 cds, and somehow an album for every situation - i don’t sleep, i hide - now, with thousands of albums surrounding me, i can’t decide what to play
ringing a door-bell holds such power - the thin line between party-starter and party-pooper - americanisms go without saying, mostly because they are all cliches - this is my husband simon - this is my house-mate and wife, i say - my thoughts sink and my mind drifts into a silent solo-game of would-you-rather
a duck chased me away from her ducklings - it’s attack pumped a shot of adrenaline through my system - later that day when i returned home along the same path, the mother-duck got shocked by my presence and ran away, in front of her ducklings - it made me feel horrible
memories spill like a ripped bean-bag, and competitive living will kill you
No comments:
Post a Comment