Soft early drifts of morning run thick with monsters hugging shadows and bellowing my name, all thoughts of peace and quiet dissipate like spring frost upon windows. My shoeless feet pad the cobbled streets followed by the clacking of an unwanted table and chair who have now become comrades and bedfellows to my journey. By afternoon hard rain forces refuge in allyways where we eat of meagre foods and ponder our path. As I watch my new found friends slumber under stolen blankets I think of my future paths and seasons and how thin on the ground firewood might be come winter.
Inside an old nicotine stained cafe I whiled away the day watching creepy twig people
clutch soup bowls to their chests. In the corner a small orange man stroked his heavily
bandaged head and smiled. A feeling of deep unease came across me then and
followed by my table and chair I made my way outside.
I did not bring the life I have upon me, Its true I have embraced it with partially open arms but as A child I was thrown into open fields and told 'Go, Run.Seek out truth, feast from the gristle, tie sparrows to trees, have faith in midgets' I reach an old wooden town lit by blue streetlights and crumbling with damp, A sign hangs before me 'Fortune favours the long of tooth' I doubt its sentiments but admire its typeface.
I walked through purple sodden fog to a field of rusted tin men seemingly frozen mid battle, Strange animals whisper insults from the trees and throw odd pieces of masonry at my head. After sundown I wrapped myself in strange animal skins and whistled myself to slumber.
They say that God is real and sits in judgement, but the wreckage at my feet serves no higher purpose. Fell asleep in a corn field while watching clouds crawl past a sun long given up on human affairs. In far off places they are drinking wine and laughing, boats launch from harbours, babies are born into chaos and I lie awaiting blankets of crows. I awoke in time to see a huge statue striding through the fields, destination unknown
In Recent days I have grown accustomed to the followings of an office lamp named Douglas, Douglas is an office lamp with ambitions, An office lamp who will go far, Douglas has seen the future and it is a future which is littered with offices in need of lamps, He tells me of his past ridden with bedside lamps and candles, Lamps with no ambition, lamps with 40 watt bulbs who will burn out and fade. I wish Douglas well but I have no need of lamps, the sun rises and falls as it has always done, we walk into the future because we have no choice.
I find pleasure in the strangest things, clocks raining on hillsides, dwarfs digging holes in which to hide vagrants, Vegetables uprooting en masse and running down country lanes. They tell us 'the world is ours' but I find it slipping through my fingers each day
Strange weather holds horses to paddocks and flattens early morning grass, I awake to the smell of bonfires in far off places forever taking me home. To die here would be pleasure but footsteps take me on, outwards to new worlds and the scream of life forever new, new distance, new troubles, I dream of winter and coldness that sets to the bone
By an old swamp filled with half submerged office furniture I shook hands with a sad faced wastrel who carried a birdcage filled with bats, He talked hesitantly about Belguim and trenchfoot and smiled warmly when I mentioned he reminded me of tuesdays, Later in a clearing I found a wooden leg roasting chestnuts and singing songs of its youth.