With no snooze button

I’ve got that internal volcano feeling again that feeling where all the ideas in my head come bubbling to the surface all at once. Now add to that the relentlessness of time…

Time past, time present, time future…

Time ticking like a bomb.

Time ticking, as in running out off.

Time ticking with no snooze button.

Oh! Time to feed the cats among a hundred other things.

I finally found the design I want for my Signifying Clay Tumblr blog. What’s that you ask, ANOTHER blog? Well yes. It’s a place to house some of my poems and documentary photographs without the distraction of the other stuff I post here that sits outside of those two categories.

I desperately needed to get out of the house today. I’ve been holed up here for most of the weekend.  With all the inmates away, the house was quiet.  Good for reading, but after a while you get tired only hearing your own voice.

I went to the food and drink festival in Leamington Spa. The weather wasn’t playing nice, but I managed to do a quick survey of the fest:

And then the rains came…

I retreated to a nearby coffee joint.

Sidebar: I wanted to try one of the smaller none chain coffee houses but all of them were full. I had to beat a hasty retreat to one of the big and familiar joints – Starbucks in the mall. The storefront looks out onto the mall, which is great for people watching, so it wasn’t too bad.  Also I needed to write.

In the spirit of working out loud here’s a draft of the prose poem I worked on in Starbucks:

Let’s make a run for the spectators who hesitated at the moment of freedom, sacrificed all the books, all the paintings and the music. Burnt the old culture to the ground. It’s an impossible situation. The old gods formed a circle, held hands, sang Kumbaya until the lady with the insect eyes left the hollow vacant field. She wasn’t looking for this kind of exposure. She just wanted to escape the beast, get across the bridge to the other side. Why did the chicken cross the road anyway? We ‘dug our treasures there,’ but we can’t recall where we buried our pleasures. And even if we could, you wouldn’t believe us. You took a bite out of the apple and thought all life was rotten. The old gods settled down at dawn. You may never be happy again in our empty house of content.


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