Dust storm
Millions of photos of the dust storm whoosh onto the internet, like, well, a dust storm.
Whoosh.
;)
Mother nature never intended for us to save wails. For reasons unknown to me beyond saving face, we try to keep them down, deep down. But they inevitably burst even the calmest, turquoise, sparkling surface.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
It is much better, at the very moment a wail is given life, to set the wail free. Wails are massive, require lots of space and eat a lot. We are not equipped to harbour wails. Scream-sob-cry your pain away, and set the wails free.
To the departed
You’ve gone. And you, and you, and you too.
Re-entered into the stream of a life unknown to me,
or exited, who knows?
Taken up the pogo-stick, no time for words, no words come.
Must have been bounced out,
or perhaps evicted by the clatter-clank of background thoughts.
And once again, this is all about me.
Just another salmon.
Out there, somewhere. xxL
The cat shat on the mat…
My cat is peeved with me. When I went back to work, she started peeing and shitting in places other than her litter tray. I dreamed last night that I’d held her upside down by her tail until it came off, and I threw it into the dustbin. This morning she knew, and she pissed on the bathroom floor. She looks at me with hate-filled eyes, she sees through me into my real feelings.
What should I do?
Below the surface
It’s windy, it has been all night. I don’t like wind, it makes me mad below the surface. I live on the coast, the wind swirls around my house many evenings as the air searches for equilibrium.
“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!” goes the wind.
“Stop telling me what to do! Stop your gusting and puffing and huffing! Stop whipping my hair into my mouth!”
Scarlett O’Hara, I want to slap your beautiful whiney face.
Feel the rhythm, check the ride
I think some normality has floated back into my world, settled on my mind-space like dust. Then, whilst out on an early-morning-walk, I round-the-bend to the home-stretch, and spy my neighbour riding…a…fucking…unicycle. His jerk-lurch movement along the cracked footpath, arms all tug-pull-twist, was hypnotic yet unsettling. Those back-forth arms, spinning legs, the wobble-head; an electrostatic cloth exciting the positive normal-dust particles at the edges of this mind.
Dear Neighbour,
You are not a circus-performer, you are a graphic-designer. Please stop freaking me out.
Cheers,
Me
In that place, you are sweat-wet as you step from a cold shower and have yet to towel-dry your drip-tip of a body. Despite the open spaces and the bigness of everything from fungus to fern to angiosperm, a closed-in feeling threatens. Fecundity all around in overnight time-lapse, with lush, dark leaves. Everything is big, and bursting with life, even in death. Heat, wet-air, lethargy-of-body; makes for fertile minds. New becomes old, covered in mould in less than a blink of a lifetime. Life and death, the inevitability of both, is never more clear than in places like here.
Oh ruby-slippers, (purchased in Chippendale, for the neat sum of $55, from a transvestite called Mary) clickety-click and take me back to the place I love best.
Random
Once, a long time ago, I had blonde hair down to my bum. It was natural, lovely, and long. One lunch-time, I had it cut off. Like, really cut off, so it was barely down to my ears. I loved the new me. People at work liked it, well, there were no tight-mouthed smiles and politely nodded “Mmmm”s.
But that evening, my partner said on seeing my new ‘do,
“You’ve lost the best part of you!
Love doesn’t die easily, it gets chip-chip-chip-chip-chipped away, until all that is left is habit.
