I’ll leave the key here. Lock up when you leave.
No need. I am leaving right this moment.
Can you get the lights, please?
Hold up. It’s Charlie. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!
Aw. That’s nice.
Go on. Leave the key. I will lock up. So, how are you? Long time, no see. Go on… what brings you here?
Can we continue this later?
Of course we can. Don’t be silly.
To be continued
February 29th.
2020.
You know that we shall celebrate in 2024.
Keep it to yourself, my boy, your mum don’t know the score.
Twenty Twenty.
So good they named her twice.
Pay close attention, lad, you take her advice.
Look left. Look right.
Keep one eye on the light
Listen to your mother, boy
Your mother knows what’s right.
You mark this day, my treasure, we’ll celebrate next year
And the one that follows after
When there is nothing more to fear.
Shift work. Early morning.
Preparing for the light.
A moment’s relaxation
And then continue with the fight.
Corona virus today, lad.
Another day, another dollar.
You make sure you remember this day.
You’re making history.
Let’s see to it that we keep you awake.
It’s quite the battle.
29th.
To be continued on the 30th.
Let’s be perfectly honest. We’ve turned a blind eye since crystal nacht in Germany.
I think you’re being unfair.
Ye men.
Ye men?
Yemen.
Oh. Yeah, well, I don’t really know what’s happening there.
Some do.
Another day.
On the steps of the Courthouse.
My client will read a prepared statement in the morning.
Whisper, whisper, whisper.
My client has yet to make a statement.
Whisper, whisper, whisper.
My client will not be making a statement in the morning.
Should he do so in the future
Well, then, that concerns the past.
That.
However.
In camera, gentlemen.
Oh goodness, Gordon Bennett!
That’s as subtle as it gets!
If truth be told, we’re killing time -
Still searching for that perfect rhyme.
And the wind begins to blow.
WTF! You do realise this is for entertainment purposes only.
It’s all non sense. You realise that. What the… What’s happened to Peter?
I’m not happy with that. It lacks subtlety.
Fuck sublety.
I would just like to point out that, on the island of Guernsey, we are being shot. Our only crime was being born.
The road less crossed. Although, a common misdemeanour in the ayes of some!
Hear, hear!
A pattern emerges.
1st July, 1916.
22nd April, 2016.
It’s 4 am. Creative writing.
Little more to say.
Up in court tomorrow
Facing judgement day.
Justice in action.
Mea culpa, Your Honour.
That, in a nutshell
Mere theory, nothing more.
Fact, according to Twenty.
Although, no one knows the score.
Well, well, well. Said the Donkey to the Horse.
Do you believe you have the patience?
Can you stay the course?
And the Donkey, as Donkeys often do
They love a game of words
You’re not getting the whole story!
It will appear in the local press on Thursday.
I will reproduce a copy, should the verdict be favourable. 
Meanwhile, I shall maintain my telephone vigil. At some point Boris will call. He may get DC to do it.
Are you okay? :-k
Fine, thank you. For entertainment purposes only. Merely talking to myself. Thanks for your concern. 
Moving on. It is time there was a thread for those asleep at 3 pm. Do Matchbox 20 have that one covered?
Who’s he talking to?
Sssh! I’m trying to listen.
Who is it?
Sssssssssh!!! Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Voices are indistinct. It sounds like.
Mister Emerson, do you have anything further to add?
THERE is one mind common to all individual men. Every man is an inlet to the same and to all of the same. He that is once admitted to the right of reason is made a freeman of the whole estate. What Plato has thought, he may think; what a saint has felt, he may feel; what at any time has befallen any man, he can understand. Who hath access to this universal mind is a party to all that is or can be done, for this is the only and sovereign agent.
You’ve already said that.
Then I would further add, scribes have at various times described THE sovereign agent as Allah, or Krishna or Yahweh or God.
And what name do you suggest we give to this sovereign agent?
In legal circles we refer to it as Ho.
Ho?
Ho.
Essentially, for those not yet born.
I am a teacher, a most prudential man
I teaches any where I go, in any way I can.
Today I’m teaching manners
Perhaps tomorrow, rage.
It’s up to my old guvnor,
For it’s him who pays my wage.
What’s he saying?
Get out of the way. They’ve stopped talking.
Yeah, so. What do you think of this weather. Reckon this rain is ever going to stop?
I’ll keep you informed Mister Emerson. We may need to call on you again.
Can you picture a scene without doors?
There is one door common to all individual men.
It is situated on the US/Mexico border.
Access is severely restricted. Unless, of course, said the Donkey to the Horse.
You happen to come in, disguised as some kind of coronavirus.
There is just one question remaining.
However, that is for another time. Everyone’s gone home and I am sat here on my Jack Jones.
