unasymmetricality (2/July/18)

long-tailed tits, Aberystwyth, traeth heulog…
… what on earth have these three goodies have in common, apart from two being Welsh and one being a bird that occurs in Wales, and of course me being in Wales, there’s one common factor though not the one I’m looking for……
… they are the pictures on my three calendars… yes, I have three… three is a good number, dontcha think, I do, that’s why I have three, I always have three, any more is too many and less would be not enough…… too many, not enough?…… three is the perfect balance, like most if not all, though I haven’t checked every single one, odd numbers do but especially three, or I think so anyway and I’m not going to argue with me as that way lies madness and I wouldn’t like to show all my cards at once, and certainly not before that seventh degree of separation comes along and even then, perhaps, it’s still good to hold something back… leave them wanting more, not less……
three
you see
the perfect symmetry
a symmetry it surely be
treath heulog by the way for those not welsh-speaking is summer beach, or summery, whatever, appropriate for these past weeks… think about it, three, whereas four creates opposites, as does two and in fact as all other, though I haven’t checked every single one, even numbers do… so ‘even’ doesn’t always suggest best and ‘odd’ not always as odd as the word would have it… for years I’d wished I was born on the third day of the third month in a year with at least a three in it, but wasn’t to be on all counts… I’d even wondered if, as with your name, I could change my birthday by deed poll, why not, I thought but, as with all my best laid plans it wasn’t to be and I was fated for the rest of my days to the same birth day whatever I did, no way around it…. but then I aha! I would make the third day of the third month my unbirthday… so problem not exactly solved but the nearest t a compromise I could manage without stage-managing being reborn, literally, which I imagine could be tricky on so many fronts……
anywho, it’s July now, I know because my three calendars tell me so it must be… probably nonsense but as mine is one of the most sparsely-read blogs on the net then it barely matters…

© 2018 robert greig

chronomony (1/July/18)

there’s too much time, or there’s not enough time, I can’t decide which, flip-flop flip-flop, I suppose it depends on at which end of the spectrum you find yourself at any given time (or taken time?) when it’s either drowning you or draining away…… like gravity, or not,, holding you down when you’d rather be up, tethering, limiting, but where would we be without limits… limitless… imagine trying to make any kind of a choice then, frustrated by the world being your oyster or pearl-diving for yet another barren clam…… light, never enough, or too much?… fireworks are futile in the summer, candlelit processions, all hallows would be a mockery, and where would ghost stories be, when would be find the right time, the right light or lack of to conjure their tales from the shadows?…… heat… if it was always hot, summer hot then what would happen to hearths, their dance of death of flicker-folk, snuggling, cosy socks, cocoa, ice would never melt with no ice to melt, snow would go the way of unicorns, more fodder for the mythery…… daydreams… foolish, frivolous, unproductive, hedonism?… how would I ponder time without it and would it waste that time to do so?… is any time wasted, I ponder, being it’s likely impervious to any and all of our indignation, impatience, self-reverence, it’s not your time or my time it just is time… chronophile or chronophobe?… I still can’t decide, too much or too little, I suppose it depends at which end of it you are where along the long and winding, straight and narrow, short and sweet, all too brief you find yourself at any given time… … … …

© 2018 robert greig

the uninvited ripples (20/June/18)

I returned the clock to its rightful place where last night it’d ticked and tocked, where it sat upon the mantel piece and kept me wide awake and counting… counting…counting… not sheep…. counting… ticks… not tocks… counting…. ticks…… I know what a tick is but, pray tell, what is a tock?… a tick will suck your blood just as the tick that lives in the clock will growing larger, bloating, louder, gloating, siphoning your sleep, or mine in this case, digging in with palps or claws or pincers or whatever clock ticks use to drain and claim your sanity until you’re weary beyond sleep to leave an aftermath of drawn and yawn, a bruise that bleeds and seeps beneath the skin spreading like an uninvited ripple…… but what on earth is a tock, the yin to tick’s yang?… the yang to tick’s yin?… the opposite of yo– ?… being –yo…… in dissonance with ticks or in vowelistic(k) harmony?… do I bear witness to an eternal struggle between good and evil and if so which is which?… or could the tock merely be a sycophant encouraging the tick to gluttonise my sleep, indulging feeding frenzies on debilitated souls desperately seeking slumberous retreats…… but last night I fought back… despite still not knowing what the dickens was a tock nor what wrath or retribution I may invoke, if any at all, I placed the tick ‘n’ tock offender on a chair, a comfy chair of course, I’m not barbaric, and clothed it in a barricade of cushions and voila!… like draping a cloth over a parrots cage at the end of a night so the same seemed to work to my sleep-sucking adversary and no more ticks, or indeed tocks…… whatever they are……… …

© 2018 robert greig