Kaleidescope

esleadlight

Sweet, self-induced coma, brought on by dope that earns its’ keep.

Brain sloshing around the skull, collecting shells from the sodden shore, I absent-mindedly staggered back to the security of the elephant footpath, as grey as death, the sky a pregnant sponge.

The other bodies trundle past, not seeing me. But I see them; their spirits.

The completely vulgar couple, walking entwined.

Guffawing donkey lady with sprays of orange hair leaping away from the cranium.

Dusty, cobwebby old man, shuffling and murmuring.

Gaunt, starving junkie, zigzagging and blathering.

Middle-aged beetroot, pickled with alcohol.

Rotten bacon bikie, eyes and jaw locked, strutting unconvincingly.

Witch wannabe, furiously flapping purple sleeves, slitty conniving eyes.

Bulldozing business lady, sure-footed and pretentiously crisp.

Too tired to notice more, so I turned to the library, diving for security.

The librarian, crusty with knowledge, peered suspiciously at me, but I didn’t

care, and flopped down on the chair.

Putty faces everywhere, so I submerse myself into useless information.

St Paul eradicating women from the church – “Let your women keep silence

in the churches, for it is not permitted unto them to speak.” Stupid prick.

Lost Aztec history, self-help manuals, psychology magazines, spy novels.

Boredom.

Back home to nothingness.

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No beauty without decay

This is the nature of impermanence. No night without day. No light without dark. No beauty without decay. Everything ebbs & flows. To be static is to be without life. The only stasis is in the mind, in memory. But even when it’s enforced it slips around like smoke in your hand. To capture the beauty is to kill it. But is utter freedom desirable? No more than utter captivity. Is the middle way the way to go? Does that mean stasis? To be like a leaf on the wind, without laying roots, is romantic for a while – but then, the aching need for stability creeps in. (At least, every once in a while.) Better to have an anchor with a long chain! If beauty is in the eye of the beholder – then may the beholder see beauty in all things. I see beauty in rotting compost – insects & worms wriggling about – industry! I see beauty in an ageing face – experience! I see beauty in disease – revelation! I see beauty in misery & despair – understanding! I see beauty in chaos & destruction – transformation! I see beauty in death – freedom! This is all a projection.wpcarainbow