Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Choose carefully which strangers to allow through your door

And from the Second House of New Hearts, the Empty Headed Ghost Of August. He is not happy. His skin drips with no ink. The blackened eyes glitter with insolence. If something has "glimmer" could it not also have "glim" ?

And then, in real life, comes the flash of the pan. From the centre of the stars, a movement, subtle as a whisper, but with the clarity of a full moon. Whilst the footsteps of destiny clatter loud against the stubborn silence of dawn, Serendipity is whisking up the leaves, the creaking mumour of old trees lean against walls, building up the sense of voices, words, whispers forming from the bending branches...

The socilogical understanding of 'doubt' has some thoughts leaning on the side of childhood fears. The uncertainty of certain doubt itches and scratches against the thought patterns, if not the soul. Indeed it would appear that 'doubt' is only a few degrees separated from 'guilt', sharing almost every characteristic, even its taste. One can feel it, certainly in the quiet walks along the River, feet kicking stones, hands softly, lazily, running along leaves and twigs...Reaching out in a stretch reminiscent of paint commercials...

There are changes, within and beyond, and whilst the hope yearns for eternal profit, something in the air catches the most subtle of suggestions of 'doubt', and whisks up a storm. He who has the last word is always right, goes the rule. Only strangers have the get-out clause here. Only strangers can prove the rule.