TIDES

It is lonely. The Medium thing. It is a bit like living.

I am always observant. Breathing.

Looking for signs.

Still it is lonely GOING UNNOTICED unless you try to push it.

The way of being.

I am writing this by just doing it.

Writing it as I feel.

No plan as to how to present THE LINES.

You can traverse the planet and nobody ever chances to measure you, to stop and pay heed to what you have to say, express, share, complain even.

You can be a big wig with recipes and tips. Imagine that.

I don’t want those. It might be nice to hear about people who have managed.

The journey,

Without putting numerals AND CHARTS on it.

You can be in the ladies loo. In a department store. Have YOU EVER DONE that? It is so damn lonely. Every one lining up to pee, with their shopping bags STUFFED WITH stupid stuff like kale and paracetamol and non stick baking paper and then you might find yourself wanting to making a little quiff, a smidgeon of a comment and you are looked upon with a certain disdain., A BLANK RESPONSE.

And what do you do. Do you hang your head? Wander back to your car in the millionth place in the parking lot or do you put your head up higher, struggle with the general malaise, move on into the next realm, the one where communication no longer matters,, to where all that matters is your existence, the intake and outtake of breath, the air, the beauty of the moment, THE CRINKLE OF PLASTIC, OR IF YOU ARE LUCKY, the way your feet touch the sand, the way the waves come in and you stand there knowing all the while they will go out again and THAT your feet will be dry and intact as they were to begin with EVEN THOUGH YOUR MIND WILL NEVER BE WHAT IT WAS, NO MATTER HOW YOU TRY LIKE OLD TIDES LOST TO THE WIND.