Friendly window frames

Shiny glassy panes 

Looking over waving plains

Curtains close over lamenting pains

Hiding soiled stains

Where are all the pretty dames?

Away from my petty self maimes 

Peek to find forgotten names

Blinded by hellish flames 

Look away towards my shames

It is I who blames

My mind never stops these games

Looking through the friendly window frames


Angry faces with cunning aces, each step a fumbling of gangrene paces.

Mumbling in frantic stasis through semantic tied laces they do sigh, they do lie, oh my, oh my. 

She tells, he was always the safest, she doesn't feel the same flame that was so long ago, now only weightless and slow, rocking to and fro. 

Each day is dateless, a never-ending lateness prolonging her fateless maniacal mess of a mind.

To find lovers pins bound in blind eyes; smothered she tries to rewind, forgotten she minded.

Wanting to confess, oh how she frets as he tries to caress despising him less, wrinkling her dress.

She complains, of a pain in her veins and the ugly stains from shame. 

A maim.

He looks at her through a glass pane, It's always another name.

A mothers dirty face in a musty picture frame.

It's always the pretty dame.


To each their own from there and back, we talk the more we dream. So far so good answers he to I, back and forth again and again, till one drops out piercing his thumb falling down again and again. An esteemed guest has just arrived quickly now get all platters and china out, to show off is a delight. The chimaera returns and with rage frequently felt! Quicken now we cannot wait, she cannot anticipate awaiting a long while. Clattering plates and chinking glasses; do we make the gloomy drawers happy? dark and brooding from where they sit and lay, opening and closing, the rhythm starts anew.

Up and out

Zilch, Nada, Nothing, Zero. All of it is gone, how did it run away from me so fast? it was at a gradual pace this walker walked saving strength, slowly burning through the stacks of fat stored, only giving away enough energy continuing reasonably brisk, a streamlined diet plan was formed nothing outlandish or beyond its grasp did this walker contemplate indulging. The necessities were taking into consideration, one knows a cigarette and drink or two will not harm the character of pace, still, its disappearance is a shock and has opened the walkers eyes now a little wider; although, formulating clarity by making out shapes, figures and minds, the walkers vision is still, and will be for a while, quite blurry. The walker was not in the best of shape nor had much energy to begin with, it was a tight race with a seemingly endless stretch of tarmac ahead, many hidden obstacles lay in wake. A small crack in the pavement requires a simple step in the right direction,  a rough patch of slippery gravel avoided by slowing down the pace treading carefully, a dark giant figure suddenly without warning looming over, blackening the ground, its shadow stretching over around and behind, bending over quickly with surprising speed, black wispy claws stretching out attempting to grab and pull the walker to a place where time stands still and memories last for eternity; a short skip, a short slide, and a parting wave to the towering monster, cheekily smiling back as it dissipates readily, still following, but not in pursuit; only as a reminder, an absurd obscurity that one forgets is always lurking behind the wispy grey cloud, dragging itself out of whatever foul place it was once imprisoned and now left bygone . This dense fog clouds the entire path ahead, it is only on instinct that the walker reasons a decision and action. Sometimes one of many friends will acquaint to help, a wind, a calm blowing breeze sweeps majestically through, cooling down the tired walker and revealing certain problems ahead; momentarily, time has a moment to catch up and thoughts can be calculable without much sweat. One won’t develop toughness by just walking, sometimes a jog is in order, fast tracking in a reasonable way places that needn’t be observed or admired for too long. A walk is a pleasant pastime, helping to create ideas and if need be formulate opinions, fatigue still presently presents itself pleasantly, for what other reason would one go for a walk without strengthing the mind and body, seemingly seamless hours can be whittled away in the blink of an eye. One can find that after consistent coherent walking dreams, a hopeful lostness will lead, giving fuel to dwindling embers; the walker has walked, walking wistfully forward beneath the willowy willows willfully with pleasure.


