“We must believe in free will – we have no choice.” – Isaac
Bashevis Singer “Take it away! Oh
fucking hell mate, quick… oh… I’m gonna be sick.” “And here I was thinking you’d
appreciate a bit o’ bacon… dripping
with lardy fat…” “Oh God…” Five minutes later Ed returned from
the bathroom and sat down looking thoroughly rotten. “You’re not in “That’s true,” he allowed. “How did you get home?” “I’m not sure. But I do know it
involved a bus in * In the mid afternoon I got a text
from Annabell: ‘Hi! How are you doing?’ What the hell does that mean? Is she just being polite or does it
mean something more? What if it means more? What if she wants me back? Perhaps
she’s just being proud, holding back a little but seeking something. But then… there’s isn’t a ‘kiss’ at the end. What does
that mean? By the time Ed had returned to
normality, in late afternoon, I still hadn’t made up my mind how to reply. “At least I don’t look keen,” I
said. “Oh yeah, you look really serene. You’re a fucking solid steel
ultra dense ball of impassive metal on an everlasting and perfectly still
ocean, you.” I shook my head patiently. “She doesn’t know that.” “But you do.” “So?” “So why do you care mate? She’s long
gone, a nice mess in a worker - the man’s conservative.”* A pause followed while I caught up.
It became silently known, by the briefest of nods between us, that I had
understood. That is: I understood his cryptic meaning though I may not have taken his plain meaning. * nice mess = anagram
of nice = cien; in a worker = in ‘ant’; man’s = his; conservative = tory;
Altogether = ‘Ancient History’.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Ultra Dense Metal Ball on Endless Still Ocean
Posted by
Tom Evans
at
23:26
Labels: CatchUp, drunkeness, Ed
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