Wednesday, 5 December 2012

Flashing Lights

I mentioned briefly that a couple of weeks ago I went with M and his folks to a nearby bowling alley, to, have a bit of a bowl.
It was a Friday, and since I had no work I decided I'd have energy to not eat that day, a day which would have ordinarily been free of stress due to not having work. Sounds foolish, not eating, but I had researched that so many food obsessed people had managed to abandon their fears of food by not eating for one day a week. The theory was that they could maintain or loose weight, but not have to stress and overhaul their lives to do so, just, one day, no food (or one day 500 cals for people with busy and active lives). I used to do this when I was younger, but, because I hadn't researched it and didn't know there were (actually multiple plus points beyond weight) benefits, I was worried my parents/friends would be shocked and disapproving, so I went at it without support and felt a little guilty/crappy.




On those days, when I wasn't on the ball, if I slipped and ate an apple, a piece of carrot, anything, I would severely mentally punish myself, "you're weak, no backbone, unworthy of attaining a healthy attitude to food and health" etc., Friday, that bowling Friday (after my fearful coffee in Katowice, panicking about a possible free biscuit) I failed. We went bowling, beers were bought and very large bags of crisps too, all open in bowls, ready to be scoffed down during the in between times of those awkward bowling turns. So I failed to not eat, and had a diet of coffee, crisps and beer, like a child allowed to choose his own meals for the day perhaps, minus all the sickly dairy maybe...

Why this preamble? Well, just, to illustrate how I was feeling at this point I suppose, enjoying the company in the bowling alley, feeling a dirty failure inside.

After the bowling ended we moved to the side of the lanes where there were billiard tables, and played. There was a copy of Nighthawks on the wall, the lights were low, red and green neons, I took a shot at the ball and had a flash.






This is what I wrote at the time, fueled by beer and E numbers;


I took a shot at the purple striped 12 and had a flash, not one of those dastardly odd and unhealthy flashes of bodily harm, not at all. One that brought on great melancholy, nay, longing, nevertheless. 

Hitchcock

I was in Westbury street, the green of the table replaced by the green pastures of my pure pure contentment.





It's something past one

I'm drowsy, practically sleeping, my hand is immersed in a pile of silken linen. Human hair. Someone 's hand is tracing my own.



Vertigo



The changeable hair of Kim Novak

Beautiful grey lines are the threads of our shared consciousness.

Windowlit.

Subtle greens and inviting reds of pulsing neon.






Confused reality and a sense of sinister revelry, utter happiness.


Whether I failed to travel back to the future, or remain benighted as to last years happenings at Marrienbad, I know myself in this room.



I welcome her, the others, unconstrained happiness - acceptance.

I have faced the abyss of my being. 


Within these four walls, a lighthouse, a frog, elephantine in the world of our acceptance. 



Love lights, burning.