bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Thursday 3rd May 2007.

I sit here with this blank space before me.In theory words should flow filling the space up with ease, for i have seen much today,perhaps i will not see again.Perhaps i need a liquid during this hour, to make the bubbles in my head slash across this screen in some glorious blitz of blue..This week has seen the tenth anniversary of Tony Blair walking into Ten Downing street to become the Prime minster.
Where was i in 1997 was i drinking IRN-BRU for instance.Was i drinking anything for that matter, sperm for instance the white nectar offered,so freely back then.Alas now ten years on no hair, a belly full of chardonnay pricked with instances full of chocolate hobo's melting down the line,now told your to old to drink sperm..did they not say life begins at forty a tired old cliche, long found under the hairy stomach clutched troglodyte.The bustle of words intersperse with melancholy sadness i need a drink perhaps IRN-BRU..for i have some in the fridge next to the chardonnay.

IRN-BRU "..original and best.." so written on the can...ssshhh do not let Coca Cola hear that gosh."..if spilt this product may stain.."..What indeed is it doing to my was good..This morning as i slipped out from the sleeping house,the world beyond not quite awake only the odd car passing in the darkness,dandelions kissing under the remote street light, i tried to wake up,gather my thoughts as i have done for the past twenty five years as each step takes me further down the hill towards the shamrock nettles, the ominous splutter inside my head made the gargoyles and goblins pull on their hob nailed boots perform some known May dance only spiffy to their minds....with such a ruckus going on i looked up and saw the moon hung low hovering just above the shadows glanced by the red bricked urban sprawl i was clattering through, sleepy cats on their way home, the flicker of a television from one who cannot sleep..the public house i pass in deep darkness closed even to all those memories locked within, some of which are my own, when once i slurped pints of foaming mirth five pints for a quid back then,i felt rich the world was mine for the taking.Now i sit here with a can of IRN-BRU..and count a possible twenty good years left in me where has it all gone...the gnostic dwarf is whispering words..uurrmm..Mistress..yes the moon...such a sight this morning no blue cheese look,a pure pagan golden glow enough to stop for a second snap a piccy...and a breathless make the footsteps onward plod...A car pulled up..i got in aaarrhh i thought such a ripe cock lies beneath and he knows,i know and he knows i want i should have stuck IRN-BRU..then perhaps i would not have tasted the white nectar,but if to choose...ha life.....

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