Friday, March 12, 2010

Lets not wake before 3am.

Lets not wake before 3am.

Simon is awake before 3am, drifting in and out of his sleep.
It generally occurs both in fantasy and in flesh before the sun dawns upon this untamed creature. It embeddes itself  somewhere deep within your insecurity.  Weaving and twisting through your insides, slowly it becomes visible and grasps at your moist flesh pressing through the wasted sides.  Uhuh 'cough' Uhuh 'cough'. And then it reveals itself, not as a mythical creature but as remnants of last nights activities.  The words 'Simon are you asleep?' echoes from one ear to the next.  And you lie there trying to string the scenes together and then it all slowly starts to make sense. 'Promise me next weekend will be different' says your head to your limbs.  But promises between such parts cannot be made.
Simon is asleep again, but Simon believes he is driving. And so he is driving and feeling anxious that he is being followed.
In this whipping motion swerving to the left it happend. 
He watches the side and rear mirrors for those that follow you two steps behind.  I know from my collection of mystery novels that followers drive with tinted glasses a uniform moustache and a slouched driving manner. 
Is Simon being followed? Or is he being suspicious of a persons actions.
If I were to disguise the identity of the 'other' driver would Simon be suspicious of an unidentified moustache, tinted glasses and a slouched driving manner? Maybe not as quickly.
There are ‘those’ who walk only around your shadows.  They move swiftly whilst floating above the pavement that you and I walk back and forth, without stopping.  They travel without leaving traces of battle scars left beneath or below.  A small percentage of radical travellers are able to do this. And we all believe that we are in this minority.   I am not, and nor are you. 
We leave traces that can be easily identified: what is left behind closed doors, left over bread crumbs swept underneath Persian rugs (from foreign places with unbearable temperatures). And more importantly the accidental errors one makes in secrecy without even knowing it.  We leave traces and scratch the surface engraving our foot prints.  We (you and I), we etch our way through our dirt, rubbing our heels into the soil and pressing our toes firmly on the daisies that push us up higher on this platform of ours.  We fame those that get up on both feet and dance the uncovered dance.  

But a character that leaves no trace is not as specific as such and cannot not be described by a name labeling him to his actions. 
Simon clenches the wooden steering wheel and swerves to the left, cutting through the main road and steering onto Boundary Road. He heads in further towards the back roads which appear to be discrete: a winding road, a green canopy and a hushed numbness.  

It did not occur to Simon at the time but 'followers' in these films are famed for their insight of side roads, left turns and narrow alleys.    
Simon stops the car, turns the engine off and waits nervously.
He stares at the numbers on the clock, Its 3am.  He watches a crowd of bodies strolling by the shop windows (signed 'closed'). 
There are self loving creatures who crawl in and out of mirrored windows reflecting their bodies to the eyes of those awake when all else is slumbering.  We appreciate the beautiful when our forty winks serve us a three course meal before the kitchen is closed, and before the lights burn our eyes with a 3am rise.  
Tomorrow finds us where we fell, with an overdose of self-indulgence.  
Quickly waitress serve me up an entrée. I need to taste a little of yesterday on my lips to get through the early hours of today.
Simon finally wakes.
He crawls out of bed and slams his right heel into the side of the wall.  He Misses the wooden beam by a painful inch, but cracks through and destroys the chipped green plasterboard. 
Simons landlord is knocking on the door. 'Simon?' he waits, 'We have arranged for an inspection. 
The scheduled planning we begin our day with assures nothing is left astray.
'Dzz, Dzzz, Dzzz' I hit the snooze button. I am now awake at 6am.


  1. Unable to make the final effort to push the 'publish' button on an otherwise easily operated machine, I find myself in awe of you. Mother wordsmith of enviable talent and courage - I kiss the ground and taste the inspiration your footprints have left on my world...

    X Caici of Tamboria

  2. Goodness and Thankyou.
    We will have to revisit Tamboria again someday, edit, adapt and publish?
    It is only a matter of fact.