17.2.2014
Blackout between one and five. Complete and utter oblivion. The clocks beeping is the first thing after one in the morning. add the sound in the head goes on. is it maddening or is it madness? leave the house, leave the eat, leave chaos behind. Wait for the bus, the same regular people going to their daily work. The strict girl at Yormas, the goo mengen man. No deep philosophy, just people going to their work. getting things done. The train is not as full as it might be, that is good. People reading papers, silence but for the clearing of throats and the groans of slow moving carriages.
A female voice over the speakers welcomes the passengers to the express, and informs that the next stop will be Moosburg. People listening intently to their telephones. It is good that the music. is inaudible, with just the rumble of the trains wheels and the whine of its electric motors to be heard.
Empty the coffee mug, then smash the paper cup no that it fits into the tiny waste receptable let into the table. That was nice coffee, now its gone..
There is no rythm in these mornings anymore, no sense of achievement, just a grey dutiful mass of amorphous movement. Like honey from a spoon, only in its movement. The analogy stops there, for there is. nothing golden translucent about these mornings.
Mans voice announces moose-B. That is probably a recording. Please leave to the rght, so many most respectable people, smelling of smoke and aftershave. Churchills dark pet has bitten, and 'is gnawing away at the root of all evil.
There are no bright spirits this morning.
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