Thinking thoughts
It's been a while since I have thought about things. Standing over an empty steel sink, dropping a sodden tea bag into it, to watch it bleed its red brown colour. Not thinking, just observing. Stirring the hot contents of the white mug, clockwise, clockwise. I don't want to go against time, surely things would work out worse, a good life, it is happening, I am sure. Semi-skimmed milk, a sorry excuse, poured in. The beautiful white tarnishes and is corrupted by blood brown, or is the white an enemy loving the brown, raping it. Eventually they cease and are tea.
Dropping the spoon into the dishwasher, and soon after dangling a knife over, and letting it fall. It doesn't make a sound, or perhaps it does, but it is interrupted by the sound of a child.
Closing the grey speckled dishwasher and leaning against it, cup in one hand, and nothing in the other. Looking into the steel sink, and thinking about children. Smaller adults with problems and concerns. Children eh, children. Fascinating. The concepts they seem to conjure from thin air and then sell you. You can be a fairy, a wizard, a time traveller and make fifty euro a week which will buy you a Porsche 911. We all sold dreams. Ultimate self belief, you can do anything.
Strange the things you think of, staring at steel. Its so sterile, metallic, natural, moulded by man, then filled with tea bags, used. Once filled, its a bloody mess, and from blood they come. Sometimes it is mixed with the white of goodness, sometimes, that of evil. Either way, there holds a constant, the assurance... Im not to sure of what. But each child has it. Deep deep down, the belief we are destined for greatness. What ever that may be.
Children are the most amazing tutors, learn from them, they search in ways adults have long forgotten. It's been a while since I thought about things, but now things I think, are different.
Dropping the spoon into the dishwasher, and soon after dangling a knife over, and letting it fall. It doesn't make a sound, or perhaps it does, but it is interrupted by the sound of a child.
Closing the grey speckled dishwasher and leaning against it, cup in one hand, and nothing in the other. Looking into the steel sink, and thinking about children. Smaller adults with problems and concerns. Children eh, children. Fascinating. The concepts they seem to conjure from thin air and then sell you. You can be a fairy, a wizard, a time traveller and make fifty euro a week which will buy you a Porsche 911. We all sold dreams. Ultimate self belief, you can do anything.
Strange the things you think of, staring at steel. Its so sterile, metallic, natural, moulded by man, then filled with tea bags, used. Once filled, its a bloody mess, and from blood they come. Sometimes it is mixed with the white of goodness, sometimes, that of evil. Either way, there holds a constant, the assurance... Im not to sure of what. But each child has it. Deep deep down, the belief we are destined for greatness. What ever that may be.
Children are the most amazing tutors, learn from them, they search in ways adults have long forgotten. It's been a while since I thought about things, but now things I think, are different.
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