bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Wednesday 5th March 2008.

I have become rather lazy,the old school teachers words rattle around my head,must try harder,bit of a dreamer,etc..etc..rope up the harsh words around past dinner tables,scribble up fibre's in red fruited rhubarb covered in yellow custard, that could walk from the bowl slither up the wall forlorn in asking the time on the clock to tick faster, to escape the weariness cowering on my shoulders as the cold winter drags on..there is hope always hope the rhubarb in my garden has pushed up small tiny red stalks the opening of the green head, does this herald spring or is this a prism in facts already lost to me.
The forced rhubarb grown commercially now on sale in the grocery shops looks raped pale pink,shredded trampled under foot lie the big green leaves where ever the knife cut,the beauty of the combined red and green is not what the buyer requires or so we are told, do we in fact have a choice is choice a word that will soon vanish from our lips..Not a problem,nary a worry, simply pile the box full side by side line in line, red dead soldiers in ruin.
Rhubarb, i thought today school days, drifted in school dinners,boiled cabbage so boiled it must have cum out of the pan screaming..i wonder if one boiled a full cabbage left until warm it would be worth..aaarrhh yes the mind of a pervert but at least i would not need a condom, but maybe if i oiled one up would i be fucking in the sargasso sea perhaps such warmth would feed my mind to endevour to rise out of this squalor of words how rich would the tapestry become.
I have just finished reading W.Burroughs " last words "..a small few thoughts of his on a particular day circled around such a thought that one is born a junky..could i then tune that another is simply born a cabbage fucker...does this come from school country dancing on a wet afternoon in forlorn Manchester during the sixties,as the smell from lunch dissipated through the school hall; when others in the world were putting flowers in their hair or riding motorbikes into warm sunsets....i digress then i have always digressed..i was country this to blame for turning out a trannie or am i looking for excuses in the dungeons in my mind.Maybe i am to old for excuses and as today in my tiny red van i reluctantly tagged onto the back of a funeral procession,the tradition of a man walking in a top hat and cane is beginning to once more grip the saying of goodbyes to those who have fallen asleep in this world,as this entourage moved off in walking pace the mind had time to ponder of whom,Flowers big bright white could clearly be seen the simple word...DAD... lent against the coffin..selfish thoughts of is that it,is that day that will be me, unless the giant rhubarb carries me off on a wing and a prayer in some field watching blue skies floating above..i think i would prefer a simple bunch of green leafed lies a man who fucked school dinners.
I also had time to ponder excuses thinking bollocks so what, the flatulence in rhubarb will save the day and as burroughs said a junky is born, a trannie is born why keep retro-rocketing such mind games to the front.Just get on with life before the white flowers in DAD..lean against...???

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