Russet gold.
Rust red sun.
Dusk destined.
Warm and wan.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

From that day a tender and passionate friendship was established.
They were constantly kissing and saying tender things to one another. If one went the other became restless and hastened to join them. They felt at peace together. A tie stronger than any other, a singular feeling of life being possible. Where there is life there is love.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

Sleep well,
Sleep well,
It's bedtime.
The eyes are felled.
And the body's slowed.
Sleep tightens the lids.
And draws the skin shades.
Time to turn in.
And dream.
The inside a universe of the imagination.
Unmanned and vast.
From ships to shops.
The reeling dreams spin on through dark and light.
The bed a raft.
Land a morning alarm blast.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

The Elite.
Chosen by a man of power, of authority.
Chosen because they were there at that time.
Chosen people.
Chosen by the people and history's head of steam.
He lay down his pen and disappeared from life.
Because the cabal said so.
And they are right.
Always right.
The man with nose hairs stroked his yellowed beard.
The woman with large breasts shifted her creaking hosiery.
And the Judas looked on with sly eyes.
He wanted to be loved.
She wanted her breasts stroked.
And Judas he wanted to rest.
They ran from fear.
The fear fled in the blood's flow from layered hearts.
They read his book.
And laughed.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

Stepping out onto the ruined walls,
The grey stumps like decayed teeth.
The ground beneath slipped under skidding feet.
And the sky gaped in.
The stars.
The universe's yawn.
And God it was beautiful.
And God they too were beautiful.
Amongst the disarray.
Despite the desperate dismay.
Because of it.
No man wishes evil without doing Good.
All man wishes evil and does Good.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

Though he did not realize it, his faith in the right ordering of the universe, in humanity, in his own self and in God had been destroyed.
When similar doubts had assailed him in the past they'd had their origins in his own wrong doing, and at the bottom of his heart he had felt that salvation from his despair could be found within.
But this time he could not blame himself that the world had crumpled before his eyes, leaving only meaningless ruins.
It was out of his hands.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

Suffering last an hour but life goes on for ever.
Fear, why fear?
The type of man who wishes evil.
Does Good.
Goethe and Tolstoy and Burgakhov.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

Being in a constant state of melting love for all men
He had the consequent belief that in the same way they loved him.

Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

Running strokes of tall grass.

The smell of sun in the air.

The lightness of being.

He’d had his bath.

His skin was pink with the heat.

And he smelt of soap.

He was wrapped in towelling like a bath-time butterfly.

All wriggles and giggles.

‘It is good to be alive.’

Said the fat swimming instructor.

Then shrugged at his own forced optimism.

‘I love it here’

She thought, planning her route home.

‘I hate you’

But he thought ‘I wish you loved me like I love you’.

‘Will this never end?’

She said. Forgetting it would and that she should make the most of it.

Take the leap.

But check there’s water.

Push the envelope.

But don’t break the seal.

Reach, reach, reach.

To be squashed down.

Of course you are unique.

When stood in line for the same coffee you had on Monday.

Or waiting to hear ‘I love you’.

Or sitting on the rush hour tube.

Of course you are different.

Meant for higher things.

Did the universe forget this unsung hymn?

It’s hot.

So hot I can hear the mud shrink and crack.

My throat is dry.

So dry I can only try and swallow.

My fingers drum in the dust.

My feet tap out the minutes.

We are waiting for water.

The first drop of rain will be soft like my baby’s tummy.

I know it wil be warm too.

 

 

Sometimes the less said the better.

Strange how taking a back seat can sometimes help drive an issue forward.

Sometimes just keep things on a simmer, hold them lose, at a distance.

Strange how a MASSIVE thing can become a MINUTE thing.

How fear can disappear with time.

Set a goal.

Think about it.

That’s all.

Sometimes what you imagine is just that, imagined.

Strange how the reality is different.

It has to be, as life doesn’t match the life of the mind.

Sometimes none of these are true.

Like when I dream the reality and the reality comes true.

Or like when I said nothing and should have done.

Or like when the massive thing was massive.