Three large brown envelopes - sealed - drop through the mailbox.
Four questions remaining.
There’s no Russian Justice.
Well, Mister Putin’s on top of things.
I said, there is no rushing Justice.
You wouldn’t rush David Blunkett.
Say what?
Justice is blind.
Do you think so?
I’m going to bed, it’s approaching three am.
Goodnight, Mister Jones.
Later, Jack.
You coming, Tommy?
It’s 2:30 here and I can’t sleep. Woke up with a dry mouth and the feeling like someone was standing on my sternum. I’m scured, ILP.
Hold me.
No no, no don’t hold me. Stay back.
Just… just tell me it’s gonna be alright.
We had a good run didn’t we, ILP? Aw shit. Welp I guess maybe I wuz a little hard on ya, but it’s because I luv you guys.
I stole Charlie Wendling’s bike when I was twelve. But i gave it back two days later. I just wanna tell you guys that and get it off my chest.
The key to sleeping is an empty head. Also, not caring about not sleeping. Also, get up, go to bed eat etc. at the same time everyday. Gotta keep those circadian ryhthms rhythming.
Yeah, I know you know this stuff. I can keep going. But wouldn’t want to put you to sleep.
Oh, wait.
Got worried only one time when I didn’t sleep for close to a week, then found out you can die after 11 sleepless nights.
Next day knocked myself out , the eight day, then it was ok afterwards.
Since then I worry less. Strange though, now going through things much dier, assured that if this country doesn’t completely bust, there will always be a roof over my head and some food I can find.
For Meno:
„
What is Ignatia Amara used for?
Ignatia amara, also known as Strychnos ignatia, St Ignatius’ bean is a homeopathic remedy made from seed pods, which contain strychnine, which acts on the central nervous system. Used for sleeplessness due to grief, worry, shock or emotional upset.”
Ignatia pillules 20c, to be taken as recommended on the product… do not exceed the recommended dose. I too, many years back, had a string of sleepless nights… barely sleeping an hour in each 24 hour day, and I too got shook when I looked up the effects of it. I immediately cut out all caffeine and exhausted myself with physical activities… a combination that did the trick, and so took away any fears of an ensuing demise.
And when she saw the Muses of Poesie standing by my bedside, dictating the words of my lamentations, she was moved awhile to wrath, and her eyes flashed sternly. ‘Who,’ said she, 'has allowed yon play-acting wantons to approach this sick man—these who, so far from giving medicine to heal his malady, even feed it with sweet poison? These it is who kill the rich crop of reason with the barren thorns of passion, who accustom men’s minds to disease, instead of setting them free.
Boethius – Consolation of Philosophy.
For poetry was all written before time was…
Ralph Waldo Emerson.
The following was penned in 1985. A couple of tweaks here and there, and at a stretch it’s covid-19 appropriate.
Legacy of Power
The dogs are restless yesterday – they were tomorrow night.
It’s in the air, the Cat did say – it rides upon the light.
The Owl, wise as any bird, he rarely missed a trick.
But the news, alas, he hadn’t heard – poor thing he felt quite sick,
The Fox, he pleaded ignorance, t’was nowt to do with me.
The Weasel, speechless, in a trance – there’s nothing I could see.
Thunder, said the Magpie – that’s the sound it made.
I’ve not seen my wife and children since – never known them so afraid.
One for sorrow said the Rat – there’s funny goings on,
I saw a rabbit chase a cat – heard Thrush without a song.
The truth from Rat, unusually – a Pig said with surprise.
Sarcastically – a rarity, like when my brother flies.
No time for jokes, Hyena said. A smile upon his face.
I fear my wife and child are dead – they vanished without trace.
The family’s not a worry. A worm appeared to roar.
They left in such a hurry, cried a panic-stricken boar.
Protect the young, a goose was heard to say - she said it with much pride.
“You didn’t worry yesterday – that cannot be denied.”
Who said that? And what’s it mean?
The goose was clearly miffed
Come out, own up, be brave, be seen - our spirits need a lift.
A hush befell the gathered crowd – the air with tension charged
An ass stepped through, with head so proud…
Or rather, gently barged.
There! Perched upon the Donkey’s back, though looking rather frail
Truth to tell, he looked a wreck – but Owl wouldn’t fail.
Forgive me, Goose, did I set you back?
Then perhaps I’ll try a different tack.
To you, I may well seem unfair – but then I’m not convinced you truly care.
Protect the young, I heard you say. And yes, that’s why they’ve gone away
Yet had we done things differently, they’d still be here with you and me.
Didn’t I warn you of the dangers faced? In such a quandary I was placed.
Poor Owl’s mad – he’s lost his head. The only thing you ever said.
