time

I'm hitting a wall and I know why. Nothing at the moment particually interests me. I need some variation, exploration, a change of scene or 250 volts in the brain.

Sitting here on my lunch I thought, sod it I am going to write something.

I returned to an old favourite of mine, Time, and decided simply to follow a pattern with the first character into two lines then change the letter and continue.

If nothing else it has given the wall the finger and the expression might inspire something else.

If there is one thing I will at least do right and not miss, it will be death. When it comes to affairs of the heart, someone somewhere seems to continually fuck with the clock and it always ends in a missed opportunity. The following is a raw expression.

One Minute Too Late

She was here,
Smile bright as the flutter of a heart
burst in a rainbow upon a face.
Breathless I ran
past ache and limbs of acid
Stumbled and fell.
I became a ghost on the platform
Lost in the crowded double faced space,
the shadow of hands,
Swore never to run again.

I have decided to return to writing my biography, which I left previously at 50,000 words (more about that later). The past is a funny thing as sometimes it makes it's way back into the present and this is where the inspiriation for the following comes from.

The Past

Librarians walk through the skeleton
pause
lift a bone,
run their teeth down the spine
try to find their own name
etched and remembered.
A dust ridden volume
they find me,
resurrected by their own hand,
to ring the doorbell
and wonder why no one is home.

I should be working but with work quiet I thought I would quickly knock something out. The day is dragging, there is little to do and I can't help but think I could be doing something more productive than clock watching.

Face On The Wall

A face of legs
You sit and watch me
Watch me
Watching you.
Watching each other
While you dish out a rush of famine or
Dish out wealth I cannot spend.
You sit and watch me
A face of legs
Watch me
Watching you
Always with a wish.

Got the doodles today. Here is the second one of the day.

[ ]

Infinity never tires
never looks back.
It leaves a promise
labelled life
fill it we must,
it never lasts.

Friendship is not always nice. True friendship can (and should be) harsh at times, when someone is in danger of messing up their lives. Whether they wish to hear it or not, doesn't matter, the truth is not always pleasent but doesn't mean it needs filing under pending.

Time of course comes into play, time moves on and with it peoples lives. True friendship is perhaps that which is the same after 3 years, 3 months, 3 hours or three minutes of separation for time cannot kill the bonds which have been forged.

Time weathers us in all it's ways, but true friendship does not die.

The following is inspired by my own friendships which have become immortal to time.

Time waits for no man or to put it another way, the number 17 bus waits for no man unless you can run like a greyhound with diarrhea Late for work again? This is becoming a habit isn’t it, Mr Jones? Maybe it was time to drive after all but then there was the price of petrol, the environment, uninsured drivers and old folk we couldn’t see a heavy goods vehicle until it hit them.

Josh grinned as the red faced guy in the suit became smaller in his side mirror before coming to a breathless halt on the pavement.

It was my Dad's birthday yesterday. Birthdays never do mean a lot to me; a legacy given to me by my mother. However, it is a reminder that like an engine, we all have only so far to run.

Dad in recent years has had his birthdays in random orders, at 65 he was 50, 70 he was 60 and at time hes has been 40 at varies ages. I always thought this was an old folks view point since the end of the road is something which becomes realistic on a day by day basis more so than when you are young.

Six kilos of uncut coke and three dead bodies. Today was a good day apart from one slight problem.

Max listened to the unanswered ring; the mobile phone was on the verge of bouncing off the floor in frustration.

Time was of the essence.

Pity Mickey had a hole in his head, he always answered his fucking phone unlike Reggie the prick.

Roughly ten minutes before the armed response unit arrive. Max glanced down at makeshift tourniquet around his calf. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, Max pointed his gun at the door. They were getting closer.

Sitting in a curry house with Dog, catching up, he said "Every engine has only so many miles to run and a bodies the same".

I thought at the time there was a poem from that one line and sitting here on my lunch break I thought I would give it a go.