bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Sunday 16th September 2018.

My soul this morning after rising from the pit of dreams haunted by the much known Goblins during the wee dark hours always dressed in pink laced hob nailed boots, making me push off the covers at the famous blue rain coat hour of 4am...As they scamper away laughing, last nights dreams are already beginning to fade which is always a blessing. The darkness out side this window still holds, the rush of rubber tyres is also silently still, for now my world seems at peace even though far beyond this window on the world it is far from such a word as peace, a time for old transvestites like me to reflect before the wide world of media clickbaits swamps.
With a heavy sigh i open up to the coming day light hours, this morning is Trinity Sunday for my soul, reminding me of those far behind Sunday's which in youth seemed to last forever..Sunday dinner always the best meal of the week and in youth always during the evening...with the wireless in the back ground the smell of food cooking and the tunes of Sing Something simple seen quite quaint as i sit here playing across these keys whilst up loading some CD'S bought from charity shops on to my I-Tunes...Even in the swinging sixties the hauntings of the second world war were felt, what ever was put in front of you had to be eaten...waste not want not..was always rammed down ones throat war rations was placed on your shoulders with a top coat of we had nothing..when your told stories of your grandfather retreating from the Japs from Burma to India..with only your rifle and one bullet for your eats all the vegtables one hates as a child...and remembering to say please and thank you...with a final may i leave the table.
Sometimes i scribble here wondering what to scribble or even why perhaps the old quote from Lord Byron... " Adversity is the first path to trust. " pulls in words which drift through the pool of life..i started this post thinking of Sunday Dinners as a happy family event, the more i dwell on those days this morning, the more i drift into the manic of the day..some say lone child's are selfish..perhaps so..but one needs a suit of armour to even sit amongst this white screen which pulls words from the dark corners of the mind should one pull off the lid. Or perhaps i am tired of screaming children each time i enter a supermarket..which always triggers my days of youth and the sternity-respect we were brought up in..however perhaps i should have some breakfast and simply smile, pull on my wrinkled stockings be grateful as in youth for small goblets of fire and venture out into the wild world take up the invite to watch this afternoons formula one race in Singapore from al old postal friend and slip into nostalgia...So Goeth..x

  • Thursday 12th May 2022.

    I think i need to poke my head out of the front door smell the coffee, hold my hand out to feel as if it is raining them pull on my busted stockings…

  • Monday 9th May 2022.

    Today i have started my second week without a reminder to pull on my blue uniform...i do not miss it..or am i lying to myself, perhaps... i do not…

  • Tuesday 3rd May 2022.

    I no longer drive one of these.... My blue uniform is now gathered up, old bits, new bits, consisting of shirts, high viz vests, which i always…

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