Courthouse Fri 20 – Jonathan

News 20 August 2010 | 0 Comments

song below kills me everytime I hear it…I’m blasting songs around just ‘coz songs and music are…well you know, don’t mind me if they’re irelevant…I’m getting as much stuff out there without filtering it first…while I can… it won’t last I know it won’t…it never does… grab the moment…the here and now…. while you can…do it now…..is it relevant… is it silly…most probably….doubt…..doubt…..will it work… have i said too much…… what will they think….tick tock…..tick tock…..the process… the process….response…. call and response…. field hollers….. back to music… it’s all the sameit’s all the same…. lines.. pink neon lines defining angles getting blurred… bluring lines whirling whumpppppp….. passed out.

Nobody Knew She Was There
Nobody Knew She Was There(Ewan MacColl)She walks in the cold dark hour before the morningThe hour when wounded night begins to bleedStands at the back of the patient queueThe silent almost sweeping queueSeein’ no-one and not being seenWorking shoes are wrapped in working apronRolled in an oilcloth bag across her kneesThe swaying tremor soaks the morningBlue grey steely day is dawningDraining the last few dregs of sleep awayOver the bridge and the writhing foul black waterDown through empty corridors of stoneEach of the blind glass walls she passesShows her twin in sudden flashesWhich is the mirror image, which is real?Crouching hooded gods of word and number?Accept her bent-backed homage as their dueThe buckets steam like incense coilsAround the endless floor she toilsCleaning the same white sweep each day anewGlistening sheen of new-washed floors is fadingThere where office clocks are marking timeNight’s black tide has ebbed awayBy cliffs of glass awash with dayShe hurries from her labours still unseenHe who lies besides her does not see herNor does the child who once lay at her breastThe shroud of self-denial coversEager girl and tender loverOnly the faded servant now is leftHow could it be that no-one saw her drowningHow did we come to be so unawareAt what point did she cease to be herWhen did we cease to look and see herHow is it no-one knew she was there

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