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now

Longing to be in the present moment he had trained himself to act spontaneously - to make snap decisions that would somehow break his usual routine. This could be something as small as changing the route to work following some arbitrary measure that could change at the last second. Doing this daily would influence his brain and make him more decisive and wont to give in to sudden impulses.

He thought that this was a good thing until he found himself stealing, masturbating in public and now standing over the body of his wife who he had stabbed multiple times for doing that thing where she starts talking and then takes a bite of something, leaving you to wait for the chewing to subside or endure both at the same time.

#nonsense

couple

Happy or held hostage who could say other than his vindictive sweetheart and beloved captor. They shared a smile so similar that it looked like an imprint, an instruction. The collective persona they had decided to share, united as one: together we stand, together we do most things, better than the alternative, at least that’s what he had been taught.

#nonsense

morse

The rain collects on the flat roof above my room until it pushes out and finds passage down the loose guttering, falling with unexpected weight to my windowsill in a rhythm that speeds and slows with seeming intention as though tapping out a message in morse code directly from God to me: ‘good luck sleeping through this you unbelieving wanker…’

diagnosis

The diagnosis fell on deaf ears. The diagnosis, not of deafness, but the biggun: The Big Cancer. Too stunned by the sudden shift in tone, the air was sucked from the room - creating a vacuum through which the doctor’s words couldn’t travel. All Hank could hear was the blood rushing around his ears and the heartbeat in his throat. This made the exchange rather awkward as minutes passed and eventually the doctor stopped talking, and as Hank sat there silently, waiting still for the news that had already been given.

#nonsense

thoughtcrime

frivolous remarks had landed him in trouble once again. overheard by someone with nothing better to do, an unbusy busy-body with a sensitive disposition and a free afternoon, he would aim all his rage at this unknown accuser. All that energy that should have been reserved for explanations and apologies was now spent on thought projections as he garrotted this faceless entity in an act so obscene that should anyone have seen the image, a wandering psychic maybe, than he would surely be arrested, sectioned or at the very least complained about again.

#stream of consciousness #nonsense

non-moment

The in-depth discussion between the two comedians and the Canadian astronaut had me elsewhere, considering the magnitude of the cosmos, stealing me away from the moment in which I was squeezed between bodies of the London Underground. The girl beside me said something to someone, it could have been me so I pause the podcast and listen for a follow-up rather than look at her directly.

‘Should we get off? Does this mean we get off?’

Evidently she is talking to anyone and everyone, and no-one is replying. I unplug as a matter of courtesy when I hear the broadcasted message.

‘THIS IS AN EMERGENCY, PLEASE VACATE THE STATION IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY...’

It is only now that I notice that the doors have not closed, and that the display board shows the same looping emergency warning. Faces shoot to each other with a kind of excitement. Are we in danger? Are we part of something? What becomes immediately apparent is that not one person has moved from the carriage. I stand up along with the girl and a few break off from the stubborn commuters who obviously don’t believe the warning, or don’t care.

We walk out onto the platform with a steadily growing crowd when there is an announcement, to the passengers only. I lean into an open set of doors, the girl sees and thinks I have changed my mind so takes the opportunity and jumps straight back on. The announcement tells us the train is leaving. There was no emergency.

The alarm system calls wolf as all of the delayed passengers and resentful lookers on are conditioned to ignore future warnings. I leave my earphones dangling down over my coat and take in the novelty of this non-moment as people are stirred to talk to one another.

#commute #London Underground

The train driver's apology was announced in a chipper tone, which made it easier to swallow. That was until a background noise came over the tannoy, overlapping the Driver's voice and forcing him to raise an octave. A few eyes meet with a shared look of confusion. They heard it. They waited with furrowed brows, worn as a sign to others to confirm their suspicions, as they listened to the cracks in his voice, clearly overdoing the peppy energy now, and then: the noise again. Undoubtedly: the sound of a small child's muffled scream. The Driver carries on with his apology, perhaps he thinks it more natural than to cut off abruptly. Then the background scream escaped again. The Driver reiterated his apology and laughs nervously - about the delay? The eyes of those acknowledging this elephant in the carriage dart to each other in horror, before addressing their watches and sighing, pulling out their phones to tell their families they'd be late again.

hypothetical

Sometimes he would imagine something going wrong. Not just one incident but a series of unfortunate events. He would project forward in time, on a hypothetical timeline, in which one mishap would snowball into complete disaster. If he lost his keys momentarily he would pat his pockets and find them, but in the next 5minutes or so he would imagine the pain and hassle that would entail if he had in fact lost them. He would force himself to experience the distress of this hypothetical pondering before allowing the satisfaction of knowing that this was not the case. It made him more appreciative of the moment. Of things going right.

#writing #nonsense

A prayer room?

