Break In The Rain

He had been too busy
To look at the moon
So it was good for him
That I had taken a photograph
Good for me also
For whilst yes
I had seen the real thing
The camera forced me
Encouraged me
To take a few extra moments
To make sure of what it was
That I was seeing
To then compose, and frame
The whole thing
Take one more deep breath
And press the shutter

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Sentenced

The sentences would not stop appearing, the story kept on reinventing itself; is this the onset of madness, the steps to the depths of delirium.

The sentences gathered themselves, as if in vast fields of flowers, whose tips were welded together, into the light emitting diodes of the many thousand colours.

Three times I forced a closure, three times the sentences appeared again, until at last I rose from my bed; it was one hour past midnight.

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Performing Arts

I was on a tour, of film studios, or space simulation sets, or fairy grottos.

We had been split into two groups, two, quite old, and pretty much useless women, were showing our group around.

We finished the first half and were going across the courtyard to another building when the tour guide asked if all was going ok; we were told the boss might talk to us in the next place.

The entrance to his room was locked and guarded; instead we had a choice of some steep stone steps, or to enter a big empty room, which didn't seem to go anywhere, although we could hear the other group.

I was wearing the outlandish clothing of my teenage years, really big bell-bottom trousers, which totally covered my shoes, and a big trench-coat, which came down to my ankles, also I wore a wizards pointed hat.

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Shaped Words

There were shapes, like rounded rectangles, they contained words. They were placed sequentially, and when one moved the rest moved; their position vis a vis the others couldn't be changed without separating the words, without starting afresh with new words. It was like an editor with little or no control over the work; once the tablets had been laid down then there they stayed. The apparent flexibility was infinitesimally inflexible; the care then had to be in laying the words down, absolutely correctly, in the first place.

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Forced Words

I was trying to dictate words, but the words would not come out, the words would not be spoken, they were stuck inside my head, inside my thought processing mechanisms; it was a real struggle to push the words out, and when eventually they were released they came along half a sentence at a time.

The last three to six words glowed, shone in many different colours; these were neon words, words so very special that hardship had to be endured, and care taken, when taking them from the cerebral cortex, out and onto the parchment.

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