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shaking the release loose

It's so still that up here in the attic of the Anchorage, a joyous homage to British residential architecture and my current digs, even your exhalations echo like serves on a squash court. The room is unsafe. A few missing floorboards, some waiting patiently to fulfill their destiny to play a part in an unintentional comedy sketch wherein one housemate, stepping on one end of the board sends the other swiftly between the legs of the other, or a stray tin of red paint (with the lid not quite on) airbourne... I have visions...

It took a good ten minutes to drag her up there. Trying to avoid the knocks and bumps on the way up the stairs and ladders, three-point-turns through multiple doorways to get her to the safety of the attic. Safety? Well, the lack of traffic up there is sure to be a bonus toward maintaining her flawless body. She rests, sleeping, patiently. Again, I assume patiently as she's not come down since, that I know of - unless she's been sneaking out, whoring herself to one of the other house members... no, no, I doubt they're even privy to her existence.

My knee is still banjaxed. It's getting stronger with the exercises prescribed by the physio but still an indeterminate period before I'm back in full effect.

A man needs release. Out on saturday for a random's 30th I was beered up enough to try cutting some slick moves, throw a few shapes out on the dancefloor. Now normally I dance like a fitting paralytic trying to breakdance but this time, add in the injured-dog style ninjitsu moves... I must have looked like a Devon county car boot sale: all over the place and shit everywhere.

So I continue to stretch and ice and rest and behave. She waits aloft in silence, unridden, aching to be unleashed, for her sleek body to slip through slick waters, thrusting forward to find the freedom of that empty peak of running open ocean swell traveled of untold blue spans, enduring a spectrum of weathers to be united involuntarily in a union of song and dance.

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