Babbling Brook

April.

Something will happen. Something will happen.

I wonder if I just type words... will something emerge? Something of worth?

Or will I delete this in a second?

Well, not a SECOND. But a minute.

It's certainly looking that way.

But it's easier to type and delete than it is to stare at the screen with dry eyes and a pulsing electric headache marching through the sinuses.

Words. They are my stepping stones to meaning.

I could use numbers, but my feet are too big and clumsy to navigate them. And I don't want to be falling into a ravine. Not at my age.

So is meaning near here? It doesn't appear clear.

I wonder if I should become some sort of mute.

The sort that doesn't speak. I have nothing interesting to say. And yet, I'm writing...

Maybe I should become a finger-mute. No more typing. No more flipping the bird. No more flicking the Vs. The world would be a better place.

Thumbs are a grey area (especially if you've been smudging newspaper). Should I become a thumb-mute?

I'm using my thumb to hit the spacebar. Withoutiteverythingwouldbelikethis.

But I wouldn't want to rob myself of the thumbs-up. A sure-fire sign of positivity.

There isn't enough positivity in the world. And that's just the start of my problems.

Let's go in a different direction.

Let's head over here and see what happens.

Hmm.

Weird.

I'm viewing the world through fresh eyes. Figuratively, of course. In reality, my eyes are as stale as the socks of Moses.

A whole new world of possibilities has opened up. It's split down the middle, and opened right up. Totally opened. And some kind of goo emergeth.

As the socks of Moses.

I could buy some corduroy trousers, and use them as little troughs for my tears. Not bad tears; tears of happiness. There isn't enough positivity in the world, as I said before. So perhaps, just perhaps, if (just if) I could channel those joyful tears into salient places, the world could become more happy.

I could pour the tears into the eyes of politicians and newspaper people. I could pour them down the phonelines at the Samaritans. I could scatter them sprinkler-style, flying in a crop-duster over funerals, over schools, over refugee-camps. And everyone can bathe in the truth - the sheer physical manifestation of gratitude.

The longer this goes, the more likely it is that I'll actually post it. And what will happen then? People will think I've gone crazy.

But I haven't gone crazy. Just because I'm justified on the right doesn't mean I'm some kind of Conservative fundamentalist (or even a conservative Fundamentalist). I'm playing with form here.

In the most simplistic way I can think of. It was either this or make the text blue. And I've done that before. By reminding it of global tragedies.

Hahaha. Blue as in sad. I confounded your expectations and my teachers at school who all said I could amount to something but only if I worked hard and had some kind of combine harvester that harvested deed instead of corn; purpose instead of barley; and truth instead of apricots.

Let's wing back over there and see what's happened in my absence.

Wow.

Things have changed over here on the left. Suddenly there are jutting invaders from the East, poking me like sideways stalagmites. Rocky as cliffs. And the geological composition is frankly shocking. I seem to have gone crazy.

But I haven't gone crazy.

But that's what people will think.

But then again: people. People.

Who are they? I've never met a people.

I might stop now, and come back to this later, and cough and splutter and hit delete.

Or I might realise that I'm on to something.

***

I decided to post it.