bichoose (bichoose) wrote,

Tuesday 29th September 2009.

Could this become a habit,more than one post a month,and then what of those months without a snitch a word a glance of purple prose, the blank white screen chasing my thoughts away to hide inside rainbow peer out breathless, pull up the collar from autumns cold, hitch up my stockings and brave the world beyond the chocolate box life society wants no demand you live within. The political correct coffee cream eaters must not win this game of snakes and ladders, the grease poll monkey must survive the hard rain and the blowin-in-the-wind must not gather dust in cob-webbed super markets.
The wireless spat this morning as i gathered my thoughts at work, in amongst the dreary road works, traffic jams, jingle toothpaste adverts and the antic's who can afford to play games of which the media think we need to know every waking second, force fed, bottle fed, even fish and chips wrapped up in such tittle tattle.The scale the backs of hairy caterpillars, gossip disappearing on laytex wings to oblivion unreached by witches breasts the saggy sour milk seeps.The captain of the ship shouts abandon. As some  antic's captured on film, paper voices from the wireless are bellowed ever louder ever more glossy pictured with morning coffeeeeeee cups with such news we are deemed to want...Yet another chase,capture of drugs deemed illegal by those men dressed in blue, laws passed down by those whom sit on green seats sing bla bla across the houses of parliament...yet old ladies on walking sticks hide behind curtains whom twitch in day light hours to frightened to walk in air no longer fresh, their blue rinse hair, their dreams of once humping in perfect days, perhaps in youth full garters suspenders in moon light to such tunes no longer today not whispered in the light, such a waste such a tapestry unfinished..instead the mountain of money spent on this egg chase, which must be by now all of forty years old has left these old ladies behind in wheel barrows of fate.
If you stopped stared at this gutter voice from this mornings wireless bulletin added up over the years money spent..just how many hospitals could you have built how many new schools..better education better pensions so forth and so forth....instead they still hunt their idea of perfect day dream the utopia which they firmly believe we must yet more money is chased down in catter-pelting defeating the drugs pipe to nil by mouth...the captain of the ship has lost his eyes...yet i cannot lend him mine as they begin to sink heavily after the day filters behind the faraway hill as sad faces march in the rain.

  • Thursday 12th May 2022.

    I think i need to poke my head out of the front door smell the coffee, hold my hand out to feel as if it is raining them pull on my busted stockings…

  • Monday 9th May 2022.

    Today i have started my second week without a reminder to pull on my blue uniform...i do not miss it..or am i lying to myself, perhaps... i do not…

  • Tuesday 3rd May 2022.

    I no longer drive one of these.... My blue uniform is now gathered up, old bits, new bits, consisting of shirts, high viz vests, which i always…

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