Category: stream of consciousness
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The Corpuscles hope in their teacup Wilderness.
The cold clipped dawn forever notifies itself of coming futures, futures dressed in shredded plastc and straw Boater hats. a hyroglyph exploding in slow motion from the horizon, horizon, larger and larger. a walking hyroglyph – with hope and a jolly smile.
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Bornagain Codsmiths, outnumbered. by TC
Ecstatic roadrunners maintain theirequilibrium. as only the slightest of pauses is recorded for posterity in the outbox of time. “Take this ribbon from your hair” orders the Jackel, (the prime suspect in all cases of meandering folly). “l will not sustain the cucumber vollies. if you persist in that ridiculous demogrifying behaviour” Needless to say,…
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Tuesday-Tom goes to the Cork-Shop.
he is sporadic and hyacinth-twisted, obscure and delightful, he weaves real, live rainbows into endless staircarpets and walks up them , to the moon.
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lonely in. bed I Write this blog post to you strangers and it breaks the isolation.
and it breaks the isolation. Its dark, night, my dear friend my bottom left tooth is taken out tomorrow, its been with me all my life. Now I have to thank it and let it go. l bow to you dear helpful, bottom left Molar. and then its my dear Uncle Roddy’s funeral the next…
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Click here for a…
Click here for a door to open, a fish to bite, a lemon to weep, a fraud to step out of his sad forest clothing and show us his all. Click here for the poet who writes adverts, raising our cultural awareness and letting slide his misgivings. l am gun-slingered, circus-trained, developing ulcers and gravel…
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The Crops are all in
The crops are all in, the red iron has rusted. l’m taking a bus across the barron hill road. l’m Iooking for love – none to be found – its the individual who suffers, in vain – the overall picture is numb, no feelings – just a haughty, know-it-all vision, expressing itself in huge flourishes…
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cold evening in Amsterdam
…feet cold, nose cold, knees cold – cold ice covered, shiny, slippery surface – got to cycle carefully – balance, balerina-like, on my cold metal bike. But at least its not raining. …and the fat, happy carrots hang, dangling, from golden, diamond encrusted sticks and we follow them, never quite reaching their orange, chrisp, suculant,…
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it so Sad
lts so sad the way people come into my life and pass out of it – or should I say the way I come into people’s lives and pass out of them. Oh, the screeching of sad tyres tonight on some sad tarmac road underline my desolation with their dark blue echo.
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hema cup of coffee. Amsterdam. Nl.
Hema cafe cup of coffee on the Hema cafe table, balanced like a ”juggler balances a bottle of wine” – (Bob Dylan) caught fresh faced (and I’m off and running) hands full of no-mans land platitudes, and conferences of 4 legged, two horned bull-ring bull survivors, snorting, and sending red-caped platitudes to the Bull God…
Tony Chapman-Art Music Writing 