bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Monday 28th January 2008.

Today the rain never crossed my footfall,the milky sun made a brave effort to apologize for almost a solid month of rain.I could hear the dark crusted trees sighing with relief,they must sense spring is in the air.This does not mean that Jack Frost will not suck cocks again before the daffodils fade.Never be surprised by English weather is my motto,i doubt whether those trees that have survived this seasons chain saw massacre,will think any different, they know only too well what can pour out from Piss flaps in the sky.
In this milky sun i saw the first of the purple Crocus's pull out of the clod open and spray some hope on the sleeping land,the light purple,the yellow fronds within always remind me of the hidden world of the not so bold " walk on the wild side".The transvestite who dare not speak,forever lingering under the shadow of the neon street lamp..the Crocus's life is fragile it needs only a simple storm to bend this beauty of nature,limp,fretting on the soil top in a state of sadness after waiting so long to burst forth.
I think i would like to see a Jam Jar full of this purple prose set in the middle of the Mad Hatters tea party for all trannies who live out of a suitcase.
As i have been reminded tonight it is L.C's birthday,perhaps i should throw a Pandora's box Mad Hatters Tea Party...each end of the table i would seat..God and Hitler in between would be someone from Down Under,Nevada,New York and Diana Athill.....of which her following quote would be uttered..

" I can't feel anything but sure that when men form ideas about God,creation,eternity,they are making no more sense in relation to what lies beyond the range of their comprehension than the cheeping of sparrows"

I am sure the Chardonnay and coffee would flow in equal amounts along side the conversation... God and Hitler would probably leave hand in hand wearing the Mad Hatters hat.New York would dance with the purple prose and the word respect would be restored around the table flowing out to the crazy world.
A dream is just that a dream on a storm tempest night in January.

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