Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Anglian Sky - Midwinter



there’s a moment
when the rising birds change
from white against the trees' dark silhouette
to black against the orange graduating to stratospheric blue sky
just sunset

Friday, December 05, 2014

I've been falling so long, it feels like gravity's gone and I'm just floating

Photo by PI

Everything is achievable in the myriad possibilities of infinite worlds; or so the salesmen at Timeline Indemnity would have you believe.

Johnny Tinder packs the VooduRig2020™ into his hipflask and with tattered tongue toggles the blister-switch located on the inside of his cheek.
The familiar lurch into possibilities is accompanied today by an unexpected wave of nostalgic nausea, as if he were somehow looking backward instead of forward – lifelines stretching back into the loom of time.

Amid the ghosts of yesterday’s decisions, whether arbitrary or apparently intentional, there lurk all manner of pitfall; friendly faces from whose lips spill the empty intercourse of daily life, a skill Johnny has never quite mastered but one which he concedes it is important to play along with; gestures of good faith which inevitably tend toward insincerity; calls for empathy, consideration, compliance and tenderness time has taught him to be most wary of, for while barking dogs don’t always bite, Johnny has come to the conclusion that, without fail, people will eat you for breakfast if you show them your soft side.

In the myriad possibilities of infinite worlds there exists only one scenario which will coincide with the expectation of failure.


title from Gravity's Gone by Drive-By Truckers


Tales for the attention-span deficit reader

Wednesday, November 26, 2014

Lest We Remember


The ghosts of downed aeroplanes fly hell-for-leather over rooftops that war has long forgotten to bomb.
Not built by need but by the handshakes under negotiating tables of political expediency.

These fallen soldiers can’t tell you their life stories all packaged, marketed and mended over to exclude all but that which suits sombre digestion at memorial services.
Not for them the adopted poetic contortions of political expediency.

They are stardust, they are cannon-fodder; they are the children of your sons and daughters; they are moulded by the machinations of political expediency.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

You got a lot of long walking to do, where you’re going to.

SAME WHERE ELSE PART TWO
| THE HARD CELL |
Episode Eighteen

MÅ“bius

In all the best scenarios it is the girl who decides.
In all events it is the female who decides: it is she who will bear the burden of the future.
“You had enough of this bullshit Adam?”
“I have..?”
“What?”
“...had enough of this bullshit.”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Phoebe” she holds out her hand.

See Mad Scientist’s Notebook (Entry No 2.4)

Episode Seventeen | INDEX

~ END OF PART TWO ~

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

...in a decent pair of shoes...

SAME WHERE ELSE PART TWO
| THE HARD CELL |
Episode Seventeen

Tribute to Myrna Loy ~ Ive(2008)

“So there’s this cabal like, the Illuminati, who like run the world...” says Al the Human Resources guy.
“Bullshit,” says the pale red-haired girl as she drops her cigarette but into a half empty glass of dark amber liquid, “bullshit,” she blows a plume of smoke in the general direction of the blinking smoke detector, “The world is run by incompetents, and they only succeed because the common man is driven by apathy.”
She lights another cigarette, contrary to the building regulations, as the not-quite-background music advises against sleeping on the subway darling.
“...fuckers like control everything we do.” Says Al.
Atom wonders how her hair got so red.
Atom wonders how she got so beautiful.
“Bullshit” she says.
“I’m Adam” he says in her ear.