Category: stream of consciousness
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The Eagle and me.
I CATCH THE CREVICE WITH MY RIGHT HAND FINGERS – and swing out, over the abyss – only the accompaning squeal of an eagle distracts me from the hilarious height. And he has other problems.
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Birthday present
Birthday Present by Tony Chapman. …and I must buy you: a birthday present! with a thousand different coloured evenings, with a strange look in the eyes of the men in green: you’re the prettiest lady they’ve ever seen built from earth we have not dug yet, grown from seeds we have not sown yet,…
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A marmalade dawn.
Crazy as the dawn comes inching its way over the petrified window sill – as the dawn looses its trusses and spreads its golden marmalade hair over the scrunched up hills and diabolical, rattlesnake opinions. I am sitting in our mansion looking at the countryside – we really did make it!!!! Yes!!!
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Crazy families.
Crazy family – torn – twisted – shattered – moving from b to a – a humdrum rigourmortis in my promise redeemed – my cortizan discourtous collosal caravan – wrung out of dream less sleep – dreamless sleepless agony oceans of happy dreams oceans of oilslick of angry young fiends
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The bartender and the butterflies.
“I am the maker of laws!”, exclaimed Random Soothsayer the 2nd, smashing his fist onto the lonely bar. Glasses jumped about, shedding sasparella froth onto the nicotined surface. The Bartender laughed heartily. “You make those laws! Random, you make ’em, boy!” he affirmed. Rowing, sidecarred to the dawn’s blue Harlequin-Sweeteners, The Bartender had always…
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Calling all callers.
Carry you’re pride head high through pampas grass, whole and efficient where no-one sneaks in, secretively, self-adjusted to the baffling environment that precludes them, hypnotically, sundried and baffled. Call out to all callers, in a hypnotic and silly language,colourful as a toy shop. Call out in a sound like curlews wading the hypnotic, sun dried,…
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The plummeting train
We’re on a moving train and it will not stop – its merciless in its momentum. It drags us all along, old and young – rich and poor – times railway never stops at stations on the way – it just drives doesn’t need fuel – its on a never ending downhill no-brakes runaway plummet…
Tony Chapman-Art Music Writing 