16/08/2013 - LISTEN TO INSPIRATION'S FRIVOLOUS CONCERTO

Listen to inspiration’s frivolous concerto, not to its jealous concierges. The headquarters are good enough and grafted to the very flesh and bone of tawdry mountains. You can scale them now or ahead of time, it isn’t as dangerous as the blind man at the foot says it is. You are stronger than he is, you can seek out the herd and watch it flutter away into the impacted rosemary gardens beneath. The greenery has been closed since Monday, as has the hyper-speed portal to Sheffield. You can be a reporter elsewhere though, you can reconstruct your own bay murders. Accomplishment is a fair share for twitchy fingers headed in the correct affluence’s direction. Your greatness knows its own particular brand of husbandry and will not pass the inherent problems onto others. Your greatness is like a butterfly dragging a motorbike and dropping it straight into the chimney top: an act of lively livery whether you like it or not.

Someday you might engage the very strife that ruins perfectly justifiable arguments, you might wear bodices and start a fashion trend thereon. They see samples all the time but when you arrive on the scene the very place will alight with captaincy and unabashed crust hugging. It is nimble to be a man of hairy biceps such as yourself, it is a wise prize-giving to observe and bestow. You make the weary few proud to be a unanimous broken back and give shorts a brand new and enthralling namesake. Yes, you. Of course, you. Absolutely, you. You wonderful bastard, you.

Perhaps you’ll provide us with your immense social appendages, your swinging arc of kindness and kid-friendly intermissions. You would make a mighty fine dinner companion, a harmonious prisoner engorged in a jolly hermit lifestyle. Your wish is triumphant so long as you say it to the right people. The right people are those who gravitate towards you but float around the outer rim of your person. These people aren’t quite as manically ingratiated, more relieved to be peaceful again. They rely entirely on your good faith and the power of your regency. You would make a fine queen or an apt sultan if that was the direction which you wanted to go in. Of course, your advisors will flock and send suggestions, perhaps relayed over vast distances.

You could taste of downy feathers or smell of ready-made distilleries. You are always a cloudy pillow, willing yourself into the continuum. Should the vile like-minded choose to storm in and slice your little head off then the real heroes are two steps closer. The real heroes will swaddle you but they mean well. They will give you two choices: save or slaughter. Be mindful of what they slaughter should you dictate that they slaughter. It could mean your father and his half of the family. The gate ascends for you.

It is your right to reign in height. The price of wallowing is boring note-taking. The true way involves pure self supporters.