Mind dump P

“I wonder.
How long do I wait?
To commence the day.
To start the battle.
To have the time.
To forget, but never forget, only choose to change the label from ‘now’ to ‘then’?”

Breathing hurts.

It’s not your fault: it’s your choice.

You can do almost anything with CGI, but you can do anything with your imagination. (For the rest you need imagination).

“It’s already dated”

What do you get from always pleasing others?

“So much for that little comfort.”
“But comfort it is. It’s nice”.

That’s what I used to do: How come I forget?

Sky moss, islands of light in the Sargasso sea of the hidden. “Goodbye. Now I know I’ve left you.”

Bet she never gets any trouble! Good! And she probably was!!

Random autonomy.

You’ve never arrived; so stop trying.

November 6th. I draw lines not to signal an end, but a need to return.

What is it with your fascination to freeze time?

Now they look to steal from me the expression that they lack, those pallid forms of unloved unnoticed lonely mortal.

“I arrived too late. I always arrive too frickin’ late! You called me out: I thought I’d got away with it. Now my past is a stranger to me and it is of that that I must think.”

He had a take no prisoners chew.

You’ll never see your life’s work done.

A market particulate. Slinky feet. A penchant for diversity. Little nobodies rattling in a half-filled box of Maltesers.

Mickey Mouse ears, smiling faces,
Wonder where the happy place is

Now I read in colour.
So you like ‘em chunky, eh? Grateful. Ahh!

A passing genre.

Prod my bloated lazy sense of right and wrong.

No one ever comes back the same?
Yeah, bugger that, innit! Despite man’s best endeavours, life goes on.

A choice is a reinforcement of a prejudice, a reflection of the inner you while it still gives a smidgin of information to you: not enough to help you grow (grow, grow?) but enough to replace that day’s dead cells.

He cannot steal nor copy: it kills his endeavour.

You think you are competition? You are not. I hold back because my frame cannot take it.

Ah, the thrill of the chase! Your eyes are focused on nothing but your target while your minds interchange between target sensation, experience, triangulating destination and expectation. You wonder about this chase, as always; as to how and why it was that your target chose you – as inevitably they do.

Come home and fillet my day for you.

A moment’s pleasure swapped for guilt and recrimination: an unfair trade.

You taught me to be braver than yesterday.

My heckles rise: sharp, surprisingly tough; facing all directions: “Back off!” I’ll make you rue the day you ever misplaced kindness.

Have you ever been to the 12th of Never and danced upon the dunes, ensconced in sand?

Fighting twins of conscious thought and the outside.

Certainty is a springboard – not much else.

Your typical, unexceptional regional radio station.

All the dead days.

Don’t have uniform ears.

‘Human Magnetism.’ That was the name of the club.

How have the rules of conduct changed among the educated ranks of then and now?

Expectation lies, incumbent.

If it’s a good conversation, what comes first: the silence or the eavesdropping?

I’ve come alive, birth is not for the faint-hearted and if you could choose your sorrow? For us to never be parted. Why is it so? Why is it so?
Play-fight like cubs, scar-sparring in jest. We learn disassembly never to test it out on each other.

“Politicians have no class.”
“So why don’t they do something useful for once and create one?”

Parents looking for their spiritual homes of children looking to shop, so cool.

Families aren’t always homely, wholly happy places, you know?

Facing the sewers or the stars, which would you choose? Seems obvious, doesn’t it?

When you meet someone for the first time leave your past behind.

Carwash, hogwash, Captain Pugwash.

My scars are hidden.

England: no hope, no glory.

“I’m interested in everything and nothing,” he declared languorously. “It’s how I keep things in perspective.”

Her: I’m taken.
Him: It’s the ‘banged up and put away for good’ bit that I want to hear!

You see it: for thousands of years, ideals wrapped round themselves like thread round a spindle. A mess. In there, there’s a beginning. Somewhere.

True prophet/false prophet (profit).

Out of little things: epidemics. Paean to faded history. Dance unheard tunes. Candy-coloured caterpillers. Grasp the nettle too hard. Matronly, range of register, what turns a good idea into an industry? Let them destroy themselves. She had a certain tired sluttishness.

Again he asks: What conceit drives you?

The good things she had in her weren’t any of the things that had been put there in the last 10 years.

Whether you’re good or not is a matter of construction, not interpretation.

I see him laughing, but his eyes aren’t smiling. //… where can I run to?

MMM. A face full of halitosis first thing. Yum! What better way to invigorate, refresh and plain curdle your start to the day?

Pudsey Bear. That British institution. I sat opposite him on the train from Paddington. Well, his avatar, anyway.

When I see someone with greasy, grungy, sludgy hair I wonder if they’re striking a blow against the fashion police or have simply been standing in front of the ‘hairdryer’ for too long. (???)

