... but I stopped. Now I'm a dad, and may blog again...

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Used plasters. Stuck to the floor, rolled into a tube as if fallen from a finger, or lying with adhesive side upwards waiting to adhere to the sole of my shoe. They make me sick.

Finger tips placed together in the style of a Mr. Burns from The Simpsons 'Excellent' hand gesture. That makes me cringe. Seeing other people do it, attempting to do it myself, or even just thinking about it. They all make me extremely uncomfortable. Having my finger tip touched by another finger tip. Disgusting. I think this comes from when I broke my finger about fifteen years ago and had to wear a plastic sheath on it for six weeks. The entire time I could feel the touch of my finger tip. Constant unwelcome stimulation like Chinese water torture.

I can feel it now in that very finger as I think about it. Every time it touches a key as I type I feel that cringe and I shudder. Unpleasant. Yes, it is.

Writing those words was agony. Not because they are so painful, clearly they are not. It's just stupid. It really felt like hard work. Every time I tried to think of a wordy, rhythmic, playful way of expressing my dislike for used plasters and touched finger tips my mind clammed up and I felt sleepy and just wanted to click links.

I thought about the plaster thing at work today. I saw an old plaster lying sticky side up on the grey dusty floor of the stock room. Everything in there is covered in a thick construction-y powder that stains anything it touches, leaps up in clouds whenever anything moves, and fills your nostrils with a black substance that gets stuck under your fingernail. This plaster  was probably rendered stick-less by the dust but nevertheless I would not have enjoyed stepping on it. Having seen it however I was able to avoid it.


A magpie and a squirrel circled each other on foot. I watched from my bedroom window. The action happened on the grass at the base of a tree in the park behind my flat.

Something in the grass must have provided a desirable food source for bird and rodent alike. They paced and circled. The magpie hopped and shouting in machine gun fire. The squirrel flowed a pure sine wave.

Sometimes the squirrel would feel the upper hand and stop for a nibble of the precious grub, at which point the magpie would advance rapidly and take a nip at the squirrel's tail. Other times the magpie would peck at the ground and and the squirrel would advance with tooth and claw.

Both magpie and squirrel stopped, took time out to watch a second squirrel walk from up-stage right to exit up-stage left. And they went back to stalking and striking.

A vicious nip from that beak sent the squirrel a couple of feet up the tree. The magpie strutted and flexed and took a successful jumping gulp at a passing bug-on-the-wing.

A third squirrel entered down-stage right sending the magpie up and away. The squirrel came back down the tree and began sparring with the third squirrel. Both squirrels squabbled before exiting stage right in a clusterfuck of squeaks and scratching.

Curtains close.
Open. Players return for a bow.
The End.

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