I have to maintain my wits out on these terrains - itís dog eat dog, you would be stamped on and dispensed with at the merest chance. Just by looking at the make-up, the candour, the body language of some of the Ďothersí, I can see their mindset, I can see their minute ambitions, the complex rhythms of their mindset, intelligence, depths. These nuances trickle through the tube carriage, Iím guessing the personalities of people near me, guessing through the tincture of their eyes, their frowns, their slight smiles, the exact shade of light.
Iím still so naive so I donít think anyone can be saying one thing and meaning another; at first. But then when I pore over it in retrospect itís obvious what was said with a smirk and a glint. Innocent things sorted once more in the mind are seen with a greater purpose, a messier one, one with loaded, deeper effects. The realness exposed. And the once-hidden agendas. The past is so fucking easy to navigate once itís gone, much more difficult to get the answers once youíre in it - to keep up with the onrush of attitudes, inspired motivations. Dig deeper.7. headphase
I always snuggle back into the sepia haze of the past here; when I get a spare moment. Itís sitting there in a kind of untouchable fuzz with smiles stencilled in instead of the sadness. No pressure in the past. Plus, the option of things I could have done that might have made it easier. With the time to come always so far ahead. Itís so safe and comfortable there, the sun is really close, the heat is always on. Would I have done more? Made it all more perfect. Probably not. But in the past you donít have to make decisions, donít have to get it right. More time is lost delving into these false memories.
I crawl out the tunnels of these thoughts and re-familiarise myself with the moment; find a rhythm, find a reason. Iím getting easily distracted - white-snow sky, a billion pigeons, television screens in the half-net-curtained-out square windows in other estate blocks - by the things that are burrowing me into the earth. A love gone will always rest harsh on the shoulders, especially when there are things to be said.
The day is almost done but barely even started - no light at this time of year - and in months to come the cycle will start once more. For now, though, I live in a constant bubble of dark and keep up my pace to the sliced tiny sounds of my everyday. I canít open my eyes fully and nothing feels real. Itís been like this for a while. The dullest of shades and the prospect of more chaos. Bizarre portions of regurgitated words/songs. Remixes of heard-before sounds. Getting stronger with every time.
The fox darts along the top of the fence - almost totally unseen. A little greyish-brown blob slithering between the green shrubs, as quick as a bomb going off. No one else is looking; am I the only one who can see the thing? A bloody invisible fox!
© Copyright 2016 John Maher