Oh Goose! You worked there night and day,
You sold your soul to earn your pay.
You bowed to their barbarity, thus waved farewell to you and me!
Your Mother can’t believe her eyes.
Soft breezes echo all her sighs.
It’s only over-zealous fools will tamper with their mother’s rules.
I really can’t believe the fact, that you with gay abandon act.
I warned you many moons ago, the seeds of danger that you sow.
You hypocrites are all the same, to you it seems life’s just a game.
Well, foolishly you played with fire.
As one, we’ll suffer Nature’s ire.
See the Ostrich smiles with sheltered eyes
To some it’s such a great surprise.
It’s no good asking my advice – you risked it, now you’ll pay the price.
I’ve spent my whole life telling you, what creatures with this power do.
Come closer friends, you’ll never see – the air’s gone stale for you and me.
Your faith in something you can’t see, gives rise to certain irony.
The end for us is drawing near, yet may I go with conscience clear.
One or two contrived rhymes - suggestions welcome. Thanks.
=D>
Kropotkin
Thank You MagsJ:
I am looking for it, and let You know the effects once inarart a regimen.
As for now: I drink ginger tea very hot and unsweetened instead of coffee.
After swallowing , the residual ginger roots are consumed.
Too kind, Mister Kropotkin. Very grateful for your comment.
From the archives.
Amazing String Theory
Such is the nature of the problem.
All the good things that he said,
Were crammed inside this poor dolt’s head.
Thus it was, he suffered in silence.
Until, one day, someone said,
‘Climb up here, Jack, and don’t be complaining.
You can see.
Up here.
You can see.’
So I climbed up.
And blow me down if he wasn’t telling the truth.
What did I see?
I saw things in an entirely different light.
‘Sit here,’ he said.
‘Sit beside me a moment…
What can you see?’
Lots of little strings.
‘Pull this one.’
I pulled, and watched in amazement
As a little old lady lost her footing.
‘Give this one a tug,’ he said.
I tugged, and watched in amazement
As a young lad leapt from his bicycle
And assisted the elderly woman.
He returned her spilt goods to her tattered shopping basket.
‘Try this one,’ he said.
So I did. I pulled, and watched in amazement
As the young boy pocketed the old lady’s purse.
‘A little higher,’ he beckoned,
‘You can see a great deal more from up here, Jack.’
I explained that my name wasn’t Jack.
‘Give this one a real sharp tug, Jack.
I did just as instructed.
The youth jumped on his bicycle,
Smiled at the old lady.
She thanked him profusely.
‘Tug on these seven, Jack.’
I did.
The lights changed.
A car skidded.
A dog ran into the road.
The car stopped.
A child screamed
A Lorry swerved
The youth applied his brakes.
‘Pull this one, Jack.’
The brakes failed.
The old woman missed it all,
She was searching for her purse.
It was later returned by the ambulance crew.
It happened in an instant.
In full view.
‘What do you think of that, Jack?’
I’m impressed.
‘You’ve seen nothing yet, Jack –
You’ll see things so much clearer from up here.’
My name’s not Jack, I reminded him.
And climbed up.
It was tough in the nineties! [-o<
Promotional Leaflet
Life is unpredictable – it sometimes gets you down
The cheery smile you wear today may be tomorrows frown.
Well I may just have the answer – or a temporary cure
For what I have to offer makes life easier to endure.
Cooking, cleaning, ironing – an arduous tale of woe
You work too hard, you never stop – you’re always on the go.
So listen for a moment (if you can spare the time)
Sit down and put your feet up – it isn’t such a crime.
You deserve a little luxury, so give yourself a treat
Get me to clean your carpet, or perhaps the three-piece suite.
You really won’t regret it – it will brighten up your life.
And your husband’s sure to benefit – he’ll have a happy wife!
Fucking Gulf War
And I cleaned carpets whilst the planet burned
And every fucking pound I got was well and truly earned
It’s fucked my back – it’s fucked my mind
That now I turn to you and find
It’s fucked you up as well.
Gulf War II
Seconds out – round two
War in the Gulf.
Allied planes this very day
Are trying hard to find a way
Sophisticated weaponry is taking to the air
Taking flight to God knows where
To bring some sense – some common sense
They’re taking off from God knows whence!
And where they drop their deadly load
On new built school or infant road
It makes no odds to you and I
It matters little who should die
But where they go and where they fly
There’s some mistake and God know why
They’re flying with their deadly load
Perchance to kill a school or road.
Some are flying
Some are dying
Tis a savage little game
They are flying
No one’s whying
That’s the greatest shame.
Two extra pints this morning
Says the note upon the door
Rice pudding for my baby, he’s going off to war.
