Belated notes on exit..
Just caught a glimpse of bambi. Head boibbed up catching my melting eyelids with hooks. The dual carriage is racing its steel away from Barnstaple with a cacophonous soundscape which, for the vision impaired could well be mistaken for ten-thousand crustaceans marching to on war.
But there will be no armageddon. We catapult on into this deliciously succulent evening & beyond the bellows, grinds & metallic shrieks of transport, the viewfinders provide a feast of flora. In insane altitudes above, what were clouds have been shredded & torn, stretched at incredible speeds, now hang haggard in tormented whisps, chaotic peppering of the evening's soft chrome.
Passengers giggle & fidget with their hair, both men & women. In fronbt of me a young man with a tattoo on his calf of what appears to be two pieces of asparagus fucking on a football, stares straight into the sun unflinching.
We pass a beautiful bridge of aged stonework; three arcs reflected in the brook below which barely ripples as it wheezes on in mismatched invisible eddies.
-o-o-o-
Witnessing through new windows over emeral tartan monochromatics of some proud farm, a field of lean little lambs, fit & buck, oblivious petite cogs. A syrupy mesh of impending evening is threatening the day with death - the sun, cut deepest, is slowly, ruinously haemhorraging over the bowing of distant hills.
These high-backed seats are filled with liquorice - all sorts but most distasteful types of hard collared gadget freaks plugged in at every orifice squirm over their electronic prosthetics. Guilded princesses pore throughy derrogatory tomes filled with illusionary mirrors, ideals & vomitous denunciations which keeps a terminal shudder & fidget with painful posturing. Sickening side-effects supressed under unending applications of chemical concoctions, internal, external - the eyes have it, however. Evidence of a body tired of torment. Is she but fifteen?
A blackened mustard smears across my vision raised. Night is riding hard & we hurtle toward unconcered with the immanent collision. I've ten-thousand plus earfulls of sound-bytes to ingest on this restless 72+ hours ahead. Toi the other side of this orb is the body bound. A jumble of things fill a small back-bag & not too far behindme are two ladies - asleep in tight embraces, curled in bubbles & sleek thick silver. One, knows my deepest secret lines. Aquatic, fetishistic, slippery, experienced is she; loves to be ridden, driven hard & deep till the union explodes us to delirium... or else together we twist & writhe untill rebirth. Those who know, will nod. The others can have confusion & bewilderment.
Veronica Green however... she is indeed something else. Not too distant a relation is she - also a child of the seventies, her pedigree is, like her new sister, of a rare & honourable liniage. She is green indeed in many senses. Virginal, she remains as yet unridden. It was only this morning that we were made one in our kind of matrimony. Her father, a very, very dark man, gave her away so willingly I was all a-flattered with his act & touched so doubly deep with the higher powers who made her with their deitous aid; not only such a beautiful betrothal possible but ensured our ensuing honeymoon far more fruitful.
Her heriatage demands a special respect & our first act will be in such a place where her kin past first made marks upon a new age of awakening innovation. Upon that aquaitc alter will we both submit & beg for a blessing to this union.
-o-o-o-
Tear across the stratosphere, across Damascus. No phones, no smoking. The police pump out a message in this steely eagle air truck. We're all here unto Doha, Qatar. Apparently no problems with surfcraft - good choice I thought up untill the moment I watched out the 17th gate waiting room window - my boards, my Loves, hurled onto the conveyor to the belly of our onward eagle's belly & then the horrifying sight of some greeat luggage-loading mental midget step onto my Girls' backs as he made his way upward.
What the Fu..!? Politely excusing myself from siblingual negotiations to deal with this injustice, I tried to find a calm within from which to draw coherence from without succumbing to the burbling rage about to geyser forth which would have, if unleashed uncheckecked, seen me locked up. I had words, I took names & I hope for my Ladies' sakes I can inspect for damages upon landing and reveal nothing.
Stunning. My virgin, raped before her appropriate post-marital consumation. Devastating. Heads will bounce & roll be either she marked. All hell, the heavens...
-o-o-o-
Bump into these two haggard cats in Doha. It's all-arab flavourings. Bearded blokes in scuff & skirts, holding hyands & in deep befrowned conversations.
The two lads however are from Uruguay. As usual, the thought of toughing it in your stop-over of 8 hours but these loose-fits have been in this fluro-blazed transit tip for almost 16 hours due to a change of plans from the chosen airline on pre-booked tix. Gutted.
Getting on that same flight to Denpasar though, & with a flick of broken tougues, I've avoided an unnecessary Kuta city trip. Lads have fortuitously organised to ship out to Uluwatu post-landing so all is beyond best scenarios already. Bring it says I & we smile splitting fares. Veronica will be stoked but I might just spring it on her & her sister straight out of the bag in the morning. Bukit barrels straight off the bat. Nice.Get me immedeately onto that plane & off these shitty transit lounge seat. Lounge? Sorry? LOUNGE?! There's nowhere to lounge anywhere in here...
