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Thursday June 12th 2008.

The English written word is a wash,with capturing time in a bottle,the mere word anniversary sends shivers up the spine,anniversary was a time when one put on a suit stood with pint pot of foaming mirth in hand and tried to not spill pork pies down ones tie the soft cushioned bar rail was to stop one from slipping down amongst the fag ends,split beer,should you have found yourself there, it would be the only time that stiletto's would trunk over you for free.
Forty years is a long time,these past few months as each powerful link with 1968 opens up pours forth an amount of Elephant piss so acidic angels bare bottoms shrivel in the clouds as those that are allowed a certain toned down free speech splutter forth in the published media circus,there thoughts on the events as they witnessed the year that woz...The ordinary working class man's thoughts have some how been zipped in case such unpolitical words gush forth words i might add were gushed up back them without a blink except for one which i will ponder over these coming months...perhaps.
These past few months, i have sat pondered on the year 1968..some things feel a touch blured..i have asked myself..what did i dream in 68.
The one fact that cannot be doubted was that for the first 300 hundred days of the year i was a mere 12 years old...did not own one simple pubic hair,fought each night with demons who popped from behind the cracks in the wall paper,pulled funny faces from the drawn curtains and was not sure if alligators lived under my bed..to comfort myself i did strange rubbings to my penis on my childish thighs that made some of the demons giggle.
In those days " Children were seen and not heard " World events were for grown ups.Only a smattering of exceptional sporting events trickled into the playground to be gibberish-ed amongst our pockets full of marbles bits of string and old conkers..we did here that the racing driver Jim Clark died in a crash..that Manchester United won the European Cup the first english club to do so i seem to remember that if we cleaned our teeth put on our jammie's we could stay up and watch the small black and white television in the corner of the best room.
We saw the Black Power salute in the Mexico Olympics but had not one clue what it meant.Simply as the game of marbles on the school play ground grid was far more important especially if you owned a dobber or a ball baring dobber you were king of the grid indeed,the Black Power salute diminished into the pages of history only to be pondered over in such words as anniversary.

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( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
hughknox
Jun. 12th, 2008 10:31 pm (UTC)
i spent part of 1968 in paris hurling paving stones at gendarmes, and another part fleeing russian tanks in prague. so it goeth.
wishesinwoods2
Jun. 16th, 2008 10:58 pm (UTC)
In 1968 I was still a fairly naive school girl in white blouse, blazer and pleated skirt, knee socks and saddle shoes, ensconced in convent boarding school. I longed for adventure! Since then I've had some adventures. Now I know to be careful for what I wish for! :-)

Reminds me, I need to pick up my copy of Paving Stones and commence reading. It got set aside in the mad dash to get caught up on all paperwork before my vacation.
foucaultonacid
Jun. 13th, 2008 12:03 pm (UTC)
i declare shenanigans -nothing english has ever been in a wash...

here's to being fag and gag ends, to thinking through, to surviving the demons, to being here to talk with me who wonders...
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )

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