Notes from a dark, dark hole: Part 3 - Suffoofering-ing
The cold chilled my bones to brittle stalactites drooping in the gloom. The sun shone not for me, but for you and people like you. This was the way of my world. A world without light, only darkness and decay. A world with me, myself and no eye for company, for Frog Boy had long departed in search of adventures new. It was with a sad heart he left me all alone in the grunge, but I understood his stool. He is a child of the light. A bringer of light to dark places, not just for me, but for others who had been banished from where they once called 'Home' and where once home had called them 'Mine'. In this blanket solitude, I confused myself with me and had an argument over a saddle. "A saddle and no horse?", I thought...Yes, no horse...how strange.
As the saga continues, strange things emerge...Engage your rapture again tomorrow...
Notes from a dark, dark hole: Part 4 - The Spillage
Life became a dreary, drudgery of droning dullness. Not a sound was uttered - neither garbled, not spoke - by anyone, two, three, four, five, once I caugt a fish alive. The day began as it ended - in silence. Old Mother Goose gandered on and on about the goldeness and wot-not-wot of silence, but to me...in that place...well...It wasn't fun, I can tell ya. Occasionally, I would peak through the iron bars of my bondage and catch a glimpse of a ball yet caught. It was like watching a rainbow fall from it's lofty peak into the ether from whence it came. This life was no life, but bark on bark and tooth of tale. It seemed inhuman to cast my being into such a vacuous pit, but such is the need of little people, with big positions..."Assert thy authority! Make an example! Don't delay, what you can do today!" - this is the mantra of that sort. Such a shame that power in the hands of an whisp becomes a sting in the tale of a wasp. Corruption and incompetance walking hand in hand, while stars crawl foot to foot on a dirty floor! The spillage occured during recess. I dropped an egg out of my cup. It broke. The egg that is. The cup was/is fine, thanks for asking come again.
Where will this recount of solitude end? No body knows...More tomorrow. You're too kind!
Notes from a dark, dark hole: Part 5 - The Quaffle
"Stootin' Tuesdays when all is went-up and blimped"...This was the kind of thought that would pervade the crevices of my mind. It was like a drunken drill infatuated with the sound of it's own monotony as it bore away into the duldrums divine. Such utter consistency made my monkey sore and my fingers even more starched. I needed escape, but here I was slapped and bound between an idiot and a renegade! What life is this, that binds the beauty of being with the bell of bucolically? Prevarication was never an option in the face of their blight. They wanted nothing from me, but my silence and my movement. They had both for a while, but in the end I am free and they are still slaves to their laws and patrons to their 'peace'. Some hopes rise and fall with the tides, but theirs is a nothingness that can not be broken by sun, sea or saviour. Life like that is undeserving of the word. Trill me, fish me, fillet me - you will never fully berate me.
More soon...make the tea...we're nearly there!