Grimbeau

Scroodles

Tag: Solitude

Emma Euphoria

Emma stood blank in half-eight demi-light thinking causes for one shit up & two shits below: stale toast, ancient Camembert, fatty olives, decaying salad, egg & chips, late night salmon, oily roast root vegetables, midsummer nectarine, squashy pears, rich cream cheesecake, bottle of white wine, after eight mints, dirty glasses, yes, dirty glasses…

Dirty bedclothes full of stale flu-sweat, skin flakes, dandruff, and smokey house dust

Sink full of dirty dishes, greasy black hob, sticky fingers, slimy forboding corners, swampy miasma, fairy lights hanging from the dogroses.

Handel’s Water music strutted on the wireless. Which came first, thought Emma, the water or the fireworks? Was it linear or circular? Either way it was always the same old Handel. How very reassuring. Not.

The last two weeks had oozed bad news.

9.34
Radio daze…

10.58
No post or  calls? Not yet. Have a think. Check your incoming. Read about writing. Perhaps more radio. Tidy the kitchen. Why me? I’m a cripple. A raspberry ripple. Wheelchair Bound. Simon and Garfunkel.
11.04
A sudden burst, a rat-ta-tat, six minutes at least it lasts. Nothing moves but these twisted fingers on the keyboard. A radio monologue describes an airport encounter. John Mortimer.
Namedropper, that’s what I’ll call it. namedropper. James Joyce Carol Oates.
A Friday in October.
Sounds awesome.
afridayinoctober…
nearly gave in there. The urge to blog. SOS to the world #3064…fills the time & I like it. quiet. Just the radio. Me & the Radio. The wireless. The Other Girl by John Mortimer, that’s what it was. Calls? Check for incoming. Clean up. Put the kettle on. Polly.

13.36
Foodless and fancy food means cook sausages—will it be with chips?
Afternoon dawns grey mass dormant air leaves dampen droop slump
Weather report done.
H-bomb calls about F-bomb. Emmer Greensward, Reading. The long haul begins. Chips or the full Monteverdi? Tough call, tough, tough calll…
—Trim your beard, you slob
—In the fullness of thyme, Master. The fullness of thyme.
Get out some haddock to deforest. Is this a hangover or just bog standard gastro-enteritis? No fried eggs, no chips. Green salad, Tabasco, shallots, spinach…

Euphoria

Chisholm Trail Dawn

Grimbeau

myxomatosis

Join me as I slink to twig the silver

dust away from the campfire’s embers.

See the fire glow: teaspoon it to flame,

Carefully perch the tall, crimson pot  atop,

askew atop that is, and dig the day’s

latrine with that small yellow plastic spade.

We are on the outskirts of the craic of dawn.

Scantily clad tidings of cheap skates and

Square war-jaws, cousins to sleep’s hazel

snacks and myxamatosis of your mind’s eye.

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Pal Barney

It’s quarter past three,

just Barney & Me,

the days closed right in,

with the rain and the wind

mistletoe grows

roots in my toes

flowers in air

I’m drinking my friend

To the end

Of a heliotrope

So no sun for my baby

And no sun for the road…

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