Citrus Wagons
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‘into… Tales from the Hip’ ‘cf’ … On a rainy day in a small village in the north of England he sat staring at a screen wondering what to write. Only moments earlier he’d had it all figured out. Tales of grandeur induced flashbacks scurried by an impassive conscious while walking the dog. Ugh! Memories […]
‘the great escape’ ‘cf’ … feet softly prowl, hard to decipher how many, could be two or four, they’re faint lending a camel’s gait only shorter in step and missing the density. Why a camel would be walking the back alleys of Brinny he couldn’t think, but it was that time of year. The smell […]
‘waiting for Godot and 3 come at once’ ‘cf’ … waiting, for what. he growled to himself. Waiting for Godot, Armageddon, the No.39 bus. Waiting for something drastic to happen, bombastic to happen, anything to happen. Waiting does no good. There’s a bull out there with your hands on it. Oh, pulling out all the […]
‘Friday’ ‘cf’ … He knew what it was, just never cared for it. Least, he thought he knew. Now driving through the endless, and on the most, pointless pages of digital tat, he searched those bargains. Everyone will disagree on music, taste and fashion’s qualms he mused dispassionately, wondering how Nigerian outfit Grotto and the […]
‘On the red road to nowhere’ ‘cf’ … Half asleep… in frog pyjamas springs to mind, and if that isn’t a convenient as any sidetrack to kick off with then Bozo Bill doesn’t come from Peckham Hill. Tom Robbin’s classic on the other hand is available quick sharp on noodle search engine spelt G-o-o-g-l-e offering […]
‘all aboard the night train’ ‘James Brown’ … we are programmed to receive, Pink Floyd said that on welcoming us to machines, no hang on, hold up and harness the horses, it was the night man from Hotel California, wasn’t it? And so, cries the meddlesome entanglement of age trenched in all it has perceived. […]
‘All clear as mud heading into hi-vis season’ ‘cf’ … It came to him at lunch. A particularly way-out west notion that would no doubt write itself. Spurred earlier in the week by an episode of Murder She Wrote while he settled down for a teatime curry, the revelation now all too clear. A veritable […]
‘On the scale of 1-8 eat’ ‘cf’ … Alakazam, size of an octopus. Oh, fellow compatriots of London bus-waiters, that well known verb to wait for a bus, when Oliver Sudden, oh hang on and aye up, wouldn’t that be rad, a bus, a waiter; ‘tickets please’, ‘half a mild and a Babycham to Aldgate […]
‘sun eating dragons’ ‘cf’ … What in the wide, wide world of, what happened there, happened there? The clocks went back in the northern hemisphere, specifically Blighty, as if they go bonkers anywhere else, and without so much as a by your leave, all went very dark, cold and wintry. Such is the case, but […]
‘Busy doing Nothing’ ‘Being Crossby’ …Sat there in the cold bare house, he contemplated the essence of nothing. It felt good. His hands clasped loosely together resting on his belly. Dirt-dried mitts, caked in decades old wallpaper paste, horse glue he thought. Brr. He noticed how every line was accentuated, lending age beyond reality. He […]