"A whole room for prayer? Just a place to sit ennit? Can't you just do it at your desk? So it needs to be wuiet does it? Book out a meeting room. A silent room. How long does it take? 'Look after my mum, get me a house..' 5mins tops right. They could book out a certain time of day.. I prayed a couple of times when I was little. It was like a trial you know. For the both of us haha. I remember when I was about 12 and I just got this bike. It was a great bmx you know. I could ride with no hands and all that. I mean I still can but this was when I learnt it. So I brought in to school to show everyone my bike during break, and then left it in Mrs Robertson's cupboard. When school finished a bunch of people came to find me cas they had heard about my bike and wanted to see my ride it about. When I went to get it out it wasn't there. All the kids went quiet until Joe Hasdon started laughing and they all started fucking cackling together. Pricks. That night I remember laying in bed thinking about it. Humiliating you know. I thought about life. Real deep and everything, I was proper advanced for my age. I thought about who would let this happen. Then I got out of bed and prayed. I was scared of being caught. Embarrassing you know. Like someone walking in whilst you're talking to yourself. I'd rather be caught wanking. I asked for my bike back - and said I would believe in him and pray to him everyday if he could save me that grief, that humiliation. Next day, at school. I see Joe Hasdon who looks at me all furious like but he carries on walking. Then I get to Mrs Robertson's class and I see my bike. I don't know if it was him. No-one ever said anything about it. But from then I knew. If it was god then he's a pushover. Gullible. He was gonna take me at my word. What the fuck did I care I got my bike back."

#writing #nonsense

meeting en route

I leave the house at 7:30 but don't start work till 9:30. This commute time I utilise as my own personal time in which I can read a novel or try to write one myself. On this morning a large oaf with his much larger voice decides to lecture the friend opposite on the rundown and subsequent breakdown of his day - filled with all the nomenclature and platitudes of the networking industry. Undeterred by his disinterest and capitalising on his silence, he projects at him and the rest of us by proxy. I'm on my way to work and yet I find myself in a fucking meeting.

Electorate

No heavenly power made itself known, perhaps for fear of making itself fallible. True power came from the illusion of control and if the truth was known, for all the faith that was required to believe in this deity, He was rather doubtful Himself. No-one could judge this hypocrisy for they were all too aware of the world leaders they elected when given the choice, the images that they were drawn to time and again.. or maybe these candidates followed in His footsteps, created themselves in His image, in which case this was the very source of public persona - God was truly the first charlatan.

unique

What profound thought Will my narrow mind afford me Best I dedicate myself to something Specialise in anything So that I can express myself with authority.

#poem

toy soldiers

I'll build you an army From origami Swans mostly White, ghostly Beak in place of rifle Wings for melee Peck and stifle In the sea Or just as easily Out of water Little green men lambs to the slaughter Hung, drawn and quartered Or just flapped at an awful lot

#poem #pome

daydream ambition

His hypothetical ambition knew no bounds, as he would sit there in the trappings of his own life imagining what it would be like to be successful in any number of other professions. Listening to music on his way into work he would often, despite having never played an instrument, project himself to be in the position of each of the band - to have that level of talent and the success and adoration that followed. This was not a matter of daydreaming, he was convinced that these imaginings would be completely viable had he focussed his attention to that particular field. He just didn't have the time. Was a shame really - not just for him but the leagues of fans who didn't even know they were missing out; some of them probably sitting near him on the train, not aware of the potential genius that was being bottled up by this humble and multi-faceted chameleon.

volatile streak

The spindly grey-streak of a man held prayer-met hands over his face as they all shuffled through the doors and spilled down the aisle. He rubbed at his deepset eyes, the bags beneath appearing as quite severe bruises. The desperate clawing at his face looked painful, as though he could press through his gaunt cheeks to the source of the haemorrhaging. The smoky slim man sat there tired and notably irritated - his gestures and apparent mood would be enough to instill fear in those who saw him. They would understand why this was the last straw, why he had to end it all, why he would create tragedy as recourse to set things right. The regular commuters wouldn't even notice. Whether they had become so familiar with such sights that they ignored them, or whether they wanted him to do it, to end it for all of them. The commuters didn't need to acknowledge the clear stress of the man for they harboured him within, everyday.

Turbostar Class 171

Forcing his way through the crowd at the doors he fought his way to the aisle in search of a seat. Spying a clear headrest he moved toward it when he noticed a suitcase on the seat next to a middle-aged, middle-class man. He gestured to the seat hoping that this would be all the confrontation needed to clear a space, but the man simply stroked the case and pushed a shushing finger to his lips, before looking back out the window. Spurred on by the audacity of this self-satisfied suit, he reached out and tapped him on the shoulder. 'Could you move your bag?', he said in a flat accusatory tone that didn't feel like a question, to which the man turned once again and chuckled to himself. He gently rocked the case forward so that it was lying flat, and uncliped the lock, pulling it open by only a few inches before slamming it closed and refixing the lock. With that he apologised and continued his pursuit for somewhere to perch.

couple

She could tell that he wasn't present anymore, that he didn't enjoy spending time with her. It was as though he was doing it out of politeness, but thinly veiled as to let her know the fact. Through his passive aggressive gestures he was telling her that he didn't want to be with her, but also that he would fake it to keep them together. He was doing this for her - or at least that's what he communicated through these idiosyncrasies.

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