I’m dreaming of a non-line Christmas
Just like the ones we used to know
Where purses jingle
And footsteps mingle
And we all go shopping in the snow.
I’m also dreaming of a socio-political re-org for Scotland which ejects a Daily Mail state of mind for the rest of time. And a plan for my big writing project more cohesive than, ‘yes, I might need to change the whole thing again. Hmmmm.’
Clarity will come. Meantime, the thing to fill the void with is art, air, light and laughter. And non-line shopping.
More info on #52and40 here.
I’ve been reading a book and listening to a podcast I wouldn’t normally choose. Both stories are crime based; one’s real, the other fictitious.
Both stories are painstakingly, expertly told.
I’ve been intrigued by the acute effects of this different ‘entertainment’ material; I’ve been more alert and somehow quieter. My dreams have gone mad with threats, high risk puzzles, gasping pursuits and hiding.
Paranoia snuck into a dark corner of my mind like an oily gangster, lent on a lamppost and exhaled cigar smoke among my neurons.
Different input, different output.