Sometimes all we need to re-invigorate our souls is a change of scenery.
If one stays in the same place, visiting the same shops, seeing the same faces and routinely travelling along the same routes for too long without loving, (and i mean loving like I loved my Optimus Prime action figure when i was 8), one's environment it all fades out into background noise. The subtle daily differences become lost behind a deafening drum, a hum drum to a hum bug.
The turgid mud that becomes day to day activity amid almost complete sensual break down is almost impossible to observe as the total annihilation of the senses by this routine trudge is so complete as to mask even it's own existance.
Today I made my way to work on a route new to me, from my new rented accomodation. Every footstep was unsure of itself. This was not least to be blamed on 3 days of almost literally bathing in whiskey, but the way that each step and every decision was as potent as being stabbed with a pin was screamingly apparant.
The real gift, the santa's stocking brimming with brazil nuts and freshly ripened fruit that change brought me, was not fully realised until i entered an unto now unfrequented strip of tube journey. Necessity nuzzled me into the breast of Goliath of a man during the Londoners favourite early morning game of sardines made ever more exciting by it's jarring thrusting locomotion between A and B on the tube.
Just ever so slightly behind me, his brief case wedged into the small of my back was the vile criminal who was crushing my face into the warm embrace of an unwilling recipients chest. This man was in his mid 50's and was enthusiastically relaying to a younger near suicidal colleague something insidious. Regulations and their implications were being reeled off referred to only by numbers and the occasional snort of disbelief that regulation 24 could be mistakenly actioned as a regulation 432. The type of bone marrow disolving boob who is this enthralled by the intimacies of his job must invariably be singularly unimaginative, decidedly lonley or power hungry with about as much access to power as a communist peasant in 1950's Russia.
The man looked like someone had attempted to remove him from the fabric of reality with laser treatment. A faded imprint regretably conceived some 50 years gone, only a lack of technology had left his stain in place.
Despite all of his crimes it could so easily have been nothing more than a part of the morning din had this not been a special day glittering with new observations. However, the man seemed to have a bronchial condition and a sniff reflex. With the regularity and relentlessness of an artillery gun during the Allied bombardment at the Somme, he roared from the depths of his twitching raw pestilant lungs, then suddenly would snort a crackling rich thick slime back from his nostrils.
This sound, this horror, smashed into my ears, drowned my entire being like a sudden tidal wave of steaming manure, constantly withdrawing then swamping my arched tense expectant whole over and over.
Even now, 4 hours later, i want to scream at the resonance of the experience, shove him in front of a hurtling train then smash the remains into oblivion with a mallet.
Yet,
He's the best thing that has happened to me for 3 months and probably the best thing that will happen for another 3 months, because i actually heard him and will likely hear and see all of the wonderful things that have been thrust into context by him.
Thank you, you feculant, blabbering, oafish plague on mankind, may you spread your spluttering filth upon another deserving soul and bring them back from their unwitting brink.
If one stays in the same place, visiting the same shops, seeing the same faces and routinely travelling along the same routes for too long without loving, (and i mean loving like I loved my Optimus Prime action figure when i was 8), one's environment it all fades out into background noise. The subtle daily differences become lost behind a deafening drum, a hum drum to a hum bug.
The turgid mud that becomes day to day activity amid almost complete sensual break down is almost impossible to observe as the total annihilation of the senses by this routine trudge is so complete as to mask even it's own existance.
Today I made my way to work on a route new to me, from my new rented accomodation. Every footstep was unsure of itself. This was not least to be blamed on 3 days of almost literally bathing in whiskey, but the way that each step and every decision was as potent as being stabbed with a pin was screamingly apparant.
The real gift, the santa's stocking brimming with brazil nuts and freshly ripened fruit that change brought me, was not fully realised until i entered an unto now unfrequented strip of tube journey. Necessity nuzzled me into the breast of Goliath of a man during the Londoners favourite early morning game of sardines made ever more exciting by it's jarring thrusting locomotion between A and B on the tube.
Just ever so slightly behind me, his brief case wedged into the small of my back was the vile criminal who was crushing my face into the warm embrace of an unwilling recipients chest. This man was in his mid 50's and was enthusiastically relaying to a younger near suicidal colleague something insidious. Regulations and their implications were being reeled off referred to only by numbers and the occasional snort of disbelief that regulation 24 could be mistakenly actioned as a regulation 432. The type of bone marrow disolving boob who is this enthralled by the intimacies of his job must invariably be singularly unimaginative, decidedly lonley or power hungry with about as much access to power as a communist peasant in 1950's Russia.
The man looked like someone had attempted to remove him from the fabric of reality with laser treatment. A faded imprint regretably conceived some 50 years gone, only a lack of technology had left his stain in place.
Despite all of his crimes it could so easily have been nothing more than a part of the morning din had this not been a special day glittering with new observations. However, the man seemed to have a bronchial condition and a sniff reflex. With the regularity and relentlessness of an artillery gun during the Allied bombardment at the Somme, he roared from the depths of his twitching raw pestilant lungs, then suddenly would snort a crackling rich thick slime back from his nostrils.
This sound, this horror, smashed into my ears, drowned my entire being like a sudden tidal wave of steaming manure, constantly withdrawing then swamping my arched tense expectant whole over and over.
Even now, 4 hours later, i want to scream at the resonance of the experience, shove him in front of a hurtling train then smash the remains into oblivion with a mallet.
Yet,
He's the best thing that has happened to me for 3 months and probably the best thing that will happen for another 3 months, because i actually heard him and will likely hear and see all of the wonderful things that have been thrust into context by him.
Thank you, you feculant, blabbering, oafish plague on mankind, may you spread your spluttering filth upon another deserving soul and bring them back from their unwitting brink.
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