smoke gets in my mirror (18/Sept/18)

they say “you’re only as old as you feel”… I’m in trouble then, because by rights I should be dead… unless I’m some kind of Methuselah… unquestionably past my ‘use by’ date and long beyond my ‘best by’… at least I’m recyclable and hopefully in the end I’ll prove to be more useful as compost… all’s not lost though, at least I seem to be coming back into fashion (again!) as I’ve just heard the latest clothing trend set to ‘explode’ onto the high street is to wear anything that doesn’t match but, and here’s the twist (not), ta daa!… in a way that appears like you haven’t made an effort, except that you have… could this be called post-ironic?… or ‘fake fashion’?… needless to say I’ve been doing unconscious mismatch for years, in fact decades, so it’s hilariously heartening to see that once again I’m at the vanguard of ‘cool’, it was the same when lumberjack check shirts made a ‘comeback’ proving that if you wait long enough and don’t keep falling for the cons and eye-candy changing your wardrobe every five minutes often at the expense of exploited workers in far-flung out-of-sight-out-of-mind countries it all comes around again, and again and again and… I’m just waiting for denim jackets to return to the catwalk… and look, even mobile phones are getting bigger again, so much so will have to start calling them something else, maybe laptops?…. so, there’s no such thing as a fashion faux pas, just ‘retro’ but if anyone falls for this stuff as being new then I think some of us can rightly smirk a justifiably wry grin…… ah yes, good old smoke and mirrors, always there when you need them…… even vinyl, as in records, it’s ‘back’!… apparently… though it’s never been away, just consigned to the world of the second-hand, charity shops and record fairs, but why pass up an excuse to reinvent the wheel, claim it as your own and charge an arm, a leg, a kidney, a lung and while you’re at it one hemisphere of your brain, after all you have a spare and clearly aren’t using both, for the privilege of buying it… again…… all part of life’s rich cultural mêlée I suppose, to feel relevant in this post-apocalyptic decay… oh yes, didn’t you get the memo?… the apocalypse has already happened, it’s just a bit of a slow-burner, after all, isn’t ‘slow’ also the latest go-to fad-fest so why shouldn’t there be a slow-apocalypse…… especially as there’s no shortage of zombies out there following the lemmings over the selfie-cliff……

© 2018 robert greig

bedscape (26/August/18)

I’m making mountains in my duvet… bedscapes in which to escape… time away from the rotting decay… out there, there, beyond the folds, this quiet space, this quiet time, this pretence of safety and sanity, where a dabble of delusion never hurts before the daily flood begins anew, the streaming bile of stagnancy, absurdity, stupidity… it’s there, always there… roll up, roll up as ignorance does somersaults headlong into the finest cup of scorn shaken and then stirred with some over-processed  spite and a shot or two of over-cooked contempt… to a feast of pain and people blind to everything but that which directly concerns them… usually no further than their doormat, or their noses, or their ability to remember anything beyond yesterday or the latest tabloid feckless headline or the last but one Tweet they spied before a million more brought another avalanche of trivial banality, distracting pettifoggery, puerile mentality… welcome to the trashy, tawdry, tokenistic and the testimony of many a-writer of one-time fantasy or sci-fi now bearing real fruit but not the kind you’d want to even touch their poison skin or eat their toxic seed… perhaps I could boil them within an inch of their integrity in smotherings of vinegar then seal them in jars to store on a shelf in the darkest recesses of a rarely-opened kitchen cupboard  behind last years and the years before and the decades before that chutneys and preserves long forgotten, and don’t forget to label them in ink that surely fades before you ever find them again…… I’ll have to get up soon, it’s raining… perhaps that’s really all there is to say and all else is moot, wouldn’t have saved a lot of words, and time, so here is my alternative blog of the day…

…… it’s raining… the end.

© 2018 robert greig

ertia (5/August/18)

You are now entering the town of Ertia,
on the sweet Esseffay river
in Neverware, the Oblivious State,
on the Entropic of Cancer.
Population: relative
Elevation: variable
Weather: incomprehensible
Please leave your expectations in the open grave provided.
You can check out any time you like but you can never leave.
You are now in Ertia…


© 2018 robert greig