you are always many people
05.55 with tears in the eyes and rised. suprised at how i have still managed to stay in this temporary place. here follows the end.
06.58 watching closely. the sky lights up as a dream. you’re still standing outside, sneering up at the world from the street. one breath, one word, and the door is closed. you walk off.
07.32 letting the air pass through, just like a ghost. just wait. just wait for me.
07.52 the colours bounce from a shiny veneer. today appears cleaner. like a blot has been removed. compared to the others. they don’t see. hide in words. don’t let anyone see freshwrung eyes trying to forget that today exists.
08:17 and the sunlight pours in and for a second, we are all pleased to see it. Just in the belief that outside this body lies some other form… one which is not treacle-thick and ages deep. Deep between the pages of your book, you sigh. Lift head a little. Familiar shrieks, and the metallic air hits. I make clouds of breath, which hold their shape instantaneously. Eyes snap a shot to hold for memory. And disperse.
08.56, inhaling the sterile and artificial caffeinated air. No buzz, just a jolt to kick awake. You remark on numbers, figures, stereotypes. Smooth neat hair into perfect shape, chew and chirp on a pen cap, and plan for an antipodean trip.
12.42 caving. Letting bygones pass by. maybe, one day, they will. For now, nonesuch said and nothing done.
13.53, white melamine shines and glistens under the gaze of a yellow carpet and orange light. it’s as if we’re in a studio, being filmed for some sort of programme on the downturn of humanity. How it all went wrong the day that the tigers leapt from their shadows. Hundreds dressed in black mope from counter to post, their feet creating a creaking, soothing background noise. Why are we even here? A far-off figure sneezes into his soup. Triangle tings mark the knocking of cutlery to the tiled floor.
15.16 flutters past on the clouds i am staring at, painting the ceiling of hollow rooms like a camera obscura. people around mention words of cohesion and co-operation but all that filters through to this mind is the cold and the white and the blue. answers are more revealing than questions.
17.48 and deliberating whether this is worth all. hearing the click of camera shutters and revelling in the solemnity contained between two earphones. is it safe to leave habitation quite yet? what if this is what we want to happen; what would become of hope if this is not?
18.58 sirens screech past into the dull of this evening. bluestreaked and blurred vision, wandering through a huge crowd of busy people. one face shines out like a beacon. smiles break out.
20.26 glides past on icecubed tenterhooks. lost in the night.
22.12 you realise that nothing is quite real. the evening light has suspended itself for candles, battered sofas and a neat choir akin to the audience of a school assembly. wax burns and drips into the timepocked leather and foam, wicks extinguish and stories are told from imaginary people. reality has suspended. we can’t speak but drink it in.
23.57 crushed
00.23 and i look at the bark of a tree, weathered by years of standing on the same road, having had thousands of people leave their acid fingerprints on its flecked and weathered mask. with skin peeling, it leers to one side, only to have each double-decker smacking glass into its weeping branches. you stand under it, plucking words from the leaves falling around, until the haze of gentle rain halo trips you up and on.
01.48. the time passes on and on without so much as letting me know. a few drops of language walked by, and i am lost on another red vehicle criss-crossing this city, left wondering whether a goodbye means a goodbye forever, or simply until some later time. yet there is no time to ponder this. i hunch back in my seat, throwing myself as far back in plastic and padding than it is possible to go, and feel the air between bones, the ache of the familiar. still many miles until home.
01.52 a man vomits on himself and those around him. wafts of bilious air encircle. a concerned traveller checks that he is still breathing, and reaches to open a window.
02.15 brings two together - commenting on their love of their own country, their marriages of convenience, their plans to reach the career nadir. their loud conversation draws all the passengers to listen and choke on the familiarity and sadness in their words; perhaps if their lives had been different, they might be happy. perhaps if all of us had been different, we might be happy. people sleep, crunched up against misted windows, in their own suspended movements. this gentleman was reading a book, yet has fallen asleep on her shoulder; the woman next to him drifted into light slumber with her head on his. and although they form a twosome in the bounds of sleep, when they wake, indifference will set in. they will uncurl fingers and try to hide any form of gentle tenderness which once pervaded, for the more practical aspects of an everyday battle. there’s no kindness in the war against time. i watch the backs of their silhouettes share a few minutes of togetherness; a few minutes where it seems to be okay to love, to care. and hope, that even though sleep will not be remembered, their warmness will.
02.27 to click locks into doors once more, and rest.
04.17 watching the rain. just watching. peering from a window. thinking of how sour it tastes and in how many hours to wake and how many hours i want to steal from time while it still carries on marching. some find solace in loneliness. some…
04.38 and you tell me how much better life could be if i looked on it more positively
05.29 is lost in memory
05.55 and time to rise once more. wishing of dreams.
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