… and rob their houses.
It tickles me a bit, cleaning on the top floor of a police station and singing quietly along to this song. I’ve got a new Placebo fetish, and have always been a bit of a late starter, musically.
Walking out under a twilight sky the colour of mist, it’s my time for thought and patience. I go quiet inside, for once. My hair’s a ragged nimbus around my head. Black branches claw their way overhead, and the streets are sodium-lit (though their orange skin is split by one red lamp, like an open wound.) The wind is warm today. It can’t last, but it reminds me of older times.
You’re the truth, not I.
I took the afternoon off work, because my bones and muscles were poorly held together. I feel better now. I think I can make it to Friday. It’s my responsibility to do so, and for once, I adhere to what’s expected of me. Running from onus is something I’m good at.
In town, after the weekend’s tumult, brollies flap like broken-backed creatures left to die, beside bins and outside pubs. Tonight, that tolerable wind siphoned memories through me, of childhood and beyond. It was an ancestor-wind. It spoke of dank mud and stones, bitter leaf mould, things not quite gone but fading fast. Feelings I used to run from, because they made my heart ache, yet now I grasp for them frantically as they disappear in the intertia of this modern life.
I used to think I was dying, fading away from this peopled world. Then I realized, while we’re all on our way out in some way or another, that in the time we’re here, the Earth leaves an indelible mark.
We lose ourselves in jobs, mortgages, relationships, breakfast cereal, pruning, city wandering, betting, copulating. But the world keeps trying to tell us something ageless, formless and nameless – and all we know of it, is an ache in the chest when the sun sets, and the hairs rising on the back of our necks.
Shame that we can’t reciprocate, give the Earth something to remember, without having to carve our initials in tree bark.