Appearances of a hearing aid in the soup
Sometimes I have questions, and sometimes I don't...
Image by beate bachmann from Pixabay
THE LISTENING
A time comes, mostly when it’s very quiet, when you can feel strongly that something is listening to you; and when you cast out to perceive what it is, you find it is yourself listening to all that you are thinking, and yet, something else too is listening to you, through you.
Well, quickly you tidy up your thoughts, sweep the junk under the bed and wonder: what can I ask for?
Usually by then it is too late, as that something goes off with whatever you were thinking when it was listening, leaving you wondering: what had you been thinking in that moment?
Well, all the liquor in the world can’t solve this, so you pull out the weed and burn some incense and wonder if tomorrow will ever come again to catch you thinking something that is worthwhile listening to.
Image by Albert Dezetter from Pixabay
THE COMMANDMENTS
First: do not judge: or you may get blown away by it.
Second: do not fear the dust, it is your history, surrounding you, and accompanying you as you travel on.
Third: the very soul of you will find its own way in time, and drag you along with it, and if it doesn’t, then you’ll worry about that when it happens.
Fourth: it’s okay to put tulips on the grave.
Five: we will second you in any place you want to hide.
Sixth: we are not real.
Seventh: I really do not want to worry about that now, it’s only a dream that I’ve happened upon, and so now it is the time to escape.
Number 8 has got to be a real shiner, but everyone’s gone home, so I think I will join them.
Someone said that there were 2 more so I wound up the machine and moved on to number 9 that blew me a kiss from number five, and said: we would like to make you an offer where the factor two doesn’t come into it.
I wasn’t thinking straight by then so I blew them a kiss back and pulled up a chair by my window, and stared out of it all night long
Image by Maria Saunders from Pixabay
APPEARANCES OF A HEARING AID IN THE SOUP
I am two-pence the crawler, pleased to meet you; can I interest you in a holiday to Ireland, by any chance?
Do birds have wings?
Yes they do, mostly.
Then that is my answer.
Does that mean you want a holiday in Ireland?
What’s in Ireland?
It’s a lovely place.
But is it love’s domain?
Can we begin again please?
How many times are we going to begin again before we know anything?
That’s a good question.
Perhaps I am asking too much of you?
No, no, not really, no.
Then what is the answer to it all?
I have no idea.
But I thought you had a clue.
I used to, but that was long ago.
Then what have you been chasing all of these years?
You mean you don’t know?
No, I have no idea.
Are we both clueless then?
It appears so.
Then I want my money back.
What, speak up, I can’t hear you.
ECLIPSE
All things pass and die, said the caterpillar to the fly, out on a stroll through the morning that was coming up ever-friendly once again.
Waves, roared from the shore, far from the downside where the eclipse was happening, and that obscene passion called trouble.
Well, you know how it is: sometimes I just can’t find the right songs on the radio as I walk to you.
We are only as nice as we feel until we don’t feel any more.
It was around three days later that I came back down and grew my moustache twice are strong; I mean, when you’re on a roll you’ve just got to go with it, right?
When the eclipse came I was running hard for the mustard or anything I could find just then to keep it up there, but all things must pass and die and so I came down to it and thought: so this is what it‘s like to be in life.
And that’s when I knew the moment is only now and blew the whistle for the game to start
Image by Reimund Bertrams from Pixabay
A SWIVEL WORD OF SAND DUST
Well then, maybe I’ll stay awhile, while you can still see me, but the moment you take your eyes off of me, that’s when I’ll be gone.
Contrary to this and on the other shore, cloud nine was peeling bananas with his very own hands, but hadn’t a clue yet as to how to get out of the mess he was falling into.
One times too many looked up, but couldn’t further any forward movement and so gave up before everyone’s eyes, and falling over backwards, escaped into the sun.
And then, the sand dust devils sent up swirls to surround everyone, and the music began to do funny things that had everyone out and whirling like dervishes in their splendour around the love of their life.
I was a swivel word of sand dust hidden away somewhere close by and listening to every morsel that came my way.
Images from Pixabay
A past prior post from the before https://steemit.com/wisdom/@wales/the-mustard-machine-in-raincoat-robin
Where do you get all the inspirations to write all the above? Like I can only manage one prompt and you cover so many.
From listening to commandment to hearing aids to eclipse to the sand dust, all different 'niche'. A writer is a writer. A writer and a thinker is different. Somehow feel you think and ponder alot? Forgive me if I am wrong. ☺️
One, carry a notebook around with you and write it down when it comes. Two, wake up and get out to where you write every day, ie a coffee shop or restaurant, get your coffee, and write until you've done a 1000 words. Three, Your mind is dustbin for everything that comes at you, and stores it up and all you have to do is be open, put pen to paper, and let it all out. Four, thinking is not a bad thing in itself, nor unthinking, but when I write I like to write about what I know, what has already happened to me. Five, fiction is made up, life is what happens to you, mixing them both up creates something creative. I could go on, but I think you get the drift by now... Thanks for you comment...