Monday morning renovation dread

 

A woman, with a cap, the nape of her neck, brittle like old drift wood, as it clings like a rope, as if in full swing,  all will be broken, shoved up into the eaves, where the fires, move and crack, and the small combustibles, crouched together, wait their tutn, watching for the black man to finally climbin the stairs, as the first step creeks, waiting for him to kick in the door. as with each new remembering, the embers burn. Thing that happened, things forgot , incidences he inhabited. Us Staring at the white square, as undefeated he tries to get in. MB

The internet is down

 

The sky freezes, as the ship rises deep in it's hull, banking almost vertical as it fights the torment of blue black moving motion. All men are bracing now, black figures buttoned up, their spirits almost spent,as they have warriored for days now in the black futility against the water and the ice. But there is one, that is more distinct than the rest, his blue cornish eyes stare out from beneath blonde cornish hair, the golden cornish face frozen, ruddy and complex. His name is Silas Weisbach, dark and solid he regards the torrent, unmoving from beneath a seaman's coat wrapped so high, his face is almost veiled. He is closed and as dark, and put away as the great sail, pulled and tightly coiled around him, Like all of his possessions the coat, and everything he owns came out of a great mahogany trunk, the teak, bought from Africa, and found one day in a way ward market, many summer's ago. A small, domestic earthy homely place where the great rolling coast of the green goes all the way down , and the small places cling to the land till it meets the deepest blue. Then he had been a young midship man, collecting ashore, stacking provisions, long before/and/ the Hindelacht had not yet set out on it's last and fatal voyage

But for now, he is pulled tightly and cannot think of the things that will not be seen again, because Sila Weibach, only son of his mother's love such knows as he watches the great bough rising, in the rough of the collapsing waters that at 23 years old the day that he was fated to leave this earth is finally, and undeniably here. MB

Bamboo papers x3

 

There was nothing in the air, that wasn't unfiltered, and yet the air was stale and lost, it had disappeared within the messed up currents and streams of a ship in overload. The constant over light with it's gamma rays that drained t and damned them all; till listless and unmoving, all any of them could do was lay within their bunks, praying to a God beyond salvation; as the ship without it's navigation sailed hopelessly on and on. Entombed within the hot metallic air, that dug them out in a constantcy of insufferable heat, as each new hour drew them nearer to the sun. Like most of them, She gave into it, damp in a her thinn cotton vesst, and matching pants, regulation issue, one hand flat under her head, as on her side she faced towards the wall,  the heat on he rskin, drying, and baking, and then frying some more. The soft, lumpy shape of her bed roll beneath, a false reminder of the former nights of impossible cold when they had led alpha 2, 1. The most outwardly planet; were now no more.Now here she was burning up, and waiting to die and  If she felt anything it was that she felt nothing at all. As it sat still and as yet behind her mind.Yet somehow she accepted it  Keeping her away from the hysteria, keeping her somehow still lucid yet somehow still away from her self,.In a few more days, if they had that, the symptoms would come. But for now with what was left ? Like the ship she drifted, so did she-   The academy for that si , now a distant memory- and with it the great arc structures and possibilities that like stars had shone  high over her head. Back on earth, back before the happening, back before any of this, before she, like the ship had become immobilized  trapped and toxic, carrying their bodies, like a coffin still afloat,. On and on, moving through the black , on through the heat and dark of space, sslowly taking them over, following an/the aberrant electronic trace. MB

Thank God for rain.. (there was no possibility of them doing any work today).

 

A woman, with a cap, the nape of her neck, tender and brittle like wood,, it clings to her like a rope, as if she will swing, and with it, everything will eb broken, shoved up into the eaves, where the fires, move and crack, where the combustibles wait their tutn,, crouched together watching for the black man below, the one who is finally climbing the stairs, as the first oen creeks, waiting for him to kick it all down. with each new rembembering, from the embers, of where the thing happened, the forgotten, incidences he inhabited before, Staring att he white squatre, as he trieds to get in. MB

Broke . Literally. Death ..oh and fear.

 

• #2

"Forgive me for saying this - but - It sounds abundantly clear that the 'typical' thing has happened that happens to most, if not all, small electronics gadgets when they have been dropped on the floor. It seems to have suffered a catastrophic failure from something internal sustaining physical damage. Take it to a repair guy - if such a thing still exists or replace it. I just replaced my cellphone on Saturday just gone and while there I saw a phone that had been dropped, just like yours, but that one now had a broken screen... It happens...

Can you justify the cost of repair - I'll bet not. It's probably cheaper to replace it... However, I hope I am wrong in your case...

Good luck my friend...

Oh - One last piece of advice... Get a wallet or holder for it, like I did. It "might" save it if there is a next time.. I too have learned, the hard way that even though a wallet looks ugly and you can't show off your prized new phone, that they do save them from knocks and bumps and the occasional drop,, believe me..."

Al

Narc discussions part II.. (Faith versus reality in a wasteland of dreams)

Art by Zdzisław Beksiński

Is this me in the gloaming. Where wrack hangs heavy on an under belly that is cut. The no light place where skulls crown bleached and blackened. Like a string of thick nothings that fray to thin. Each one an emaciated hope that boiled down in the nether. Where is the meat of means? Do dreams float? Or has this all been for nothing? MB

The golden path and precipices.. ( the battle)

Refuse the pit. Trust the rightness and lightness of the light. The big step up.The ease of it's adventures and surprises. Entry point  to spiritual life.Wings will carry you, winds will deliver you.It has never failed you. Fear not. For it is written. MB

Artist: Maria Wigley

The swarm of things.. ( losing my religion)

Every waking second is now hurt and disbelief. Is this punishment? Never been here before. losing faith like i've lost my sight.