Sunday, December 07, 2008

All that remains is the cold

Month follows month. I have witnessed the passing of leaves, river strengths, icing and thawing of puddles. And all which remains...

All that remains is the anecdote, the dry chuckle of the joke. A darkness brewing in the still breeze, car-alarms and dog barks which pass, all that remains etched in glass...All the remains of thoughts without end, not enough friends...

All that remains is the cold. Of handshakes never offered, statues quartered by their own shadows, and shadows lost by their own journey.

Month has followed month. There has been so much happening, but no record, not officially. And there is so much I could comment on. The conduct of my own stupid behaviour, for one. The dirtiest of expolits, in the cover of darkness, among strangers. Generous bursts of lust, hunger at its most basic. And I pay the price, not just financial, for every day since the memories (largely tasting of guilt) seep into the other parts of my brain, leaving everything polluted, all that remains is the consequence.

Consequence rather than consience. There is a deadline, of sorts, for these thoughts to be adequately articulated. The filtering of thoughts for my own satisfaction, and then for an audience, which has the taste of unfortunate irony about it. I am only pretending to have no interest in recording the events of the past 4 months. In reality, such as it is, the lack of an official record hurts.

All that remains is an invisble mirror, a splinter of time curled around its frame, stretched grey lace. There is no 'suddenly'. Morning has been coming from the pouring of the first pint. All that remains is the punchline without an end, too many regrets and not enough friends.