The blank screen of deathly silent white,has indeed beaten the thoughts within this tired body for much of the year,i could say " I'm a lazy sod " but is it only a fact that the Sex Pistols raged about it in a song sticking in the minds eye. Or rather an excuse to simply pause down the leg side to ask myself the question WHY...this blog remains white for so long in the year.Maybe i should simply not worry about such matters blowing in the wind through the wind tunnels of time.
This wind that speaks to me, always worms tomorrow, as if tomorrow is not so much torment but a sigh as i battle through the pink hob nailed boots of man and the pink soft footfalls shoes scuffing their way through the one word Transvestite,am i beast or a man or would cross dresser be more comfortable but as i am the age before the word Gay, Bisexual, erupted and Homosexual was whispered under desks in fits of giggles the word transvestite fits inside my shorts like no other word can.
I sit here in the early hours of the hours of the morning thinking i can do better and trying to come up with an excuse good enough to reason why this year has been so barren for myself, for not slipping through this white fog daily, is perhaps not good enough either and is a total waste of energy tramping across these very keys or am i simply a dreamer, as my old school teachers would often say to the youth sat before them...i can only think HA as old Hugh used to print in terms of rolling sage through his blog, which i sadly miss to think a new year is creeping as the clock ticks beside me, with white simply white and no threat to the words tripping down my arm to play tunes or mind games against the ticking clock.
I find these last few days of the year the biggest scratch as i try to gather thoughts to see if the year has been one of those to remember, also to see if have i grown any depth of field as if caught by the camera's eye, that second in the instant push of a button to lay in history books for time immortal.
Therefore enough of darkness dribbling through these last few days in battered wind tunnels screaming in vain up above in witches fingers forlorn over a cabin holding pinched fingers across a key board from whence this all started, as comments spilled into the crevices in soft pink shoe falls turning no quarter in dusty unopened packets,as they move through time unpicked....here is too the new year approaching may the pull of stockings hold the sage brush back long enough to gather...????