last thing (28/Sept/18)

what was the last thing you said to someone you last saw that and never seen again, all those people years past, maybe decades, that you didn’t necessarily know that particular conversation would be the last you’d ever have with them… of course you wouldn’t have known it would be the last thing you ever said to them and of course when it’s someone who died then it makes it all the more pertinent and poignant and quite often you may remember because of that but what of those still alive, someone on the same planet, part of your past but not of your present, what was that last thing you talked about?… it could have been as innocuous as “see ya later” or even something more involved, either way most of those last things are long forgotten, buried in gone-time, as is often the sound of their voice which you may remember or may only think you do cobbled together from remembering their quirks and traits…… there are those I knew very well long, long ago and yet even though I remember their faces, often clearly, and maybe roughly when and possibly where we last chatted I can’t remember specifically what was that last thing we said when we parted not knowing………

© 2018 robert greig

eye-drop moments (26/Sept/18)

it feels as though the only time I find a moment of peace is when I’m putting in my eye-drops… a single task, pure focus, if in a slightly contradictory sense… I always sit to do it, rest my head on cushions and first one then the other, drop, drop, blink, blink, close, hold… still… stretching a moment into a minute… hold… still… nothing moves not even me… the initial welcome coolness imperceptibly warms matching my body temperature… blink, blink, open, blink, blink, open… wipe away drop-tears glistening on the underside of my lower lid… then it’s over and the world stridently strides back in on specks of dust and skin bringing with it all the discord and dissonance glaring and threatening, staring into my bright shiny new eyes looking out… I don’t know who I’m trying to save anymore, or why, having been in what feels like a holding pattern for more than ten years and maybe even more… when was the last time I felt a sense of place or even a sense of time, when was the last time I felt safe?…… people spend years chasing contentment never to find it, I’ve given up on that, of all the goals to have for a goal it’s the one paved with near-misses and close-shaves… I have the scratched graffiti on me to prove it… is it better to want and want or simply surrender and with any luck at some point be surprised?… good old expectation again, a human curse, I wonder if other animals suffer this sufferance…… this lot is up for auction, place your bids early as it’s a one-time deal and when it’s done it’s well and truly done, over and out, so get it while stocks, of one, last… the blur has settled now, two happy irises, ready as they’ll ever be to spend the day being filled with yet more crap until I once again have an eye-drop moment…

© 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