In the magnitudes of living life sometimes is so full of stuff there is hardly room for anything else...
A scarcity, much like Scunthorpe mustard seeds united, and was most popular amongst the locals down at the fifth plus, was fast becoming the next best thing to have to slobber over as it came and said a prayer to the holy virgin who’d turned up right next to me.
Uhh, am I an attraction magnet now said the holy virgin, right next to me, on the other side.
Fuck, I said to myself and lit up a smoke, and genuflected even faster to save myself from the scarcity, whatever it was, and whatever it wanted. And I even crossed my knees to alleviate the suffering of this world, and never mind what they called me; I was a saint in the making.
Am I bad, I said, as it accepted my prayers and protestations?
Oh yes, you’re bad it said, as I got down on my knees to pray even harder.
Slaves are made in this way.
Image by Alexandru Petre from Pixabay
Versions of myself washed over me where I was marginalised and sucking my own tongue, and sipping, sipping, at it.
I was dripped and dripping.
I was five lengths of doom emanating.
I was my curse rising.
Praying even faster I came to myself kneeling and peeing in my pants and wishing for a saviour to come and save me because I wanted to go home, for I was tired of it all, and had no dreams left to dream.
I was dripping vultures over the horizons as I sipped my wine and came into my consciousness slipping every which way.
Taking out the makings I made another smoke and remembered that old rivals would never give up as I dragged away at it, lit by the haze of the doom in my eyes.
Image by Alexandru Petre from Pixabay
I am but a small thing most of the time; but I am, most of the time; unless I’m smaller than small, and then I’m under the radar, but that’s nowhere at all, oh no.
Unbeknownst to me in my smallness and all the psychological fears surrounding me was the unreason, slobbering away and expecting me really soon to come close and be swallowed up.
Some things have other reasons to be.
And some things have no reason to be.
Amongst all these reasons I am but an expectant of a realisation pretty soon to enlighten me, or it can go to hell.
Oh, come on, even salacious grandmothers don’t have that much tar, said the unreason reaching out to swallow me with its swill.
You need another reason to be it said; and oh, for sure I did; but I couldn’t find one anywhere until I gave up looking and said: I’ve had enough, to all the unreason.
It was right here that I began to eat chips and curry in my progression onwards, ever onwards and looking out for any truth I could perceive with both of my eyes that were spying out for me.
Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay
An Egyption goddess with the mind of a troll began to cause trouble then, and after running around for a while said: I am kerbloom, how is your nest?
I looked up to see if she was looking down at me for sure and found that mind over matter doesn’t matter more than it’s believed to be so that I just had to say: I’m fine, what are you serving?
Cow cabbage she said, and smiled with all her teeth at me.
The winter gypsy was the beast in the broom cupboard about this mostly and banging to get out, but with all the fury wasn’t getting very far and so was being incarcerated into submission for the duration or until the holy virgin could get her act together.
It was right here that some specialist target that was as dead as a slave and twice as formulated snuk out of the window of defeat and ran far away and would not be coming back for anything, not even for the sugarshine Sunday feeling or the exotic cricket balls of doom.
Long live William Williams I said to its departing shadow and lit another cigarette and gave a wink to the holy virgin of all I could perceive.
Image by S Greendragon from Pixabay
Marginaly slipping into the next prayer and becoming quantumplative and speaking through my back teeth I contemplated the Egyption goddess and what I was going to do with her, and smoke breaks aside much time passed while I was doing so.
The Confucius drip was smarting me back and fore like a tennis match, and I was the ball; and agragates aside, many were looking at me from the sidelines to see if this was so.
A black cat came out of the bushes, like the next actor in a play, and sat not far away, and contemplated on me as I turned into cow cabbage under the moon.
Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay
I’ve never been perfect myself, I’ve always been a sardines in the stew for starters and church bells ringing in the ears later kind of message, another assertion under the layers, and or some kind of receiving being bombarded with all the receiving, but whatever, it was all cow cabbage to me whichever way I looked.
Yeah, that was it, cow cabbage, over and over, spoken at me until I knew nothing else from the beginning to the end.
Brilliance was a distinction not mine, until I found myself on my toes and dancing for real with Scunthorpe mustard seeds united out into the open. And with my mouth wide open I made it so; and that’s when I knew the score was going to be whatever it was going to be, and fuck whatever I was thinking.
The silent silver was laughing at me, I just knew it, but I didn’t care, I was my own quantitative easement wherever I found myself. And I could move icebergs with my mind.
Image by Tom und Nicki Löschner from Pixabay
When I stop moving is when I shall stop; but until then I shall carry on into the moving mountain of my dreams, and alone or otherwise, I shall never feel afraid.
Red shoes, and perfume, a lover’s top knot, growling dogs… I’m cow cabbage quantumplative in my radio active mojo in the pinkies coolie bar and pulling for all I’m worth in nomini patris et filii et spiritus sancti amen…
Images from Pixabay
