holomoon (26/June/18)

hello moon
halo moon
up there being hazy and looking to all intents like the sun being almost round, but you’re not the sun, you’re the moon, for starters you’re in the wrong place to be the sun… sure, you’re up in the sky, as it should be, as you should be, but you’re over there while the sun is clearly over there, and you’re both here at the same time clear as day and almost clear as night thought night’s taking it’s time on these hot days as they are right now, hot, hot, hot, baking, the hottest week of the year for certain and getting hotter… and for me, I’m glad the word ‘hot’ is short, minimalistically-monosyllablic indeed, as in this heat anything longer  would wear me out by the time I made it, if I did, to the end… short-speak is the way to go on days such as these trying not to burn up on re-entry back into silence… I’m listening to it right now, silence, or the next best thing to it, and as regular travellers who find themselves held-up at this ‘my life as a piece of string’ blogstation awaiting a connecting train which is predictably late and desperately seeking the platform coffee shop in the hope it’s still open, which it is I assure you, the café always open here even if the timetabling can be a little wayward and skewwhiff (oops, where was I…)… as regular travellers to my writings will know I like silence, am not threatened by it, don’t panic when it appears and am not one craving the sounds of the city, town or suburbia’s interminable drones to feel safe… in fact I prefer silence although punctuated by random natural sounds, sounds that can’t be heard but are there, the deafening leaf hitting the ground, the flight of an owl, breath of a fox, snuffles of hedgehogs, echoes of bats, rising scent from an evening primrose, wood expanding, bricks contracting, the path of the moon, we mustn’t forget the moon as that’s where I began here…… I wonder if it’s ever a good idea to get close to people as in the end it ends anyway, and with that depending on the nature of that end comes such potentially destructive emotions as to question it’s worth… anyway, nothing I do is of any worth nor value to anyone… confetti to ashes, whispers to dust, forever and ever, silence…
hellomoon
halomoon
holomoon

© 2018 robert greig

over the rainbow (19/June/18)

you see, we are essentially born stupid and then hopefully get filled up with lots of clever things… hopefully… though do newborns hope, have it or otherwise, does it even cross their literally tiny minds?… or actually, is it the other way around, we’re born full of knowing, brimming, bursting at the seams only to gradually through the years have it eroded, degraded, subsumed, supplanted, smothered, stomped, defused, muddied and sullied by a tidal wave of norms and order and rules and regulations and the opinions, attitudes, prejudice, fears and loathing of those who have already been out in the sun for far too long to clearly be good for them?…… worry not, am not getting into this whole nature/nurture squabble, another flawed masterpiece of smoke and mirrors the same as thinking an armadillo is an armadillo because we came along and named it such, whereas to itself, well, does it see itself as an armadillo?… quite probably not as I imagine they can’t even pronounce it and wouldn’t call yourself something unpronounceable would you, that would just be daft…… whichever way around it is whoever coined the phrases “the best is yet to come” and “your best years are ahead of you” and “it’ll all work out in the end” has been drinking too much affirmadelusory juice…… it could all be random of course, luck…. now there’s a handy get-out word, luck, which seems to be either good or bad and never average of so-so or ‘ish… luck’ish… luck suffers from a time-honoured path of black and white, with us or against us, him or her, us and them, in or out, the wonderful world of diametrically-opposed opposites, never diametrically-conjoined  or interlinked, but what they are is diametrically-inextricable, as one cannot not exist without the other and in a single simple statement manage to ignore everything in between, and perhaps either side of both opposites, assuming each are their own extreme of whatever line, continuum, they are on…. like the past, there’s no end as such, or should that be a beginning, we may make assumptions based on best data but in the end (or the beginning!) we can’t be sure, same with the future, even more enigmatically obtuse, and as such we are assumed to be tautly twanging on that bit of wire in between the two pulling in opposites against each other in this anomalous place called the present which itself is a bit of a slip-sliding away bit of misdirection…… in the meantime we flail wondering if we are getting cleverer or stupider, although in some cases this is disturbingly obvious…… I think I need to think this through more, I’m sure there’s an answer, somewhere… somewhere over the rainbow…..

© 2018 robert greig

inexplicability (9/June/18)

it’s inexplicable…
it’s the kind of thing the word inexplicable was invented for, the kind of thing within which the essence of the inexplicable is inherent without which such a word wouldn’t even have a reason to exist, come to mind nor burrow so ingrained into everyday discourse…… it comes at night, this inexplicability, and anytime really especially when one alone… its inexplicable nature makes it difficult if not almost impossible to, well, explain, to describe or convey in any meaningful way what it precisely or even imprecisely, is… I’m being vague I know but then again that’s the power of inexplicability… it’s acute and obtuse, tangible to feel yet intangible to touch, a flibbertigibbet, a flibbertiphantom, a flibbertiflippant, defying all attempts to pin it down, rein it in, hold it up to the light… one might even say it’s inexplicable inscrutable… it shifts, jerks, is motile in evading all attempts to refine, hone, ply it into words until its drunk on syntax but no, it won’t indulge in big reveals…. jumping like old movie, silent of course, it carries itself like a breath of air, and not necessarily fresh, lingering in a state of flux until it may or may not, inexplicably nonetheless decays… or does it?… or in a permanent state of collapse, a slow implode, or explode, a half-life of forever… under the skin, over the shoulder, underfoot, in a blink, as quiet as a dead mouse, choosing its moments to flare, recur, incite, bemuse baffle and discombobulate… always unbidden, often unhelpful, sometimes unwelcome but not always so but something so inexplicable how can one be sure of the either or………

© 2018 robert greig