pOUnding head and spider EyEs

ToDay: My hEAd pOUnded and my lAshes wEre like sPider leGs
and n o t h i n g e l s e

sOmeDay sUndAy

I was writing on this road last week. Memory of Black Beauty- This week silent and scribbles. Until now-lost, a private waking dream. Stuck into a found paper of news and a long deliberated verdict. The bumpy road makes Halloween writing speak and rattles all around.

Stale broccoli in the air. Arrogance. The clouds are breaking. I am a blizzard, ready.

Sometimes I think electrical posts look like the Eiffel Tower... and I double take..... I'm interrupted to ask why three beds, a headboard, a sofa and a few drawers are simply thrown in a front yard. What happens to it all? What happened to me nOt feeling the ink this morning?

A little boy heard. Later confessed as seven years. Bragging to his teenage companions. "I'm nOt scared of nothing... I'm not even scared of monsters!".. Bless.

SaTurDay TuRn bAck (4)

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This day: 24-10-09
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He yells about a launch and an invoice.. to sort it out? With a shout?

We roll together, Aldgate East, in the west-it now-sets. Early. skin pale, nails rusted-light pollution-the only- s o l u t i o n.

Sore eyes dry and try, in the Crosswall, we stop.-Saying "we"? Am I blue and misinformed?

Associating them as we and them with me? You and me- do we make we? When is a "we" a we? What is the common thread to weave the we? Must we know a you to be a we? Or does a setting in individual isolation create the we? Are we then divided? Upper and lower? Deck? Ride? Hide? Realize the disbelief. Disco ball ear decorations of the she-we invfront of the me.

A little he next to me-confirmed a we, with a smile.-Is that an agreement of sorts? Or is there a need? A reason to unify-the magnetism of them and you to join my we?

We can be we if we accept the me as your we. It is us on this bus, although some may say it's just a me.

deLayed dec 4

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This morning: Kind. Grateful. Breaking light. Special needs. Innocent questions. Long time no see-Digibook man. Confirming my deferment to the start.
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Last night: (as mentioned last post): Standing central. Red. Approaching the hour. Carriage into pumpkin. We stand-Reminiscing..

Bombarded a man crunches her hand which clenched the pole. He turns-sways. Wobbles. "Sorries". Trips on air.. I hold his arm like tug of war, as his safety.

This is where it all starts. Briefly: He says: semi slobbering, well, not slobbering, but wet lips. You know the kind. Neatly groomed-sUper smiley and eyes loose.. Defragmented words.. his face very close to mine... "I am fffrrrrruuuuuckiiiing pisSSed", he rambles..laughing "and you? If you were pissed you'd have a better time than me"...

What? okay... We ask what he has been doing... "piSSSSSed".... "I love life.. I frrruuuucking lOve life... yOU? We say, more calmly...yes, we love life.. He raises one arm with triumphance..slurring.. again, "I frrrUcking lOve it man!"...He still has one leg and is losing his sense of gravity. Almost landing on laps, people move away. We are cornered, but not minding as we usually would.

Back and forth, he laughs, centimeters away from our faces...we laugh back...entertainment. He says he lives right outside the M-25. What tube stop? His language is his own. He continues, with the noodle arm point.. "If the next stop is purple I'm getting off.. It's fUcking puuuuRRRple... I'm fucking getting off there... PUUUURPLE!!"(there is no such thing as a purple exit or tube line) Smiling, I say okay, and I calmly cheer with him about purple. After all, it is a good color.

I ask him what his favorite thing is in the whole world. "Shagging birds... I love the birds... shAgging birds... " What's your favorite color? "Red...because I love shagging birds"... Okay--- What's your favorite fruit? " A fucking bananaaaaaaaa...you know why?... because you can fUck a fucking banana!!".... I tell him I happen to have a banana and ask if he wants to bend over. Indeed, he says yes. He turns, thrusted his butt back and bends over. wOw. I wished I really had a banana. He goes on and remembers, " I fuCKing pissed... lOve life... give me a hUg... "

We hug him, barely. "You didn't mean that hug at all..pfffft..." Okay, he was right. Perhaps he wasn't as drunk as he seemed. We didn't mean it. Didn't want to get too close either.

The next stop is NOT purple. He doesn't mind. It's his stop. It is our stop too. He stumbles and drools off. Off, thought to perhaps be switching trains...to his destination descriptively far... We see him with slant high stepping-straight legging it out to the footpath. Plastic army man style. He has no clue...but he loves life....and for the sake of him, I do too.

tRAveL tOmOrrOw.tOday, MJ

Originally I skipped the write. My right. To and from. From and back to..the two of us. An encounter that I can't miss to share. Tomorrow I will tell of the wobble drunk wOw.

First, Today. Thriller theatre show visited. Perfect scribble waiting. Off the subject of weekday travels... I share:

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August 26 2009
and a couple days after. Writing
r e v i s i t e d
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Chatter of the streets. Littering tabloids.. in people's hearts.. why do we care? Do we? Memorials, radio station repeats.. cars blasting.. How? -"they" say.. Homicide!???

Pressured by a desire to sleep?? Injected, re-injected. False hopes.. forever dreams.. pot found!? And not to cook.

Bleach to clean, erase his face.. skin so thin.

Thursday. Burial. Thursday. Third. September, a suicide of sorts. Self medication. Dedication to fool an audience.

Over power the coward. Hidden. Forbidden. Inquiries of who.. who's .. Fathers, friends.. F R E N Z Y...

Mothers and maybes.. Societal sense that his life was ours, shared, theirs, an entitlement our ears own..

Connection of reflections... personal memories coupled with tone and beats...moves and moon...the list could go on.

He is gone. Plain and simple. b l a c k and w h i t e.

drAw and riDe, hiDe.

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d r a w n o u t
(and drawn in)
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The pain of the silence-interrupted motion is excruciating. Holding temples like rats detecting the high pitch of a trap. A game of darts. Again.

A supposed secret sketch-deep eyes. Dark brows. M folds on forehead. Three of them. Younger than he seems. Looking opposite and a scribble varied. Kitty corner.

He smiles, laughs in slow motion mute mode. He does a slow head turn.. and an oH nO yOU didn't face. I think- I've tricked him. .. he doesn't think it's him. I pretend to glance with intent at another. Preceded by another silent still shout of the commute, (also excruciating with the tick of time), he spoke.. "So can I see it???? "

Raspy voice-direct. Almost an order. I shuffle and tap. Mumble. I flash the page.. mutter, "Just scribbles... really..."- an uncomfortable giggle. Coping in mechanics. He is nOt amused and retracts to his dark alley. My pen is black.

I think - he has not eagle eyes... and the ink is not a true likeness.

Looking down-the literary scribble starts (started). Another pause and he rasps raps and rattles.. "Oh, so nOw yOu are wRitiinG sOmething down!?" What!?, my inner speech circles, dances, hollars, riots.

I ignore, and with a mouthful ready, my concentration falsely continues. I do my duty. Head down.

He leaves at East Ham. I didn't look. I kind of wanted to. He is my second to last. Appropriately memorable to complete the collection of
l i n e s. Tube aversion. Observations. I have a funny feeling about it all.

lOst & fOunD

A creamscicle sky with spray paint. Trails of a rocket-Stripes and grids. Scan. Refocus. Loud talkers. Moaners. Commonality of lack of time. Identifiably so-turn it down.

Charlie Brown's teacher. This time is for peace. Soak in that star that was clouded yesterday. It has something to tell us..

And I think...my life is like this blue thread.. lost and found.. weaving, tangled.. free.