But it is worth remembering that more often than not it wasn’t.

 

When you are too close your efforts are directed at the detail.
It is subconscious action that makes history's marks.
One step removed is one step forward.
Too close and you choke it.
This is not at odds but not quite the same as the idea that history is made of many pasts, presents and ideas of the future.
That one moment is never the result of one man's action.
That's what Tolstoy says.
And he's generally right.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

Forget

History is a retelling of a moment past.
From affairs of state to affairs of the heart.
The retelling is an art.

Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

A long grey road.

Winding away past houses and railings.

Leading to the bright lights of town and the hum of the shops.

Fierce peddling and the hum of engines.

Idling at the cross roads.

It suddenly seems to be a different time altogether.

Where did the 21st century go?

I have lost it.

Amid the bricks of home and the first signs of spring on the trees.

Four pot plants.

Sitting in a row.

One neat, dark green and boxy.

The next a lush overflow of lime.

The next, again, neat, dark green and boxy.

The last a profusion of pink buds.

They sit waiting for the residents to return home.

Soaking in the very first warmth of the year.

The first sunshine.

Not too hot yet.

Still chilled by winter.

But bright.

There is only one.
Life.
Smash windows.
Break the looking glass.
Though tomorrow you will clear it up and pay for it.
One must pour all personal power in testimony to the higher life. Beyond the clock and stop watch.
Over the common courtesies and many mannered hills.
Rile up and exert free will.
Rise up. For tomorrow it will be over.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

Obsession.
A focused possession.
One consistent train of thought.
Where it came from
And when it came, beyond comprehension.
But there it was.
Tearing up the past and blotting the present.
All that was seen and heard seemed nothing but a dream.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

In short.

Every time you break a rule you make a new one.

Old rules were once new.

New rules will be old.

In the mid 1700s we decided that rules over 2000 years old were the ones to follow.

These were rules renewed.

A certain way to do things.

Georgian neo-classicism.

A war waged against baroque.

In a World where water powered trade.

Time flies.
Memories of a little girl who liked to lick the pudding bowl.
Or the puppy who didn't know its own feet and skidded into furry heaps.
Time stands still for no man.
It is constant entropy.

Order to disorder.

Disorder to order.

Like a needle to a balloon.
And down it falls.
Deflated.
Ill shaken.
And flat.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

.....sunny side up.

the right side of the bed.....

....rose tinted spectacles.

slept like a baby......

.....first in line.

the stitch in time.....

When its right, it's right.

Wizardry.

The physics of fibre optics.

Or a man with a wand?

Mystery.

The elusive higgs boson, known only by the weight of its absence.

Or the soothsaying of theoreticians and physics?

Meaning.

The inner life of Quarks.

Or the interconnectedness of all things according to Tao?

There is a fort on the coast of Kenya.

Mombassa to be exact.

The fort is Portugese.

And it is a 'world heritage' site.

Inside are fibre optic cables.

6 to be exact.

3 go one way.

3 the other.

Along these wires, and wires like them,

Criss crossing across the ocean bed, these wires are the internet.

The world wide web.

To be exact there is no 'cloud map' nor is there technically an ethernet.

What we have here is wire.

Electricity and connectivity.

To be exact it is not wizardry.

A group of working men met for tea and formed the beginnings of the TUC.
Marx gave a speech.
It was duly noted in the records for posterity's keep.
The record lay neglected for 70 years or more.
Until one day a Russian learnt of its existence.
When he got home he wrote a letter saying that the Russians must have it.
He stamped it with hammer and sickle and sent it to Churchill.
Churchill locked it in the bank's safe, incase of cold war.
Until one day a labour peer petitioned for its release.
Now its at home in the archives of the institute.
A bit of history with notes on who had tea.
Little to import but what a journey.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

Rip off

All that talk of gurus
Travels in far off spiritually enlightened lands.
But still the glazing eyes...
The bags of funny powders?
He yacked about holistic remedies,
Good plants for this.
And psychological tricks for that.
After all that he ripped me off.
I thought better of this medicine man.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device