What a thriller, what a killer, what a job to do.
Aye, that’s my boy in khaki.
That’s my boy in blue.
Who’s right? Who’s wrong?
Who’s stringing who along?
Hussein? Who’s mad?
Who’s sane? Who’s sad?
At school my boy was bullied
But it didn’t do no harm
You should see him in his uniform
He fairly oozes charm.
Boom!
The eighties were a tough time:
A man: Give me a hero’s welcome when I return from war
I deserve a hero’s welcome when I walk through that door.
I must have killed a thousand men, and Jesus, what a high
They have to learn their lesson – the bastards have to die.
Another man: I’ll get a hero’s welcome when I return from war
A change of clothes, a bite to eat, I’ll soon be back for more.
Then back again, and back again, until our flag flies high
On every rooftop ‘cross this land, lest fate decrees I die.
Yet another: The wise men got me in it, they can get me out again
I didn’t join up to shit myself in all this bloody rain.
Such a scandalous waste of money, I’m forever aiming high
I know nothing of my enemy, save, he wouldn’t wish to die.
CHORUS
A man: Two more weeks of combat and then a well-earned rest
You may call it dirty tactics, but we’re dealing with a pest.
We have the latest in technology to inflict the greatest pain
But it’s as well to keep in mind, these bastards are insane.
Another man: The odds are stacked against us, seems they’ve called in outside aid
As thousands die around me, thoughts of victory start to fade.
Yet the fighting will continue, we will scale new heights of pain
The weapons they’re employing are quite hideously insane.
Yet another: I’m not sure we can justify the suffering we cause
Like an uninvited party guest we crash the strangers’ wars
Yet on and on the conflict goes, youth and innocence bear the pain
At the behest of older, wiser men, who are really quite insane.
CHORUS
A man: The hands of time slow down now, just one more week to go
Is there a harder thing to do than bury friends I’ve got to know.
But morale must never falter, for the cause we chase is right.
Good comrades die about me, and still I’m made to fight.
Another man: And soon, alas, I’m homeward bound – the time it moves so fast
My brother died three days ago, he’s the youngest and the last.
But my spirit, it will never fail, for what we do is right.
In honour of their memories we’ll continue with the fight.
Yet another: Time here has no meaning, I’ve been here two thousand years
And for every wasted life that’s lost, I’ve shed a million tears.
But the saddest thing of all, my friends, you always think you’re right
And don’t those wise men know it – they will always let us fight.
CHORUS
A man: Now, thank God, the morning dawns, I’m homeward bound today
Come this time tomorrow, I’ll be a million miles away.
So get the bunting out, my boys, and some beers to sacrifice
We’ll have fourteen days of partying, two weeks of paradise.
Another man: I’ve had words with my superiors, behind the firing line
We talked for several moments, but of course the choice was mine.
With the situation worsening, my leave I’ll sacrifice
It’s the patriotic thing to do, in our quest for paradise.
Yet another: I’m going home tomorrow, please God deliver me
You promise me, I’ll promise you, my face you’ll never see.
I’ll not be for wizened men, a playful sacrifice
They’ll need to sell some other fool their promised paradise.
CHORUS
A man: Well it’s not what I expected – nor, what you said awaits
You promised me a marching band, a drink with my old mates.
You promised me a cheering crowd, yet I don’t see a soul
Just a world of empty promises when taken as a whole.
Another man: It would appear for me it’s over, and perhaps it’s for the best
My body is torn asunder and now craves a well-earned rest.
So I give my life to you Lord, will you accept this humble soul
Now I see we’re merely killing time, my mind and I are whole.
Yet another: Well I’m home, but I’ve forgotten, I’ve forgotten why I’m here
It’s strange I still feel rather frightened, although a different kind of fear.
Is it the abhorrence of my silence, I feel I sold my very soul
Or is it the feeling in my heart, dear Lord, that I’ll never be quite whole.
CHORUS:
[b][i]“Would you write upon my tombstone: Though I died, I died in vain.
And should my glorious leaders ask, I’d do it all again.
Although perhaps I’d do things differently, I would maybe change the rules
I’d have the wise men and the generals stand alongside all the fools.”[/i][/b]
excellent work my friend…
Kropotkin
yeah, the blissful ignorance of the majority rules, bless us father, they do not know what…
Its only survival to them, being merely a temporary occasion for…
A ring a ring … My kingdom for a ring…
It has alas rung,
they were so tired, they were asleep did not hear it. The awakened ones well, were sleepy as well… Like Joe.
wrung out of them cause its absurdly constrained, backwards , course they can like an excorcised look back while going homeward.
and begin to appreciate both kinds of terrain without falling into the …
Swamp