eggsistentially-speaking (16/May/18)

“home, home on the range
where the deer and the antelope play……”

it’s strange the tunes that pop into our heads on a whim, without thinking, as though with a life of their own like they have their reasons but are damned if they’re going to share it them with us, we’re just conduits for their fancies to sometimes come complete or just a few or just a single line often leaving us naggingly trying to remember the rest of the words which it refuses to offer up any time soon…… it’s the thought of ranges that set me off I think… there’s an egg box sat in the kitchen, not in the fridge of course, never need to put eggs in the fridge when they’re quite content thank you very much in their good old roughened cardboard superbly-designed-for-eggs-and-never-been-bettered egg-box… half a dozen, should you being wondering… or not, nevertheless I’ve furnished you with that titbit anyway free of charge and no string attached… or umbilical cords… and on the box it says ‘Free Range’ which all the eggs I buy are, although I know this to be a reused box and no longer hold the original eggs it came with as I got given it buy a friend who has some chicken free-roaming around their over-large garden and gave me some otherwise they’d have far too many than they can eat and if they did try would probably turn into eggs being forced to eat eggs with every meal three meals a day and still would have eggs to spare so prolific are their half a dozen or so (though I don’t know how many the ‘or so’ account for) hens are at egg-laying… here an egg, there an egg, everywhere an egg, egg…… and ‘egg’ is such an excellent word, often overlooked, taken for granted, included willy-nilly among a whole stream of other words many of which deemed far more important than its humble three letters, egg… though it only contains two letters as such, ‘e’ and ‘g’, so in some way the extra ‘g’ could be seen as surplus to requirement, except one might confuse the word ‘eg’ as referring to the abbreviation of “for example” which may cause some confusion, not least for the hens who lay them suddenly looking behind to see not a smooth, hard shelled, usually though not exclusively white’ish ovoid but instead a for example something or other nestled in the straw, and it could be an example of anything, anything at all horrifyingly enough…. imagine their surprise!
… anyway…. that’s probably how “home, home on the range came to mind” while stirring my porridge….

© 2018 robert greig

eggs for breakfast (6/Feb/18)

it’s ten to ten
is it?
yes…
good-o
think I’ll go to bed then…
at this time?
yes, why not?
a bit early isn’t it?
is it?
I mean, it’s not even 10 o’clock, or “ten of the clock” as they say
do they say that?
I supposed someone must…
ok…… and you’re right it isn’t 10 yet, it’s ten too…
indeed, I stand, or as I’m sat, sit corrected
it just feels like bed time to me, being winter and all, dark, has been for hours and hours, like everything outside has already beaten me too it and is well on the way to slumbertown…
I see, well yes it is dark and has been for hours and hours…
are you going to repeat everything I say now?
… no…
good-o
oh, good one, sneaky, you slipped that on in under the duvet that’s for sure
I have my moments…
so it’s ten to ten and you’re off to bed then… I made a rhyme!
[flicks eyes skywards] I feel like I’m tuning into something, finding the darks wavelength and resting the dial just… there… just there between the static and some far, far away foreign station whose language I have no idea of… I feel it could slip off any moment as analogue dials are prone to doing, design quirks an’ all… I’ve found the frequency and daren’t move it now…
wow, sounding all a bit profound there
thanks?
albeit it a bit over-egged…
over-egged?
a bit yes
you comparing my stream of philosophical consciousness inspiring revelations with something on the breakfast menu?
keep your hair on, oops you don’t have any [mild self-giggle], you don’t even eat eggs for breakfast, what do you care?
I don’t, that’s true, but I might… sometime…
might? when?… when have you ever eaten eggs for breakfast or have even entertained the idea of it in any foreseeable, entertainable future?
admittedly I never have, again, can’t disagree on principle… actually, I tell a lie, I have, once, when I was 13…
well, that hardly counts…. so what did you think?
clearly not a lot as I’ve, as you say, never had them for breakfast since, anyway the point is…
what is the point?
the point is…
yes?
it is….
what?
… that it’s now ten past ten and I’m way past my bedtime…

© 2018 robert greig

not a muse (9/Jan/18)

another day when the blog-muse has abandoned ship and left me standing here like a lemon… now what do I do?… has he left me anything?….. some scrappy notes laying around here, and over here, more over here, what an untidy, disorganised muse it is… here, I think I might have found something, will just unscrunch this ball of paper……

garlic… he likes garlic… great!… now what am supposed to do with that, write an entire blog on garlic?…… which I suppose I could but it would be just praising it for being, well, garlic, and brilliant and being the best thing since sliced bread, or before sliced bread I imagine… I can’t get enough it is, it says here, seems my muse is a real garlic-head… though to have a head like a garlic might turn a few heads but perhaps not in the way you’d prefer, unless you are a garlic then having a head like a garlic is perfectly acceptable and preferable… better than having a head like a turnip, because then you’d be a turnip and not a garlic and not the best thing since, or before, sliced bread… and even though I like turnips, I love garlic…… although love may be a tad strong a word for it being I am somewhat ambivalent about the whole love- thing which seems to me to be an excuse for other things entirely, a shorthand perhaps but invariably misleading and a distraction, and quite often it seems the complete opposite… with that in mind I would have to say perhaps with greater clarity, garlic rocks!……

apart from that pretty much my muse says little else about garlic, which is a bit of a failing on his part being that he’s supposed to be my muse, my inner creativity and yet, well “garlic rocks!”?.. how creative is that?….. must have had an off-day, or a day off like now it appears as he’s disappeared and nowhere to be seen…… I should check the biscuit tin, that’s where he was last time munching his way through ginger crunch and chocolate chip oatcakes, he may ‘love’ garlic but also has somewhat of a sweet tooth…… he had better get his muse-funk into gear pretty damn soon, and hopefully he’ll have left a few crumbs for me……

© 2018 robert greig