Week 170, Woman on a motorcycle

It's Motorcycle Safety Awareness Day.

Let's look at the representation of escape.

. . .

No need for that, let's make it real.

Spirit, by the jam jar full, tapped off from every optic.*

Recreational pharmaceuticals, by the armful, who knows with what it's cut.

Small time gangsters, by the pool table full, take their cut.

Tap room altercations with aggressive giants, the losers win each conflict.

Dance barefoot, crunch shards as a curtain flaps through the jagged window.

High risk, low rent, bottom of the pile.

Nothing to lose.

Hollow eyed, with random, meaningless malice.

Rip it down and start again.

A psychedelic reverie of naked, blood spattered axe waving.

. . .

Or maybe just go for a slow ride followed by a quiet night in with the Muppets.**

* Imagine Lautrec's 'Earthquake', only by dimension and quantity more so.
** No motorcycles were harmed in the making up of this, it isn't 1968, there is no crash into a truck.

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Week 169, Nature's eye

The morning looks on regardless

Human concern converging to the entropic domain

What was there is gone

But for the fragments

Coalescing to obscure the prospect

Of the flat expanse of infinity*

* Thought for the day.


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Week 168, Glossop Road Potemkin

Somewhere in a basement in Sheffield there is a secret room.

I say secret but it's not hidden, if you have walked down the stairs you may have noticed it.

And if you enter you would discover the 'Wild West' style safe, the type with a dial and a handle.

You may also spot the huge, prehistoric tractor-feed printer once used for producing payslips.

Most wouldn't detect the reference to standing up to ignorant authority, perhaps they would consider it subversive.

Given the ill-informed decisions made by our elected representatives maybe we need to take notice.*

* License has been used to bend this to allow me a dig at T. May and her incompetence.

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Week 167, All your businesses in one shop front

Ancient history being consumed by giant spiders in the out-house reveals some indigestible pages.

Among the many notebooks there was a Filofax, a device filled with treasure.

The names and numbers of scores of people, written on slips of paper, receipts, beer mats.

Instructions for flat-sitting.

And then this gem of a shop I spotted on Skye after I'd run out of film for the camera.

Skye Evangelical Bookshop and Gents Hairstylist and Chiropodists

They were closed at the time so I was unable to partake of any of their diverse range of services.

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