Artful Riffer

Wed 13 Aug 2023

Welcome back to this space of black and white which I fill with colour as best I can.

Green. Yellow. Black. Ok done.

I’m resting my arm on the pen box so I don’t sweat into that empty left hand page that I never use.

This is like a canvas which takes my paint.

Associative thinking and insecure moments in bars feeling like I’m not wearing the correct clothes and a distinct feeling of wanting to be home vegetating and waiting for life to blow over me like a insert image here template feeding swans with bits of bread that aren’t good for them and border collies laying chin down on the floor in coffee shops inhaling smoke and not getting enough stimulation for such an intelligent animal thinking it’s life is pointless and adding apostrophes where they aren’t needed.

Garfield shirts and google searches on how to smoke a cigarette correctly out of curiosity in how to do the wrong thing in the correct way.

Feeling in the dark for good feelings telling the body that life isn’t about happiness to trick it into getting work done and ants passing by grapes that aren’t on the pheromone trail.

Eating sandwiches and needing to add condiments because its ‘too dry’ because you’re, I’m, a plum in a bowl that hasn’t yet been eaten and now judging by its colour, probably never will.

Looking deeply at a speck of plastic table, thinking about its depth on the microscopic level, and wondering again if rocks have feelings on some fish feel pain existential level.

Wiping faces in irritation and frustration, AI robots that need a body in order to be sentient.

McDonalds cups thrown up in the air, landing on unstable roofes which collapse under butterfly feathers and leave marauders wondering for weeks if they will hear a knock or bang on the door and four walls and sunlight limitation until rocks are proven to not feel pain.

Whining and singing and olives with pips assumed to be treated bitten down on and throwing erasers like the school teachers of their day.

Paper envelopes forgotten and rancid, feeble hands flicking the next rectangle of engaging content into the view of a tired eyeball.

Sitting doing nothing waiting for the great idea to hit and starting to notice why people feel sad on birthdays.

Melancholic moanings and paper hats and watching kids amazed at things.

Wheel of fortune forced to turn by an optimistic nature and pure luck in love and lottery of correct facial structure.

Ing words and effort made to write poetry, generic in its tool to sell impressions to those only interested in buying cocktails and houses.

Painting paper with ink.

Having nice handwriting and being encouraged.

Go for it Chazzer.

Rust.

Waiting breathlessly while an algorithm favours engagement for your attention to what happens next, greed for chaos from a silver pulpit where the ground never moves and bugs can be left to fizz for millions of years.

Thinking AI will change the world for you and learning nothing in the meantime.

Wanting to do the thing that brings most happiness and avoiding the critical path just to avoid being lazy.

Hiding from the world in a phone screen, waiting for the day of the all ‘coming together’.

Walking into the gallery in town and saying, can I hang this here?

And them saying no, we pay a lot of money for this rent, we don’t know you, and this is a kids drawing.

Never coming to the final realisation and never having anything meaningful to say, just running tools over durable objects without much thought.

Pages wasted lazily dissociating and giving up on that wheel of fortune that was supposed to turn.

Flailing in the darkness because the eyes lost interest in the complaining.

Trying not to ‘think’ in complaints, or at least preaching at others to do so.

Never doing yoga because of the laziness and unwillingness to sit still for a minute at the start.

Going back over to find the highlights from the mess and pretending the pockets of dullness didn’t inform the rest.

Regrets about not speaking to people more before they died, because they were pretending to be stronger than they were.

Sorry babe can I just pass by.

Impressions left on the skin from sitting and ignoring because sorry bunny I’m in the mood to write, using the dirty AC water to water the flowers.

Drinking bleach in the year 2050 because the water ran out and we need to save the strawberry milkshake for the too late 58 grandkids.

Trying to put a hopeful spin on things and trapping flies because they’re irritating.

Flies banging against a lamppost, wait for the cliché, and then going back to our phones, but turn the brightness down a bit because we’re pretending to be asleep so there’s no backlight.

Watching police interviews about murderers and feeling good because you have empathy and wondering if evil is a chemical thing.

Square faces and prediction of aggression.

Shy faces and prediction of success.

Optimised, optimistic, waiting for the day I can put into words this thing I’m trying to say.