But there will be no armageddon. We catapult on into this deliciously succulent evening & beyond the bellows, grinds & metallic shrieks of transport, the viewfinders provide a feast of flora. In insane altitudes above, what were clouds have been shredded & torn, stretched at incredible speeds, now hang haggard in tormented whisps, chaotic peppering of the evening's soft chrome.
Passengers giggle & fidget with their hair, both men & women. In fronbt of me a young man with a tattoo on his calf of what appears to be two pieces of asparagus fucking on a football, stares straight into the sun unflinching.
We pass a beautiful bridge of aged stonework; three arcs reflected in the brook below which barely ripples as it wheezes on in mismatched invisible eddies.
-o-o-o-
Witnessing through new windows over emeral tartan monochromatics of some proud farm, a field of lean little lambs, fit & buck, oblivious petite cogs. A syrupy mesh of impending evening is threatening the day with death - the sun, cut deepest, is slowly, ruinously haemhorraging over the bowing of distant hills.
These high-backed seats are filled with liquorice - all sorts but most distasteful types of hard collared gadget freaks plugged in at every orifice squirm over their electronic prosthetics. Guilded princesses pore throughy derrogatory tomes filled with illusionary mirrors, ideals & vomitous denunciations which keeps a terminal shudder & fidget with painful posturing. Sickening side-effects supressed under unending applications of chemical concoctions, internal, external - the eyes have it, however. Evidence of a body tired of torment. Is she but fifteen?
A blackened mustard smears across my vision raised. Night is riding hard & we hurtle toward unconcered with the immanent collision. I've ten-thousand plus earfulls of sound-bytes to ingest on this restless 72+ hours ahead. Toi the other side of this orb is the body bound. A jumble of things fill a small back-bag & not too far behindme are two ladies - asleep in tight embraces, curled in bubbles & sleek thick silver. One, knows my deepest secret lines. Aquatic, fetishistic, slippery, experienced is she; loves to be ridden, driven hard & deep till the union explodes us to delirium... or else together we twist & writhe untill rebirth. Those who know, will nod. The others can have confusion & bewilderment.
Veronica Green however... she is indeed something else. Not too distant a relation is she - also a child of the seventies, her pedigree is, like her new sister, of a rare & honourable liniage. She is green indeed in many senses. Virginal, she remains as yet unridden. It was only this morning that we were made one in our kind of matrimony. Her father, a very, very dark man, gave her away so willingly I was all a-flattered with his act & touched so doubly deep with the higher powers who made her with their deitous aid; not only such a beautiful betrothal possible but ensured our ensuing honeymoon far more fruitful.
Her heriatage demands a special respect & our first act will be in such a place where her kin past first made marks upon a new age of awakening innovation. Upon that aquaitc alter will we both submit & beg for a blessing to this union.
-o-o-o-
Tear across the stratosphere, across Damascus. No phones, no smoking. The police pump out a message in this steely eagle air truck. We're all here unto Doha, Qatar. Apparently no problems with surfcraft - good choice I thought up untill the moment I watched out the 17th gate waiting room window - my boards, my Loves, hurled onto the conveyor to the belly of our onward eagle's belly & then the horrifying sight of some greeat luggage-loading mental midget step onto my Girls' backs as he made his way upward.
What the Fu..!? Politely excusing myself from siblingual negotiations to deal with this injustice, I tried to find a calm within from which to draw coherence from without succumbing to the burbling rage about to geyser forth which would have, if unleashed uncheckecked, seen me locked up. I had words, I took names & I hope for my Ladies' sakes I can inspect for damages upon landing and reveal nothing.
Stunning. My virgin, raped before her appropriate post-marital consumation. Devastating. Heads will bounce & roll be either she marked. All hell, the heavens...
-o-o-o-
Bump into these two haggard cats in Doha. It's all-arab flavourings. Bearded blokes in scuff & skirts, holding hyands & in deep befrowned conversations.The two lads however are from Uruguay. As usual, the thought of toughing it in your stop-over of 8 hours but these loose-fits have been in this fluro-blazed transit tip for almost 16 hours due to a change of plans from the chosen airline on pre-booked tix. Gutted.
Getting on that same flight to Denpasar though, & with a flick of broken tougues, I've avoided an unnecessary Kuta city trip. Lads have fortuitously organised to ship out to Uluwatu post-landing so all is beyond best scenarios already. Bring it says I & we smile splitting fares. Veronica will be stoked but I might just spring it on her & her sister straight out of the bag in the morning. Bukit barrels straight off the bat. Nice.Get me immedeately onto that plane & off these shitty transit lounge seat. Lounge? Sorry? LOUNGE?! There's nowhere to lounge anywhere in here...
