always been (22/September/18)

they say one should never drive angry… I agree… but what about writing, should one write angry?… I’m angry, right now… or write now?… probably because I’m angry a lot these days; or have I always been like this?… it’s hard to look back without confabulating, cherry-picking either the worse or the best and neglecting the embarrassing, forgetting the inconvenient and burying psychoses.. I appear to have two settings, anger and numb, flip-flopping between the two through rather unsettling crossing points… there’s a lot to be angry about these days; or have they always been like this?… some say so, let it all out, they say, you’ll feel better…. they?… yes, the therapites, those who want to therapise you in submission, raze you to the ground, or hang you out with all your dirty laundry… and before you ask, yes, I reserve the right to invent words, commentators and politicians and fashionistas (i.e. the frivolous) get away with it every day……… and will you?… what?… let it all out?… will it make me feel better?… you can’t know for sure whatever the so-called precedents, and what if it wasn’t, what would be unleashed then?… they say holding it all in corrodes you inside out, even hollows you out… again, no one’s completely sure, it could be that releasing it into the wild like rats from a laboratory would only result in all kinds of unseen fallout… nuclear energy is kept inside the reactor for a good reason… yes I know, far too many analogies running amok here methinks… once the genie’s out of the bottle you can’t unknow, unsee, unhear, untouch what’s unravelled… then what about considered angry writing, or is anger beyond anything considered, a morphograph, a dilution or perhaps distillation of……… what I do know is driving angry = bad idea, whereas writing angry, well, just ensure there’s plenty of ink in the well………

© 2018 robert greig

punching above my wait (21/Sept/18)

waiting, waiting, I do a lot of waiting, waiting, we all do, even when you think you’re not you are, you’re joining the ranks of waiters, though not necessarily serving over-priced nouvelle cuisine to over-privileged customers… perhaps I should distinguish by inventing a new words, waitrels, as in ‘wastrel’ without the ‘s’, after all your wait could be nothing more than wasted time… in the back of one’s mind or the forefront of your thoughts always waiting, waiting… waiting is tiring, sometimes downright exhausting, definitely occasionally exasperating… waiting, waiting…for someone or something or some time in space to relieve you, let you go, let you breathe, release you from your cage but it invariably may be through to the next inevitable and inescapable wait… you’re waiting for this blog to end, I’m sure of it, waiting, waiting and wondering how and when, for the punchline, the upshot, the revelation, the twist in the tale, the point of it…… I’ll be kind and release you early by revealing now that there isn’t one and more than likely fizzle out into nothing more impressive than a damp squib, soggy, limp, unseemly… what I can’t promise you though or help with is that there won’t be another wait, not necessarily of my doing, waiting at the end or at least on the way, imminent, itself waiting, waiting to waitnap you into its waiting, waiting maw… so who will get there first I wonder… you or the wait?

© 2018 robert greig

lungs (20/September/18)

time moves in mysterious ways and hopefully, at any given moment meet you half way… each moment the originator, creator, mother and indeed father of the next, the engine and the governor, the seed and the soil from which it sprouts… chronology or biology?… it might also be the reaper, one on another, a parasite in an unholy symbiosis, a sacrifice of stillness to motion… time moves… doesn’t it?… we move it or it moves us, an unspoken contract contracting and expanding into the lungs and imagination, building on or feeding on or simply annihilating the last to make room for the one to come, no time to decay instead obliterate, void… inexorable… even on death and after it doesn’t stop but keeps on keeping on relentless regardless irrespective of what I want or you want or feelings or lack of feelings… time is numb, and so is death, and so am I……

© 2018 robert greig