Thursday, July 23

communique for the ill at ease

Although it was supposed to be a conversation…it appeared to be dual…parallel …we were talking at each other about different things…And paying no heed …to the arriving syntax.

Stop.

The difficulties (plural) manufactured by gossip (singular) are manyfold….(singular and plural)

Stop.

I can hear the crickets communicating in the grounds of my complex clearly making a better job of it than me.

Stop.

Their chirruping almost, but not quite, soothing this disappointed Scot.

PLEASE STOP.


The recently re-opened bar almost immediately below my balcony was at least playing Dire Straits instead of dire music. And the clientele appeared a little more sedate ….but as the lager levels rise……………..

I have become a dry cell of life……….with little charge left …running low on power… caught in the cross hairs as someone takes aim..

Anyone else require a pot shot?

Monday, July 6

Across an unwise soundtrack....

I could hear the violins screeching ..spitting musical notes, splitting solstice sunshine…accompanied thankfully by .........a gentle breeze …aiding the heavenly bodies play...carefree for their holiday fortnight

But there too, was detritus testimony of last nights human interaction, strewn campo wide. The hypodermic of youth, a condom of surprising caution and other early year pleasure domes.

Underneath the tresses of Rasta styled hair…a skin colour of bruised orange and pitted complexion was telling a tale of hard years difficulty…unsmiling past with unpromising future.

Wearing a home made psychedelic print cheesecloth as her fashion statement and date stamp…..

To be continued…

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