bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Wednesday 26th November 2008.

Tonight as i walked home, shadows of dung beatles could be glimpsed in the night sky..the sirens blaring from speeding rubber emergency vehicles in distance form, broke the silence of my footsteps,broke my thought waves as i played over events passing me by during the hours of day light..i veered tonight to walk home down dark lanes where the street lamps give that yellow glow found in vampire films from the glory days vested in Peter Cushing...there is another name, but my mind is escaping on such letter forms,the Picture house where i sat to watch such celluloid has vanished behind paint peeling walls,patched with fly poster's showing ladies with big what-evers enticing one to pull up collars, wear loafers,drift down piss smelling steps, to watch a pole gather flesh, erotic they say but only if you stuff ten pound notes under beer mats,or so chinese whispers say.
I am beginning to feel in some ways like my father....who often told of this pub, this dance hall,and how sad,time had wrapped their use in mothballs until some hideous 1960's new build had obliterated any such notion of what might have happened to someones youth.

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