all in a day’s bleak (17/May/18)

I found a book among the books, its title spoke to me as did the first page when I opened it door and peered inside… on any other day I may not have noticed it as such among the piles and rows of spines that lay or stood or posed in lean-too pose each holding one another up showing just enough to tantalise the wandering eye…
… I’ve read a lot of books over the years and this’ll be just another journey, I even pondered recently making as comprehensive as possible a list of all the books I’ve ever read but as I began mentally listing them the list grew exponentially and kept growing with a gnawing worry of its value unless I managed to remember every single one and being there’s close to no chance I feasibly could without forgetting one or two or tens from the list… it would be all or nothing, anything less just wouldn’t do despite my proclivity for making lists, being more than a bit of a listomaniac… hence this was one list that wasn’t going to happen….
… lists are the perfect foil for wasting time, though whether it’s wasted could be debateable, as they say if it makes you happy then it can’t be that bad, they are an ideal distraction, especially when the only word worth describing ones state of mind at the moment is bleak….
bleak
… the sound a lamb with a speech impediment makes…
bleak
… that shape-shifting mole that appears on your skin, lingering then mysteriously vanishes after which no one ever believes you had it…
bleak
… a blink that goes wrong becoming a stuttering eye twitch for the next five minutes or so yet imperceptible to anyone around you who again don’t believe you and think you’re just being a cheeky flirt…
…… what’s for breakfast?…. I’m glad you asked, porridge of course……….

© 2018 robert greig

at sea (8/May/18)

here I am again~~~~ at sea~~~~ having finished yet another book, reading it that is, and this time it’s serious, I don’t seem to have the next one lined up as I usually do, at least one, so am decidedly adrift like a raft of fire ants at the whims of an oceans currents… it could be a good thing but I need my anchor of a book on the go, a world into which I can retreat at any given moment and am likely to end the day immersed within and perhaps even begin a day the same ensconced in a bubble of page-turning plots and twists…… don’t get me wrong, I have ideas, I always have a head full of must-reads, often not the obvious ones as some of those I’ve already read and others, well, I only read what I want to read, will enjoy, and not what others think I should or are generally thought of a essential to one’s literary credibility…… so after breakfast my first task of the day is to scour the bookshelves, at home and if no joy, if nothing floats my fire ant raft then the bookshop, luckily there are still some around despite certain agenda-mongers making us think that physical print is “so last century” and “who goes to bookshops anymore when I can get everything (everything?) I need from an exploitative, monopolising, overbearing, cynical online shop named after some big river or other somewhere in a forest somewhere”… cautionary note, even rivers come to an end eventually, probably in the very same sea I’m anxiously drifting like a raft of fire ants and as swimming upstream would be ludicrously wasteful then I’ll be going to the bookshop, though I worry a raft of fire ants suddenly turning up in a bookshop may cause more of a stir than would be intended…… I think my metaphors are beginning to become a tad metaphysical, where was I?…… see, without a book, a huge mug of coffee and a big squishy armchair I’m…. at sea…… I’m hoping for inspiration as to my next adventure though at the same time quite stubborn with a tendency to ignore any recommendations over discovering my own new worlds…. I imagine fire ants are quite stubborn too…… regardless, it will be a book-proper, hardback or paperback, not fussy, as I read with my hands as well as my eyes…. … … …  I wonder, what do fire ants read………….

© 2018 robert greig

blank pages (16/April/18)

the most enigmatic part of any book has to be the blank pages at the end, at the back of the book, hidden yet not, left anonymous, unused, as though waiting and still waiting, unrequited…… they seem surplus, superfluous and yet integral… a silence after sentences have been spoken, the pause, the breath to be taken, inhalation… exhalation… merging and submerging…… reflect…… balancing on the echoes of words read… from beginnings and unknowns through turns and twists that bring you here, just here, where the end is just beginning all over again… wiser… blank pages… a lithographic landscape lingers and escapes now running rife in your imagination… you can’t unread the book, only bear its consequences… blank pages aren’t to be squandered, skipped, ignored, it’s never an end until you’ve reached the end, they are an essential ingredient to the recipe…… there are more in some books than others but all nonetheless worth a moments attention… never frivolous, never wasted, never padding, instead they invite you beyond where you’ve just been, if you’re listening that is… blank pages engender curiousity for the curious, for the not-curious, well, let’s just say you haven’t looked hard enough………

© 2018 robert greig