Today in the tumble dryer of loneliness…

I spotted a flower. A dried flower. A desiccated flower. A flower in pieces.

And I thought of Paris and people and other things. And the music was on repeat and so has been everything I can touch, hear or smell for such a long while now that change when it occurs, seems wrong, unnatural, cancerous.

Cause for alarm, I am cloaked in cold weather apparatus of a scarf, fleece, and oversized wooly Coolers.

My exercise machine. My empty existence. My painting, waiting. My writing, awful. I cannot do anything it seems to stem the weakest of tides from washing over me salty and cold, cleaning me of my better senses.

At the very least there are no illegal drugs here. At the most I, your host, will make yet another coffee. The cold adds another dimension like laying a square table for five to eat from.

I reserve the right to freeze my bollocks off! (while the world turns nonchalantly away to breeze through pages of a magazine)

Meanwhile, Vesuvius’ magma chambers are filling and the pressure is building.

But what’s new crew?

By the way, FLCL is the name of some Anime I never got around to reading but will one day I am sure.




Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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