There is sadness, is that not one of the reasons I go there. Four down beats to every five beat bar, or five to every seven on an upbeat kind of day.
Beats and bars and sweet sorrowful music to coincide with the tides ebb and flow; compelled by what's lost and what's not to be. To tell the truth how can we be swell yet at the same time dwell on the past presented by itself.
There is hurt and pain, it is more than one half of what drives me. The coiled spring that energises the clock when otherwise all time seems spent.
There are imaginary postulations, which if revealed would for sure embarrass me. I also need to find places, to hide those moments of half-belief in ridiculous implausible situations and coincidences.
These are daydreams of indiscrete circumstances. Premeditations created with wilful invitations. Invitations which are often, in my mind, super-sensorially accepted.
All this holds at bay the clear and final closure; yes there is upset, the infinite concentration and distillation of years of personal doubt.
Yet to give this up, to give up this past, to offer it to flame is no more or no less than a partial personal cremation. It is too big an ask of this one person.
Fires rise, flames die away, embers glow until the rains come, but our embers, hey continue to glow way beyond the rainfalls.
There is the mouth’s sour taste of waste; what a place to take the case to tribunal. There to face the rights and wrongs, to sing the songs of good and bad, across pontius pilate's plate of contemplative pebbles.
One stays quiet, even with the most direct attack. Clearly more had broken down than could be in one mind entertained. That stream of bile on the journey north, what had been done to deserve this, surely tiredness can only accept one part share of blame.
I too am tired, tired of all the unease that surrounds me. It is as though I am at the kernel of tiredness, the core of the earths negative energy.
And so I write, with coloured pens. I listen to artists in colourful conversation. I choose purple as my new seasons colour. I re-engage with paisley patterned cotton shirts, resplendent in their tones of blues and berries.
