I guess I haven't posted much for a while. This is down mainly to having things stolen, computers breaking and going to another continent. However, I always intended to write on here again as Coldbrain kept pestering me about it and to be honest I enjoy writing. The predicament I found myself in was that I'm not that bothered about writing about my life as it's pretty mundane, sprinkled with elements of disaster and comedy. I took pleasure about scribbling about certain subjects I used to think of but they were very insular and not very organic. Basically they don't continuing growing once I'd written them which frustrated me. So after a cup of tea and a glass of wine I've decided to write some open ended prose for people to check out. As Coldbrain is the only one who reads this, I'll leave it up to him as to whether I carry on with it. He can only be vetoed by my laziness which is always festering in the background. Anyway, here it is. What say you?
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Yannish feels himself clutching hard on the object, his breath heavy and laden with the gargling sound of phlegm as he exhales exposing his tobacco ingesting past time. Inside his body tiny blood vessels are delivering thousands of messages to his brain as each second ticks by causing him to get agitated and confused as each one clashes and contradicts the next. He strives for clarity but instead finds his mind awash with flickers of images of his past experiences intertwined with feelings of possible occurrences of the coming present. Images of dates with girls when he was 15, his driving test, his first pay packet from his first job spliced with trepidation, fear, success and relief. This cocktail swirling around his head makes his concentration slushy so lets his eyes help relive him. His eyes gaze straight ahead staring at the fag stained wall, noticing a spider’s web dangling from the top right hand corner, swaying with the rhythmic sounds of the air conditioning. The spider, hanging on the end battling against the wafts of air coming from above, desperately trying to climb up to the more intricate and stable parts of the web but each time progress is made it’s pushed back down with the current of the air con. Yannish notices the spider’s two front legs resiliently resisting the air to gain just millimetres while it’s other six mercifully flap around like streamers on a windy day. A smile spreads across his face as he begins to consider the spider a comrade of persistence. One of the entities that never give up, or so he thinks of himself and of the little money spider. Both of them are fighting against the things far more powerful than them but similarly they are fighting things above them, although the little spider is literally doing this while Yannish’s battle is far more complex, layered and only figuratively looking down at him. He begins to look beyond the wall, straight through it, squinting his eyes as he searches for something further afield. The images come rolling out of his head like slides from a projector. He looks down to see his legs apart but remain solid to the ground, he raises his right hand and touches his cheek. Feeling the perspiration slowly trickling down and hanging from his chin where one by one they fall down and seep deep into the fabric of his clothes...
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Yannish feels himself clutching hard on the object, his breath heavy and laden with the gargling sound of phlegm as he exhales exposing his tobacco ingesting past time. Inside his body tiny blood vessels are delivering thousands of messages to his brain as each second ticks by causing him to get agitated and confused as each one clashes and contradicts the next. He strives for clarity but instead finds his mind awash with flickers of images of his past experiences intertwined with feelings of possible occurrences of the coming present. Images of dates with girls when he was 15, his driving test, his first pay packet from his first job spliced with trepidation, fear, success and relief. This cocktail swirling around his head makes his concentration slushy so lets his eyes help relive him. His eyes gaze straight ahead staring at the fag stained wall, noticing a spider’s web dangling from the top right hand corner, swaying with the rhythmic sounds of the air conditioning. The spider, hanging on the end battling against the wafts of air coming from above, desperately trying to climb up to the more intricate and stable parts of the web but each time progress is made it’s pushed back down with the current of the air con. Yannish notices the spider’s two front legs resiliently resisting the air to gain just millimetres while it’s other six mercifully flap around like streamers on a windy day. A smile spreads across his face as he begins to consider the spider a comrade of persistence. One of the entities that never give up, or so he thinks of himself and of the little money spider. Both of them are fighting against the things far more powerful than them but similarly they are fighting things above them, although the little spider is literally doing this while Yannish’s battle is far more complex, layered and only figuratively looking down at him. He begins to look beyond the wall, straight through it, squinting his eyes as he searches for something further afield. The images come rolling out of his head like slides from a projector. He looks down to see his legs apart but remain solid to the ground, he raises his right hand and touches his cheek. Feeling the perspiration slowly trickling down and hanging from his chin where one by one they fall down and seep deep into the fabric of his clothes...
1 comment:
Carry on!
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