Toucan play at that game

24th June 7:24 am Esdelle Street

The sun shines hard on my face. It's higher than the tree that must have been protecting me last time. Like someone's got their ball stuck up a tree but that ball's on fire and is the sun. The air is cool and the fly is back checking out my death feet. The yard is mid-change. Not in a changing seasons kind of way. More that we're halfway through sorting it out. Models of exotic birds, cacti and half constructed brick islands compete with tubs of mortar and discarded wees killer for our attention now. 

My 7:30 alarm breaks my concentration, that was when I thought I should / would wake up today. That could be my "sliding doors" moment today. Somewhere else, in a parallel universe maybe, I stayed in bed for that extra 20 minutes. I wonder what will happen to that me? He won't have done his grounding meditation and wouldn't have written this - although he may have written it from the angle. In other words writing about the me that is me now. 

Anyway back to this universe/existence. Had a vivid dream last night (Is that existence?), lots of ex girlfriends / crushes in the same place. I think it was a whole holiday park full (More Center Parcs than Haven - snobby subconscious!). Although it's weird, I started this paragraph with a clear idea of who and what I dreamed about but it's like my subconscious has put the barriers down. "No you are not writing that down, that is sensitive data that will get us both into trouble." I'll try to remember to go straight to dreams next time.

Vests, early birds and Oscar on acid

17^th June 7.30 am Esdelle Street

I’m out back in the yard. The chirps of the morning birds are competing with the warbling of a Thom Yorke solo project in my headphones. The air is tired and cool on my skin. I am not naked. I am wearing a vest and shorts. I am barefoot. I’ve only just got into vests. Not specifically this one this morning that I have just gotten into. I mean I’ve never really had them. I like them. A fly lands on my bare foot. I’m not dead yet mate. I’m just being still and my feet probably stink from not wearing my socks in my shoes on the way out here.

A blackbird with a worm in its mouth sits two fences away. It glances at me while keeping an eye on the ground for some more worms. Greedy. Or good planning. Of course it’s the early bird innit. Stocking up on worms for the rest of the day. Maybe there is only one early bird. Nobody realises it’s a specific bird. The early bird. Not one of many.

A pile of weeds takes up one side of the yard decomposing quietly. Two white flowers poke out like eyes turned to the side at me. A purpley red stalk curves downwards underneath them giving the impression of a sad face. The rest of the weeds cascading down like dripping green skin. I imagine this is what Oscar the Grouch would look like if I was on acid. Not that I’ve ever done acid or would want to. But if I did I probably would want to watch Sesame Street. 

NOTE : I do these "morning pages" quite sporadically. It's another thing from the Artist's Way course / book that's meant to open you up creatively - but I'm fairly sure I used to do it before I read that anyway. It's like talking to yourself but writing it down. I suppose that's what all writing is really. I'm not planning to put all of them on here (mainly because that will affect what I write) but maybe now and then if they are publishable and won't get me locked up.