I and I (18/June/18)

remember being six?…
six years old, when everything was new, exciting, even fantastical, novel and full of potential, a time before growing to discover everything turns to shit……
(I don’t doubt many will stop reading at this point…)
innocence is not to be underestimated, nor should it be equated with ignorance… innocence is a genuine naivety while ignorance is wilful, bloody-minded, self-delusion, often stubborn, and absolutely nothing to do with pigs but a well and truly human trait and frequently goes hand-in-hand with laziness, deceit and to some extent self-loathing with a dash of inferiority complex thrown in for good measure…… ignorance is a choice, innocence isn’t…. hence why a 6 year old can be excused some things, within reason, even though sometimes it can be decidedly frustrating in itself, with the very real defence of innocence, whereas there is no apology for ignorance, something grown-ups have in spades, some more than others, increasingly more some than others as this is the way the pendulum swings……
… expectations are low for a 6 year olds, in the main, leaving out for the moment the inevitable 18 year plan aspirational parents have for their unwary offspring, with the inherent tendency towards innocence but for adults these expectations grow accompanied by intolerance of ignorance  which adults all fall foul of one time or another while hoping trial and error sees us through, some clearly taking that on board better than others, increasingly leaving little wriggle-room for innocence which  can no longer be used as a justification under the ‘should know better’ rule based on the principle of having years, definitely more than six, to basically get your act together…… for better or worse we leave innocence behind, there’s little choice, sadly though it seems an increasing number replace it with ignorance evident in a daily parade of the grotesque which sadly has a trickle-down effect eroding the innocence of the child’s imagination which in so many cases become all-too soon subsumed in the ignorance of grown-ups….
… cynicism shouldn’t, per se, replace innocence but can in some cases be a worthy opponent to ignorance, or that’s my excuse anyway, though perhaps scepticism may prove a more effective tool… whatever, as they say, what do I know………

© 2018 robert greig

like thoughts aren’t (17/June/18)

it was morning, a few flecks, apologetic remnants of yesterday’s rain which had given up the ghost well before evening even before the afternoon got wind and damped it down with a blanket of cloud-pocked blue… thoughts were marshalling, lining up for the day getting ready to rise up like some kind of zombie army, uncoordinated, random, staggering without really anywhere to go (as I’m sure the last zombie you met was just like that), fanning out this way and that a bit like ripples don’t…… however big, messy, clumsy a splash is the ripples that radiates are always tidy, even, concentric, symmetrically-inclined, exhibiting a certain unassailable order regardless of how traumatic its birth may have been…… ripples are stubborn, refuseniks of chaos, control-freaks…. like thoughts aren’t, though doesn’t stop them having pretensions of such but instead merely tripping over one another, two left feet the lot of them, overlapping, spilling, head-on collisions, ricocheting then scattering like woodlice unexpectedly exposed upon lifting a brick from where they were slumberly sheltering and having forgot to plan for such an eventuality, or more likely not even ‘thought’ of it in the first place…some will remain huddled, infiltrated and exposed longer than others not believing it’s happening, while the majority streak off in all manner of directions as fast as their fourteen legs can carry them (imagine having fourteen legs, I’d like to see you handle them without falling over yourself) defying any predatorial attempts to catch them all… once you let the genie out of the bottle there’s no squeezing it back in, while wondering how it even got in there in the first place…… all the while each woodlice wearing an expression of surprise as much as the one who lifted the brick and taken aback by this explosion of feverish activity, the way ripples don’t…… I hate being woken up suddenly, I imagine the woodlice feel the same…… and thoughts……… …

© 2018 robert greig

bowling for gulls (16/June/18)

there be gulls nesting by the bowling green… not quite dragons I know but they give a good dive-bombing and shout, boy do they shout when one dares step across that invisible threshold within striking distance of the white-washed brick edifice underscored with moderately-comfortable wooden-slat seating where one would normally perch ones bottom to drink in the long view, way down the Strait to a and far, far away, to the wind turbines dutifully lined in tidy array harvesting breezes with a turn of the screw… sit oneself on the other side of the shelter gazing westward and be confronted with bowls, truly the beautiful game and not that antagonistic football, played by gentlefolk, of the fiercely competitive kind, with the focus of hawks and a humble gentility (as humble as the fiercely-competitive can be) the epitome of sportsmanship, unless… there’s no game  to which one can turns one attention to an empty green shaved within an inch of its root that as flat as a pancake with tiny trickeries of subtle undulations over this over-groomed surface here and there that only the keen or experienced bowler will see, beyond which the bridge ever-looming and framing the scene with familiar intent… and then there be gulls who have chosen the roof of the shelter to furnish a nest to harbour their eggs which in turn become hatchlings which in turn become chicks they protect with a fervour, with cries and with screams, swoops and with squawks and the finely-tuned eyes against all and any weary unwary soul seeking refuge, a sit with a view only to find, for now at least, that until comes a time that the gulls deem to fledge their welcome will surely be less than welcoming… so for now there be gulls, the shelter-gulls, who I bet when no one is looking might sneak in a quick game of bowls for themselves………

© 2018 robert greig