I am of the filidh armed only with words which lead to more words building, like bricks one by one on top of each other.
A wall of words surrounding like a butress.
Sometimes I feel that galaxy of words out there moving closer edging nearer and nearer with every passing moment, tumbling from the mouths of genius and idiot alike
telling me that some thing needs to be said. Need to be articulated, before the tidal wave of mediocrity threatening to overwhelm the illusion upon this tiny little complacent shore of safety can be held back
kept in check and tossed right off before the crucial moment is upon us.
That pure indefinable moment which tips the balance of all known existence to send us into a freefall of questioning and collapse.
And let me tell you this friends, buddies, matey boys and girls. Once that bubble's burst, there is no going back. No way You're having a laugh, surely, if you think for a second, a nanosecond, that there's any going back once that moments gone.
It aint coming back sunshine, so wake up and smell your life before bye-bye time is over and you're spending the rest of eternity wondering on the brief flash of life you once had.
You'll be in good company all right. What with Elvis and Plato and everyone in between. You'll soon cop on suss it out, get to know the score.
All those perplexing little questions you never found the answers for whilst you were too busy cleaning your teeth, wiping your arse or sitting on a bus stuck in traffic with the grey concrete walls creeping in on you.
All those can be answered, when your hanging around like a bad smell, waiting for the end of time to make an appearance, like the ghost of your long gone Granny.
And when that happens you will know every single moment of your time inside out, like the back of your proverbial hand. And the wall you built brick by brick will be so familiar, you'll be screaming so loudly, you'll drown in the very voice your sick of constantly hearing.
And you won't be able to stop, because, after an infinity of absolutely nothing at all, you will be, a thousand million, trillion bits of little bitty bollocks shitting your way through the eye of the tiniest, sharpest needle in the history of eternal misery.
And there'll be no one there to be swapping your shopping anecdotes with. No one there to be washing your dishes or telling you to get right off. You will be all alone like the fat, ugly spotty faced cripple kid stuck to the wall at a Friday night dance in the middle of wide open nowhere.
And no one'll be looking over because the wall you built brick by brick will be your own private monument to you and your shitty little life.
But then, from somewhere, out of nowhere, you will find yourself lying on soft sand under the milken sky of a warm summer night, the gentle silken breeze caressing your naked skin with the delicacy and delight of Romeo and Juliet's first brush of each other's bodies.
And the sound of ocean crashing waves, soothing and sending you off up in the air to drift asleep on a central heated cloud, floating along to the land of tranquillity and smiles like a sigh of sweet contentment. And Bingo. You're back
reborn, ready to start all over again. Give it another crack of the whip, bite of the cherry, roll of the dice.
Come on, come on. Lets get moving. Grip your toothbrush, clean your teeth, wipe your arse, push your way to the front of the bus
Fuck that old one she can stay stood up the exercise'll do her good. Come on come on, lets get ready to rustle up the beat and rumble and show the world, who's boss today Boyo.