Goo Goo G'joob

I had witnessed three minutes of TV’s forgotten whatevers; the ones that did not manage to feature in amnesty international’s “top of the pops” so were unlikely to make the journalist scoop, a scoop that would take him from his kitchen soup, if you know what I mean; though I was caused to feel a little numb from my thoughts for a second or two, well maybe it was four I don’t remember exactly and it matters not; moreover my shins had lost heat due to an insurgence of cold air creeping in through the gaps edging around the flaking magnolia of my door. Which of course must wholly carry the burden and responsibility for being the cause for my distraction and lack of concentration.

Putting a little warmth back in to my legs became a more pressing matter and required an action of a kind that would utilise the remaining three percent of my revolutionary spirit, so I abandoned the proxy pleas of whoever they were, twelve minutes prior to the expiration of their prerequisite fame threshold and went for a smoke and to feel the kiss of a warm fan heater’s breeze glide through the hairs on my legs as if a welcoming cliché looking for a sonnet to tease. So I signed on and read a few words but a sickness quickly descended as I tried desperately to control the nauseous feelings engendered by the “oh wonderfuls” of the “luvvie club poets society” and an unfortunate christening, baptising “Tomorrow” for a lover in waiting failing to appreciate why a sanctified water splasher would not understand that a “tomorrow” might never “come”.

I had been walking around in a John Lennon song for most of day and managed, between the goo goo g’joobs to finger pick my way through two pieces of battered cod only to find myself an unwilling alibi and substantiate for the claims that there were no bones to be found as stated clearly on the packaging, so was not in the most lucid of mind. I focussed on a Guinness logo tastefully decorating the face of my favourite drinking vessel and marvelled at my imagined artistic interpretations of its backdrop illuminated by the cigarette butts that occupied the space where liquid usually hung in transient captivity like piss in a basin waiting a cistern flush. Well I must say, things were seaming to get a little heavy and in danger of becoming a catalyst for one more moment of guilt to add to my umpteenth resolution made; this time however in disapproving silence.

I needed to rid myself of my crutch so lit another ciggie to consider my options as I relaxed, but instead recalled the random lines floating on the peripheries of a previous days conversation and decided to weave them into my next masterpiece and began to recite aloud with all the class and finesse of a Shakespearian groupie.

“As the day is slowly swallowed

yesterday’s fear regurgitates

and deity walks in single tracks

absorbing preserves from infertile heat

disregarding ranks and tomorrow’s mourn

whilst conveniently discarding the effects

of a compositions isolationist need

to finely tune this rough cut’s freshness”

Well it was getting late and as the blasts of potpourri failed in its attempts to neutralise the stale odour of spent tobacco from carrying me on yet another guilt trip I decided to leave it at that and further decided against putting my thoughts to the pen.