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Tuesday 17th July 2007.

I was glad tonight,to step inside the open shower curtain,draw it across the world,to begin to wash off the gulag day, reflecting as each hot drop of water pinched my naked skin,washing away the absolute shite i had endured.
This morning i turned on the wireless,more for the company of the spoken voice rather than anything else,guiltiness clouds over my mind when i bury my head in the sand bucket for too long. The old school boy runaway, drags in the biff, bash, around the ears surrounding world events,it is as if i decline to take part in the world, a sort of hermit in drag locked inside my own hand made pink dress,half of me fighting to put it on, the other half fighting to rip it to shreds.I also knew by the end of the day i really should not have bothered thus fuck the guilt buried in the sand..however the wireless squeaked,the same old stories hashed, rehashed, eventually flogged to death,enough to make the mind switch off become numb enough to think of that waiting shower,or perhaps first glass of chardonnay....the quick sentence they really did not want you to absorb came with a gasp i was lucky to hear such words pulled out of the hat,was i dreaming...The govt has decided to waver the data protection act and let the Police view the camera's collecting data in London surrounding the congestion charge..i think the word terrorist bombed around my tiny red van..in laughing giggles tongues poked out from the roof,flatulence drove up from the tarmac,gargoyles,hobgoblins put down their foaming mirth long enough to say i told you so.
I shook my head,yet did not turn off the wireless,surely i thought some bright sparked story would be enough to make me smile and not regret any longer turning on the wireless, would pour out maybe some news from Sidney on the tank driver,perhaps he has at last fell asleep.
Perhaps the love of sport,is the thread that keeps the Brits and Ozzie's consuming all that amber nectar and singing all those daft songs together and so...it came in the form of a Aussie rugby player complaining of headaches,when the doctors opened an old head wound they found a broken tooth embedded in his forehead...yes i thought the world is still alive,his voice sounded sexy,the sunshine poured through the tiny red vans speakers across the miles,as a thunder storm lashed the van overhead and at last i could now reach over and press the stop button the silence was a relief,the tiny vans clock showed 19.00....it was time to finish....i passed a road rage,who had pushed in front of who,had the nine car pile up not been enough....I walked home a car passed with the number plate...C5FAB..i smiled what ever happened to all those built C5's,which would have made life to the tune of Dan Dare and what a handsome fellow was he..even a paper cock would win the day.How also in my youth Fab was such a used word,now sadly defunct.How would the world have been if it indeed became FAB...........

Comments

( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
foucaultonacid
Jul. 18th, 2007 01:48 pm (UTC)
the tank driver was a modern marvel - and at least he isn't being charged with terrorist offences :-)
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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bichoose
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