That moment before the future,
That directly succeeds the past.
If you’re lucky you’ll even catch it,
Through its travel; though it never lasts.
That moment before the future,
That directly succeeds the past.
If you’re lucky you’ll even catch it,
Through its travel; though it never lasts.

An old cassette tape, when the light catches it handsomely it looks silvered and bronzed like a monument with little dates of significance.
The time is half-past-something or a quarter too, and the day really doesn’t care for its name.
Then I recall Septembers, that this September; the breeze has been as gentle and warm as breath exchanging from lovers in loose conversation.
Randomly, I feel a surge of discomfort within the thought of the inability to appreciate anything, while I continuously slip comfortably into taking average daily life for granted.
Three army helicopters throb, thunderously overhead. They pass in a mini apocalypse parade; for a moment the suburb is drowned with the sound of their rota-blades, the atmosphere feels as if it’s expanding in its protestation.
The air chooses to relax; dropping its noisy luggage, only to float upon its regular self, I notice from beyond my open window, two female voices; unexplainably but noticeably middle-aged, and motherly, using vocabulary that only just resembles my native tongue. I think perhaps that I’ve momentarily forgotten to understand my language.
“Those are the sounds of your body-fat dissolving under the piercing heat of this sun!” he said; the tour guide not realising if there was anyone actually there… yet to come.

Since stepping on time; i’ve slid forever. My soles drip with nanoseconds; soaking my shoes of aging leather.

I listen to the music
That attractive noise
I’ll listen to The Fall
To The Beach Boys
I listen to the music
So candid
Therapeutic
A stinging to my ears
So enjoyably caustic
I listen to the music
For instant nostalgia
Of where I was
Who with
Or when I found ya
I listen to the music
I love that drone
So finally I can sleep
Until the notes find home
I listen to the music
It conjures such love
Into my ears
Let it roll with a loose shove
I listen to the music
Feeling happy or stressed
I’ll listen when calm
Intoxicated
Badly dressed
I listen to the music
On various compilations
Those imperfect and personal
Golden-oldie stations
I listen to the music
Like a hit from the hits
I listen to the music
When the moment fits
I listen to the music
And here’s the chorus now
I’ll listen
Until the music’s over
… T’Pau!
As you stare; stop looking… for answers on every wave, and under the tiring sun that lowers into its new water bed: forever creased. Each nearing roll of surf perpetually attends to the beach where you wander; reaching out and soaking, smoothing scars of soft land and human hand, from land loving creatures.
The bubbling roar of white noise; rising and dipping in volume; teasing your ears into hearing frequencies from lost radios stations: faulty and alluring. Every time this happens something is taken from you, soon replaced by a specific space to lighten your walk inland.
All this… as you stand, feet sucked by gooey miniature rocks that table gels of dead jelly fish; glistening like little brains of the sea; forced up upon confusion and violence from the mighty froths of wash.
For a while, he was the ‘Invisible man’ because he had to be seen to be believed.
Suddenly, he rarely spoke, he became the ‘Quiet man’ and then everyone had heard of him.
So, for a laugh he became the ‘Funny man’ and yet everyone thought his idea was the joke.
He tried to be Superman, Batman, even Bananaman; but their suits never suited him.
Then one day he seemed to blend into the ‘Average Man’ and yet, as bizarre as he continues to feel, being the ‘Average Man’ he hasn’t seen himself since.
For a while he was the ‘Invisible Man’ because–

Let’s talk about the weather.
Let’s lay in bed slightly longer, and nearer together.
Hello, how are you?
Let’s talk about the weather.
Let’s decorate the house in pleasure.
I’m just fine thank-you!
Let’s talk about the weather.
Let’s be blind to age and be young forever.
And how are you?
Let’s talk about the weather.
Let’s plan our holidays and remember the last endeavour.
I am good… thank-you!

Hey! Mr Thingmebob! What are you?
Oh I’m similar to you Miss Thingmejig, that is… you are my only clue.
That’s nice! but not useful, I need to know more!
Ok, you’re something forgotten that somebody left before.
Soothing… how charming that I fill that void, really though, i’m less than buoyed!
Listen, we’re something! stick with me, in our confusion… we’ll both be happy!