bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Wednesday 14th March 2007.

For some reason " Biggles " has been floating around my head..even to the extent i have been saying it aloud as i have floated around in my tiny read van surfing across the trash, clustered amid the great urban red bricked sprawl i find myself now part off.Even the words " Biggles Flies South "..has inflicted doubt amongst the spiders free riding amongst my thoughts, could it possibly be the knowledge that once more i am riding the torrent of losing someone else..I know we said we would exchange postcards but you know the score especially in this double take text message world we now crawl beneath..i recall reading shortly after Chinese New Year in a sort of friends journal..that the new year had disintegrated into the family sat around the table going mad as hatters texting the new year in and not bothering who was indeed sat around the table...
However as i am an old sod full of crispy feelings thoughts and strange desires i can only hope a postcard wings my way...For me it was a strange send off sat in the Pub not far from where i used to drink with my old drinking buddy who now pushes up daises with impunity, it felt sat there drinking Newcastle brown Ale a halo,built in crushed spiders cartwheeling in; lets fry the mind tonight,we did sit there,we did joke and indeed talk about the spiders in our heads the T.V. on in the back ground gave a eerie swell as the flickering pictures portrayed the last fifty years of Man U... playing in europe i could hear the noise in the back ground and glimpsed once catching sight of the game in 1968/9 child hood flooded the tapestry pine needles floated down the river hugs, floods cascaded friends, past and perhaps the future clouded over the drowned glass i raised the bottle purred more, felt the neat beer run down thinking i am in the mood here, drat to the work next day, but like a leaper in red square i declined some thing else i declined the offer of seeing her breasts in the flesh before we left was this a test, i thought was this friendship in skin or had she noticed that her huge boobs drew my eyes..but there again we often talked of boobs blonds laughing and giggling too lost children allowed out to play...and perhaps this was her way of saying goodbye....
The night had to end work called a naughty throating gaff shame it was not a cock but hey who knows this year it just might be my year of the pig big fat juicy...i watched them wander off towards the late night shop for some supper food, hand in hand illuminated by the dim street lights the giggles wafted in the air as they oblivious wrapped in them selves vanished..i wish them well as i do all friends who depart what can you do it is not for i to say hey stop my life will be...!!!!
I stepped onto the 203 Bus, i thought of my mistress,the bell that jingled in my trousers the pleasure of at last being owned sucked in my thoughts and let my eyes dance around the bus..torn newspapers strewn across the floor the fare of £1.20 pence drew laughs in the mind a circus wanted to shout,but the hair on my head said old fart shut thy gob it is no longer your world...
Eventually i stood at the familiar bus stop the night air was soft the street lights let you know that the demons are on there way riding on the backs of bare legged spiders.I laughed what could i do they always come to feast now almost every night i thought of Clint Eastwood in the film in the line of fire and his words what do you see when the demons come at night however i was side tracked the heavy use of the mobile phone tossed the silence of the night air into he garbage bin as i could not shut out how a girl who seated in the bus shelter told a tale telling how a child was being sick with certain foodstuffs whilst behind me a young man talking to, his girlfriend on how such a dad had come to view life as there is always tomorrow regards fixing the door..i thought how apt such as i stood there in the quite darkness in sympathy with the father forced onto the tread mill batterd by corns waving in the tall grass bumble bees floating under his eyelids and for what, can the telephone not wait what did we do,in the past perhaps, suck cocks aarrhh that is where they have gone too the moon,beyond, my head shook my shoulders sank as the phone moved on to the father i could almost feel him on the other end, thinking, what the fuck..
I climbed on the 330 crowded but thankfully silence maybe, no a big black women was giving it down the phone i shrank even further into my seat could i shrink wrap under the seat maybe a quiet cock could be spied, or if i thought hard enough i could taste plump cunt, but no i smiled and simply thought how the nights bus fares i had paid out would have in my courting days have lasted three weeks.
Nostalgia weeped, so deep as shadows passed behind the glass window, is there such a thing as silence of thought, in this great big urban red bricked troglodyte...i find myself in grained a part of flotsam...bare my thoughts, strap to a cross, beat me, fist me in dark, pleasures but please the phone stay silent in the peace of the night for it is only for the demons and luvers and as mine floated in my head shattered by doors and throw up children i scatter now....

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