Currently Unreflected

Breakfast still lingers below the exotic palate of lunch. The vestiges of my old familiar friend is a warm shadow.

No control, we have no control.

Unfamiliar, quickly becomes recognizable, even if still not understood.

It's no ones fault. This is just the way it is. A dream is an inherently tragic thing. It begs to disappoint. To be let out into the world to be crushed. To survive a dream must be flexible. It must be able to see itself reflected back in failure. And this failure belongs to no one. It is merely an antiquated repetition of the course of time.

History and anthropology. My condolences to the Queen, on this, the day of tragic consequences in the House. But perhaps, tragic is not exactly accurate. Perhaps we would be better served, if we merely said what we really thought: this House, is a house of cards.

*Shwoooosh*

Tumble, tumble – tombe bebe.

Cat's cradle, this world belongs to dog spoons and the rest of the cutlery drawer. Though of course we all know; we don't save the silverware in a fire.

Women and children first.

Only if there are enough boats. . .

But I don't come equipped with life rafts.

Too much baggage.

But anyway, the prevalent winds say. But anyway, how much can you pay? Indeterminable amounts, in indefinite increments. As much as you need. Just give me what I want. We all get let off, and we all get lead on. Head on. It's the only way to see through. Head on, this beautiful day – is not for me, inside this crucible, locked into the falsities, sucking them back like gob-stoppers – everlasting. I am Slugworth, you are Slugworth . We Are Slugworth. Only Charlie. Only baby. Not me, I'm just the damage done.

But Anyway. But Anyway.

But Anyway.
But Anyway. But Anyway.



It's not decision day.