I will always be in the bar with my head on the bar
The rains have arrived. Wave after wave of furious downpours followed by squally flurries followed by roaring, lashing gales. The sodden ground, fuzzy green lusciousness, struggles to cope with the constant barrage from the skies. Water wells under the feet as the sandy soil compacts like a sponge. My hair slicks to my face, my clothes to my back, my van sticks in a garden and the mess of removal annoys the old lady with the big head. The wipers can’t cope. I stop them and see more. A metaphor.
What I’m doing, a million people do every day. Starting again, leaving it all behind (whether ‘it’ was all you ever wanted or nothing whatsoever). For me 'it' was all I ever wanted. Only now I can see that I wanted the wrong things. Mostly the wrong things. I’m still learning. I’m poor and happy. Simple, uncluttered, relaxed. The stresses of my old life left in the past. Not forgotten, that would be careless, but left to be dusted off and used as experience or advice in years to come.
The hills become blurred and greyed as another storm passes. Thick grey above, impromptu rivers forming in the streets. People running into puddles, cursing. I laugh from the warm dry van. Mud spattered up the sides and on the hubs from my earlier mishap in the miserable old ladies garden. The weather is trying to get in. I turn off the radio and listen to it hammering on the thin roof. The wind catches me a blindside and I sway, momentarily unsure of direction and with a twist in my stomach. The van lurches back on track and I continue home.
I’m caught a blindside and I sway, momentarily unsure of direction and with a twist in my stomach. My course remains unchanged and with goals intact but things have subtly altered. Allegiances shifted. We close our eyes to listen, I’m filtering the white noise, separating wheat from chaff. When I reopen them I have 1000 eyes (all red) and am omniscient. I rise above but still rise above the scene. A tortuous drop awaits. All my fault. Ends don’t always justify means. The reality is; it’s all passed, all past. Dead. Goodbye to all the good stuff that is too upsetting to remember. Goodnight and Thank You.
But. I have truths to tell also. Time moves with direction, emotional white noise is cleansed and poker faced into submission. Another phase of the plan, another tick in the box. But, it’s not that cold. I’m not/can’t be that cold. It feels good and unlaboured. I think I can tell when fate intervenes, things just seem more real for a while. Then a haziness returns and life carries on its usual pattern of not much stuff taking up far too much time. Not a negative thing, but a thing all the same.
A field bordered by steep hills. The fading sun casting dim light onto the hip high grass. Stock still I stand cruciform, battered by wind and rain. A broad smile on my glowing face. I will survive every storm this winter has to throw at me and learn a lesson with each one.
What I’m doing, a million people do every day. Starting again, leaving it all behind (whether ‘it’ was all you ever wanted or nothing whatsoever). For me 'it' was all I ever wanted. Only now I can see that I wanted the wrong things. Mostly the wrong things. I’m still learning. I’m poor and happy. Simple, uncluttered, relaxed. The stresses of my old life left in the past. Not forgotten, that would be careless, but left to be dusted off and used as experience or advice in years to come.
The hills become blurred and greyed as another storm passes. Thick grey above, impromptu rivers forming in the streets. People running into puddles, cursing. I laugh from the warm dry van. Mud spattered up the sides and on the hubs from my earlier mishap in the miserable old ladies garden. The weather is trying to get in. I turn off the radio and listen to it hammering on the thin roof. The wind catches me a blindside and I sway, momentarily unsure of direction and with a twist in my stomach. The van lurches back on track and I continue home.
I’m caught a blindside and I sway, momentarily unsure of direction and with a twist in my stomach. My course remains unchanged and with goals intact but things have subtly altered. Allegiances shifted. We close our eyes to listen, I’m filtering the white noise, separating wheat from chaff. When I reopen them I have 1000 eyes (all red) and am omniscient. I rise above but still rise above the scene. A tortuous drop awaits. All my fault. Ends don’t always justify means. The reality is; it’s all passed, all past. Dead. Goodbye to all the good stuff that is too upsetting to remember. Goodnight and Thank You.
But. I have truths to tell also. Time moves with direction, emotional white noise is cleansed and poker faced into submission. Another phase of the plan, another tick in the box. But, it’s not that cold. I’m not/can’t be that cold. It feels good and unlaboured. I think I can tell when fate intervenes, things just seem more real for a while. Then a haziness returns and life carries on its usual pattern of not much stuff taking up far too much time. Not a negative thing, but a thing all the same.
A field bordered by steep hills. The fading sun casting dim light onto the hip high grass. Stock still I stand cruciform, battered by wind and rain. A broad smile on my glowing face. I will survive every storm this winter has to throw at me and learn a lesson with each one.