Degrees of representation to number of political parties. Does this help/hinder (how affect?) the opportunity of views of those in a country?

When the level of debate is down to a murmur of dissent.

He loved to immerse himself in a crossword. It’s a shame he didn’t do the same in soap and water. He had a balding head, brown shoes and a grey fleece: certainly not the kind of man you’d want to take to a dark alley.

Fingers fly, conducting wordic symphonies.

He’d read somewhere that the average man inadvertently eats 8 spiders in his lifetime. Never average, he took every opportunity to add a little fibre to his diet, especially in public places.

That always assuages your indignancy.

Instinct draws me near.

I don’t have to be in that club to have an opinion: the kiss my ass club.

“Accountants are worth less”

Extend your psyche into my reality.

Living on a knife’s edge – how far you’ve come in relation to others.

X was the antithesis of all things good and a complete boor, to boot.

Learned vs generated behaviour: big feet and witches’ boots.

Speed vs depth. LCD of human form vs input of ‘expert’ system. Aka inadequacy of a call centre operative and their place in the food chain e.g. near = stronger than far.

I answered because I wanted to. It (dis)proves your point. Some journey beyond themselves. It’s why they like. Why we have strata in this ‘society’. Why we are all still here.

I have for now quelled the maelstrom within and am seeking new battles. Ones outside of me.

You’d think: “why?”

A city bonds to the flash and bang rumble of fire works. Hands held, moments shared and a place made something now.

If you can’t control people monetarily/ philosophically/religiously/societically/forcefully, how do you do so?

Her breath a voice I don’t recognise.

The explosion of opportunity through education leads to a greater lessening of output following the selling of mediocrity (nw).

A nightmare is a fantasy too, you know?
I like being your impossible challenge conspirator too much!

The best you’ll get from me is disappointment.

“Everyone finds it impossible to fully understand what I’ve said”. Me too, me too….

A passion for life long since burned to a cinder.

Don’t not fight. Go where life leads you. That red mist can make you a hero.

Following circumstance never change,
Weakness consumes our time
A failed collector like me
I’m not the – you think I am
We both see life, we both feel alive?

Iconoclasm is the new religion.
Love is a conquest.

Were I ingénue, I would be impressed by your quotations.

Science gives us instant feedback to keep us at bay.

She said “I’ve spent more time in the avoidance of love than the pursuit of it”. I believed it: she stank of hopeless insecurity, a need to be loved.

A lexical nightmare: my baby loves me.

He said “I am what the eye cannot see, the mind cannot know, the heart cannot feel”…
The schoolboy’s lament: Why do people always warn me off bad women? They’re the ones I want to meet!

Your words are the you I meet most often.

My grave will be the bellies of insects, the foetid breath of snakes and lizards, the new leaves on the trees reaching out for the life-giving sun, soon to be the supper of the ants that scuttle through my imagination.

What stray shot, by infinite chance led to those feelings being implanted in that tiny zygote; invisible to all save God and its mother?

The only badge I want to wear is my face (?b4)

Poverty of spirit is all too often inverse to poverty of wealth.

A list of languages I’d studied but never learned: English, Afrikaans, Japanese, women.

Throw yourself away, in the bin, lock stock and…and then? Walk away? Evaporate and it’s a frightening, frightening, frightening thing.

Kinship? Not with the mass and the mainstream, who and whatsoever they might be.

I know you’ll strive for a life you never really want. An unframed thought that surfaces and glistens and I know it is how I think and feel even though I’ve never done so before. Bound by experience. I like the way my unconscious knows understanding.

Intently staring intently.

Where have you lived?
In the past.

A code for a mind-feast, a multivitamin for my flourishing imagination.

My concern is not your marketing opportunity.

Her lover: the press.

We allow ourselves distractions.

He could turn into someone good: he could just turn out old.

That mystical year when deja vue and insightful intuition were my constant companions.

(?b4) Force choices on me I would otherwise not make.

Collect favours, never to be cashed…?

It comes to an end just so; deflating quietly, unnoticed by the bored children in front of the television.

Need to crawl to the edge of the coin and peer over.

Let me run a hundred thousand miles away and bring the world to a standstill.

What else can they steal through protection?

By then I’ll be so far up my own arse I can await the next ice age without trepidation.

Open her face and in the flows of time I watch her change. The smooth, elegant grace of a lady: timeless, ageless, revered.

The conversations he has with himself confuse you all.

Roleplay ---

Peel a layer of my consciousness/Age differences/Selling to the now generations/”That’s disgusting” not meant/Too often my book stays empty/Mortar rounds – designed to miss?/Purposes of forming a line vs which one(s) do you take out? Size to attack.

“You should have stayed with her.”
“No.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Only I can say that.”

Ladder of dreams. Where do you put yours?
Forget it’s new block (ed).

“He’s looking for a wife, so he can be an American Cynic.”

Paper without lines.