Some Sad Sunday Sounds

by Luke Otley

Searching for a way out (of what?) – away from screens screams and LED lights that lit blue faces and grey from never seen the sun… brows and scowls – but can get hardly further than imagining myself (future self stroking a never-grow beard and thinking, looking pensive in frames) in the quiet shade of bush, tickle grass torn up in school-field handfuls, the smell of the rich earth ever growing, complacently cut down and grown again careless, merely a spreading of seed with such nonchalance as if to say ‘I was here before you and I’ll be here when you’ve destroyed yourself too’. In shade of bush with head in lap of an ever-caring lady, few can put up with rantings or drunken ravings and whats and whys that come gushing forth as I drink sloe gin, confused, growing older and more disorientated…

Watching dumbfounded at people always buying…rushing and buying and spending…everyone bombarded and stuffed, expanding and just stuffing in as much as possible until you just think you’re going to blow then…the cycle begins again, the bullshit, endless and paradoxical, sleep, routine, eat, buy save spend until finally you’re just so sick of it you can hardly focus, or breathe. The inevitability of the season’s change, when winter is so deep the husk of flowers have even been blown away or buried under thick frost, when your tires are bald and the road is slick and the heater is blown huffy puff breath to your fingers then back to the wheel, squinting in the dark morning, pre-dawn frown and headache and cold cereal sitting uneasily in your stomach. This is when you need the tin teapot (I think to myself, I saw one for two dollars) green tea eating grains and fruit and feeling your body’s raised eyebrows in surprise, outside, in new shoes (buying selling spending saving scraping…but who cares) in tan leather, in quality items, in sticking your legs out in front of you in marvel, in numb bums and laughs and trivial conversation and finding the time to read, because there actually is so much time, time for a lot of things, though no one admits it…

Thinking in a doubtful and disgusted way sat on Sunday unable to keep awake quite all the afternoon, am I actually mad? With spider hands on very thin wrists? My friend had an acid induced vision (though I was too afraid to take any) of his fears and doubts being sucked onto the train that roars by our room at five am, rattling the frosted thin one pane glass that provides little protection from outside, that you can feel the cold snap, on your head… as he feels this (he swears he felt it like a physical sucking from his body, a rushing) I am below bunk, restless slumber, having dreams of my own, the natural kind. Dreaming of a hateful and malicious character I have had the displeasure of meeting recently, an epitome of emptiness bouncing around a beast skull, lacking even loyalty, a pathetic worm like no other I’ve ever met, shocking in his rot. Bah. And these nylon strings don’t sound so great at all, though mustn’t complain, some poor fool got it way worse…

Ah yes, and soon Sam says ta-ra, bye bye black balloon, see you real soon…