Sinister: dramatis personae

[Gordon]

it was a quiet afternoon and things weren't going so well: all these
crossing lines communicating somewhere as if the signal box of that
highly important mainline was shifting louchely of it's own casual
accord and those big steel trains hurtling nowhere and maybe about to
crash.
however

one always feels the need for solution
a formulation
a triangele in the saline ocean-reflected sky: I shalln't say too much
but I'm already buried, and, btw: the flowers; little tiny fresias, are
in a cool breeze rather sweetly and their scent, too, goes nowhere.

Stop.
metaphors of screeching rusty brakes of a night-express or word-play on
stop/sop/glob/global morning and where? again; where?
one cannot love everyone: not in the true sense of always being there.
Only this myth we thought might be a nice idea might achieve that but
that was then: at its apotheosis of corruption about one thousand years
ago: analysed 500 years go once the crusaders stopped killing moors and
stuffed with miracles farther back. Or so it is written and, on the net:
we write. Why? In order to connect, but connection isn't enough. As
James Bond said, as said by the actor Pierce Brosnan: the world is not
enough. So, what is enough?

REALITY
yeah; that mundane thingy
someone's face: maybe I get the whole thing wrong and figured
instantaneous: maybe you read and think I'm not being private and
discreet and using a pop band and the efforts of a very talented
gentleman to further my own instincts

i'm trying not to: if I thought it was either bad or daft, yes, but if
one might search for the slightness of truth
the truth is a very slender animal
scary as an eel: as bright as the glints on a running stream

May I? maybe you don't want me to: I'm bored of being embarassed: I'm
bored of being sad and shy. I still think that sadness and shyness are
beautiful things like those ants that were trapped in a rock and are
still alive four thousand years later
But why later?

Gordon

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