bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Sunday 3rd December 2006.

I sit here now with a white box before my eyes,my fingers have already started but have been slapped back,with re-writes and so i start once more down the road of scribbles,i wish at times i could write in the same vain as other blogs i feast on.I wonder too if they have fizz balls that sink into the neck gunge large chunks,send them on a race with time, hypocritical balls seam to bang and crash yet i hear no sound only footprints seen in the sand cover my eyelids.

The tapestry was only a short while was beginning to pull away from melancholy madness,but now i am not so sure, how fickle the mind can be,a quick glance, a short terse word brings the magpies bouncing in a jerk fashion their talons scrape across the closed mouth.Vampires screech in decoded forests...i fear no evil...falls away, hymn number 203 lies on the wall of crusted old chapels long gone to trumpets calling.

The white blank space calls yet i am beginning to fail it, the scrape of talons is not enough the drawing board looks inviting,old pin pricks jerk their story on the wind if i had time to wait awhile;instead watching for the demons to crawl beneath the curtains and begin their nightly happy dance from wall to wall until they have goaded the mind to accept away through.i have been quite lucky this week those dreams that have been so far away from the forlorn hope, have begun to fade when i pull my on work skirts,no time for stockings,just a blur,i recall back in those days when crocodiles lived under my bed, demons could be pictured on the wall paper each one laughing and dancing my imagination full with ants chased by witches..wooden spoons were welded in daylight.

Should i be simple write the cat sat on the mat..fill this blank space with cabbage kings,perhaps pictures of flacid cocks or simply watch a movie instead,and not ponder on white spaces.

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