Upon walking into an exquisite and quite outlandishly large cheese shop you spy a delectable platter of arranged cheeses as if only there for you, it is in fact, available for anyone to sniff and chew. There are no descriptions labelling each cheese, the only way to decipher each different variety is to taste and closely inspect each individual sample, only then will a clear resolute opinionated taste formulate. Before the tasting can begin, a careful looking over is already underway, you gaze longingly yet precisely and patiently at what each cheese is all about, what kind of subtle hints may you deduce? does that cheese look old? how about the asymmetry on that one…hmm…whats all this blue stuff? as each little sample is closely inspected you now begin to gently prod and feel each individually, raising it slowly to waft in the aromas lingering atmospherically thick around each particular. After deciding, on a humbly opinionated cheese, a cheese that holds only to you a certain beauté, enticing you through the two main senses used thus far and until now eagerly awaiting on the third. Putting whatever sort of cheese you have thoroughly picked out, you slowly with desired excitement, land the delicate morsel on the tongue; maybe after slowly dissolving the cheese you find a confounded misinterpretation about everything there was to know about this selected snack, and now rather coincidently have a different opinion of it; this can happen most often, be sure not to be discouraged. While other kinds of cheese will taste the same or even better, it all really depends on the type of taste buds you inhabit, how you perceive each cheese, so to say, some prefer a bitter taste with creamy texture while others partake in a sweetened rock; every which way and the other, there is no ( if I may refer to such a case of) right and wrong in anybody’s decision in this circumstance. After divulging scrumptiously in multiple samples, you find that the taste from a previous cheese balances or deliciously counterbalances the next, a new taste is born spontaneously, a frankensteinesqe taste ingeniously created accidentally, born from happy mishappenings original flavours are made. After experimenting around with the cheese platter the attendant implies rather sternly for the fourth time that there is no more cheese to eat as it is all gone, and so there isn’t, you look down and there isn’t a single crumb left on the tray platter. Without hesitation you inquire as to means of buying some cheese, the attendant explains they come in all different shapes and sizes and prices may be cosmic while others petty, cheap and expensive. Because you didn’t know exactly which cheeses correspond to the seemingly endless brands or names, you politely inquire and find out as all reasonably sensible cheese connoisseurs do, after learning who and what each cheese is, you decide to purchase your unique favourites. After rummaging around in both deep trouser pockets you find only limited funds, since a spontaneous guess purchase has now been thrown out the dear quaint window with a little flower bed perched on creaky oak windowsill, the light blue shutters thrown open just now flooding the once musty room with pure warmth, a calculated decision is in order. After adding subtracting and multiple variances on the two finally you are ready to purchase exactly enough to fit the change in your pocket, and you happily buy said amount; you see on the shelf behind the store counter prodigious blocks of all kinds of cheese, each one independent from its neighbour yet all identical in nature. Hefty price tags accompany each block and at this present time out of reach financially, this does not discourage the inkling of determination seeping in, because one day, you will collect all…or…but a few; time is only prolonging the inevitable. At the moment you are still hungry for cheese, like a shark the taste has overwhelmed you, in fact, it has brought out incentive hallucinations striving towards a plan or purpose, an inspirational aspiration ,a raison d’être! when the goodly cheese is eventually eaten, every…last…bite…there will be no guilt nor pain, only satisfaction and contentment, you will be full this is a guarantee; when the hunger for cheese has faded past thoughts of a ravenousness fever for more return, it will always come with a vigorous surprise and remind you of a path anybody can create. This analogy of cheese is in its own way my reason to return, insomuch I have tasted bite sized pieces of cheese and although I cannot continue; I will feast heartedly again.

Looking around

My journey begins in Leipzig just another city with a few things to see, J.S Bach was buried here, a master composer, one of the greatest symphony creators to bless humbly this bland earth; I personally see nothing in the guy now, just a corpse, a dead, cold, corpse. His music utterly sublime but he is no more, and more people should understand this, but still he remains to be gawped at by the masses; the irony is not lost on me, not me sir, no sir, nothing gets by me, nevertheless sir. I walk in and take a seat on a bench seated alongside the large pale stone wall, I am the only person sitting here. My placement could not be more perfect for my view enables me to see lengthways the entirety of both halls and everyone in them. The bench is a foot length away from 3 small steps, each stretches the entire width of the slightly elevated second quadrant of this church, the roof a little lower to accentuate the grave and bring the eyes down. In the hilt of this sectioned hall shines colorful shimmering angels, swimming ever so slowly, that you would not know they were moving unless you sat for an hour; floating down illuminating a slab with a name, surrounding said slab are flowers, chairs line opposite walls in rows and at the end of this space, a monument to another dead fellow. The gray walls are covered with paintings of past bishops and noble priests, each painting depicts an odd similarity, which is that each is doing completely different things with their hands. After careful inspection I can tell you as a matter of a fact, none were alike, all held the bible and a small chained cross in all sorts of different extravagant and boring ways,  as if to proclaim resolutely that “we are not all similar and we don’t even like each other, the only thing holding us together is God and now we don’t even have that! so stop asking silly ponders and bugger off!” muttered an especially down trodden and bulky priest, who was struggling to find room in the portrait which had been so graciously widened and was indeed incidentally already very large; understanding my smile as cruel and provoking he kept quiet, but nobody seemed to hear him. As I sit I begin to observe what is happening all around me, tour groups and all people here slowly wander around gawping at the things being directed to them. Look here, pointing, gawping, and now if you please make your way over here and see this, smiling, shuffling, gawping; when sitting they gawp, when standing they gawp, when walking they gawp, when talking, they, gawp. Gawp, gawp, gawp, gawp, as you can tell reader I seem to be fanatically obsessed with the word gawp, I personally, am quite compelled to use it in this situation, and when really? does anyone really? allow themselves to use the word gawp so often? so in spite of anything against me and especially this seemingly sparse louche of an utterance, I will use it all up so nobody else may think about it; do you think it is a healthy fascination? It is a fantastical word to describe these people or might I call them gawpers. When looking into the eyes of a gawper you see nothing because you will never catch them, they scope around the room quickly darting every which way and…where is that lady looking? Too late keep up, she is looking for the next juicy morsel to snap happily away at; each one of them, devouring entire paintings, snacking on statues, licking each ornament clean and sucking the spirit out of all the dry old bones. In passing, I profess my vituperation candidly, and dear resolute sir, bewildering cooperative reader, could you bear with my contumely remarks only a while longer as I have much else to tell. You listen well and don’t ask many questions which is wonderful because I don’t have the time. Oh and…and…uh…now-well you have put me off!…Good riddance to you blundering oaf I will take my wares elsewhere.


I don’t like power, standing on top of me;

I don’t like money, controlling all of me;

I don’t like people, watching over me;

but I like vodka in me; even worse.