connections
A year ago to the day, I began the Yellow Fever Pages.
A year ago to the day, the Yellow Fever Pages inform me, I visited Stanleys.
As I did today.
A year ago I did not eat a choripan, although I might have done twelve years ago.
A choripan does not have quite the same mystique as a madelaine, yet the taste takes me back. To a square and a stray dog and empty streets at strange hours of the morning.
I walked empty streets tonight. East London pathways peopled by kids with cans.
The choripan takes me back to walking alone down unkown lanes.
As I did tonight.
A year to the day I wrote of a tap running in the garden.
Only the garden had no tap to be left running.
Stanleys has not changed a bit. It is still 'a film editing gubbins kind of place. Raw plasterwork and old time London style bods.'
Today, I saw two people carrying Stanleys bags before I went there.
Today, I saw someone carrying a Stanleys bag and in that moment I knew the phone would ring later.
Today, I revisited the Yellow Fever Pages, and knew that they would have caught up with me by now.
Today is already tomorrow, so all the dates are skewed.
The taste of a choripan takes me back to wide empty streets and a stray dog that lived in a hutch in the plaza.
The dog would walk me home, as I weaved, choripan in hand.
The dog was not called Stanley.
To the best of my knowledge.
That name was saved for the kid in the play.
Some connections are seamless.
Most are not.
It's better that way.
A year ago to the day, the Yellow Fever Pages inform me, I visited Stanleys.
As I did today.
A year ago I did not eat a choripan, although I might have done twelve years ago.
A choripan does not have quite the same mystique as a madelaine, yet the taste takes me back. To a square and a stray dog and empty streets at strange hours of the morning.
I walked empty streets tonight. East London pathways peopled by kids with cans.
The choripan takes me back to walking alone down unkown lanes.
As I did tonight.
A year to the day I wrote of a tap running in the garden.
Only the garden had no tap to be left running.
Stanleys has not changed a bit. It is still 'a film editing gubbins kind of place. Raw plasterwork and old time London style bods.'
Today, I saw two people carrying Stanleys bags before I went there.
Today, I saw someone carrying a Stanleys bag and in that moment I knew the phone would ring later.
Today, I revisited the Yellow Fever Pages, and knew that they would have caught up with me by now.
Today is already tomorrow, so all the dates are skewed.
The taste of a choripan takes me back to wide empty streets and a stray dog that lived in a hutch in the plaza.
The dog would walk me home, as I weaved, choripan in hand.
The dog was not called Stanley.
To the best of my knowledge.
That name was saved for the kid in the play.
Some connections are seamless.
Most are not.
It's better that way.
posted by maldoror at 23:46
3 Comments:
Editor's note: The clock on this blog is set at GMT. According to BST, in which we currently dwell, the date and time should read: 15.08.06 - 00.46. It is up to the reader which time zone, and which kind of accuracy, they choose to adopt.
stanleys is run by reptiles from another dimension. david icke said so in his book.
And david icke knows a thing or two. Good to have you pop in, loois.
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