crashcymbal

i stumbled into work, bleary and broken from too little sleep, too many sketches.
the ache in my side was growing, eating away at my kidney, my liver, whatever I couldn't tell. guess it's from all the pretzels. it's all i can handle these days. my guts are rotting in situ. haven't slept in months. insomnia trapping me, i stay up. creating.
sketches, writing. trying to avoid the pretentions and cliches, so common place....
yet this is full of them....a plot done to death...i cant help it. no sleep comes as i try to dodge these words, try to find new ways of saying, writing, drawing....allusions, metaphors, similes.

someone let off a crashcymbal by my ear. please.
wake me from soporific lows, sparkling highs.
the world is full of crashing bores, cries the lyricist.
wax on/wax off.
fly away, fly away home
*clickclick*

moodhightothehoodcitybanksmoke

stimbling II

I walked out to my mud speckled Chevrolet, more dust than green metallic sheen. Chucking my shoulder bag in the back, I stuffed my savings into the canvas folds.

My eyes were buzzing, black shapes swimming across my eyes, like leaves in a river. Massaging my temples I tried to gather thoughts, extract espers and whispers and tapers from the sinkhole.

Plug pulled.

Taps running.

....lost it...gone....where?...out.....shift....back.....
What/why/when?

The river poured over me....

stimbling

I sauntered up to the woman, confidence falling from my every step like sparks from a fire. They spooled out into a trail behind me, my meteoric progress across the linoleum a sight to behold.

It was one of those buildings that shoot up like bamboo across the town. Grey. Concrete. Concertinaed and crumbling already. Fading back into the desert scrub they crushed.

I could see her, eyeing me up. Looking me up and down. Thinking "is he going to be trouble?" Assessing the risk. Watching the situation. Wary. Guarded.

"What can I help you with today sir?" Curt, polite, aware.

"I need my money. Now."

"Can I have your details please?"

"Here"

She looks them over, dials them into the ancient computer system that must have run the Byzantium empire.

"I'm sorry Mike, you can only withdraw $500 in any 24 hour period, so I cannot give you all the money you have deposited in your account."

"Fine, whatever. Get me it as quick as you can."

A dustball rolled past. I felt like I'd stumbled into some wild west hell. Some ghost town suddenly transported into 50s architecture hell with added crimplene.

She handed me the crisp green sheets. Pocketing them swiftly to hide them from any ne'er-do-wells and banditos I hurried from the cracked hulk out the sliding doors. Emerging into the dry desert air of the mid west I tried to remove the stench of wet weekend savings and despair from my heart.
.....

tangents

hearts fly along
falling off the rails and running down the tracks
tears streaming down, puddling and pooling
farewells to all, goods packed up into the knapsack/haversack/bivouac

piles tottering on spindles and sand
biros and sheets, breeches strung
mandolins and ukes croon
across daisies and meadows
a winsome tale of soleil fading

sparkle vistas

soon...

warmfuzzglow happy bubble memories
billiard table green and spuds in the soil
roots out to the ground and estate boogie woogie

soon...

crashing, crushing, dashing, blushing

crashing inertia breeds tedium breeds grey matter collapse neurons blocked synapses falter/syntax fails
laying back in deskchair...
spirals enveloping my brain as eyes become dashed pixel fonts
thoughts spool up on the reel, bells ding ding dings trying to catch up with the retinas
treeline retreats in a deathly funeral pallor
family picking up broken crockery in the parlour
a trashcan, a dustbin, an elevator man
workstationMDFplasticdialupticktock
post it notes stuck on the screen
drafts and edits and redos
clay moulding into man moulding into dust
man baked in kiln biscuit soft
whitspittled on the dancefloor neon
gramps on the bellowphone
rombined and gyrating
scoped on the reflex
nonsense rhymes and drifting minds
printprintprint
typetypetype
hyphon/dash/dot/comma/full stop

velveteen
sheen
shine
glimmer glamour
glummer dumber

(i'm drunk, i think i'll stop)
ciao bellax
ps snails in the wine, taps on the wire. nudge nudge, wink wink, say no more, say no more
pps dripping taps, sipping gin, glugging wine, thinking again...
ppps im buying stuff tomorrow. im a consumer, hark at my top hat and tails
(i'm definitely stopping now)

whipcracksnap

tapper tapping on a keyboard. waiting for inspiration.
a missive?
about what?
nothing really....a load of pretentious waffle caused by task avoidance and procrastination

soulmate's away. swimming in the sun afar.
lay down. "bedrest is what you need, my son"
internal monologues and mulch mucking up the threads and spindles filling my weary cranium

*sigh*

scrambled mess, visions of leopards and trees....static....bombs.... apocalypticwashedoutgreytumbledownconcrete shacks
kids play with shrapnel
rabid dog mobs raid the supermarket
death...holler....silence

when it started...

hold the fireworks.
put down the sparklers.
tonite a blog starts. with not a bang or spark to be seen. no glows over the hills.
no colourful explosions or joy leaping in your heart.
it's a blog.
of stuff.
i write.