Thursday, October 03, 2002

In groups of two and three and closed quarters are the lessons of life learnt. The remnants of childhood are given away in stealthy conferences and concealed laboratories.
And I’m in detention. For pretending to know what I want to do. And for shouting out loud. My ulterior motives and my deepest fears.
For talking, for not allowing the silence to be. For disabusing uncertainty. For prevaricating in the face of my ordinariness. For wanting whatever my eyes can see.
I am tawdry tinsel. I shine when the bulb glows. And I steal away when the lights go out. Into musty attics and non-festival, non-sale seasons. Where I gather dust and fireflies. To rot and shine on borrowed light.

I want blinkers on my feet. And a purdah on my eyes.