The Whirling Dervishes

Self conciously stereotypical sits the book in the window, as the people walk past on the side of the cold pinch, waiting. Nobody in Brighton writes. They just sit beside windows in funky cafes basking in their individuality.
This carrot cake is too nutty, and she hasn't brought the milk.

She feels her red boots squelching through the mud, laughing under the moonlight.
The fairground glitters ominously in the distance. Screeches and neon energy flies out into the night as the stars stand still, ignored.

The moon was partially obscured by the clouds above the church but I stood, silent on the empty street.
The cat with the blue eyes and the haughty look flared out from inside the window

"But what is your passion"?

I realised that the moon had disappeared and I was in a room, talking to a bald man with bright eyes and an orange robe.
"What is your passion?" he repeated, looking at me like a star looks at a cat.

I don't know where we are. In a wood it seems, with a stream stricken softly in the twilight sunshine. I'm just going to sit here in my hole and become part of the ground, until the grass covers my body and I smell of lichen.
I feel...Nothing. No thoughts, no shapes floating in front of mine.

"But who are you anyway?", the woman asked, mockingly. Her pensive but persuasive eyes jarred me. She laughed and walked into the courtroom.

I was in the dock. Faces from the past were standing behind, whispering. When I walked in they all laughed. An Indian girl ran at me and surrounded me in her henna like a spiderweb glistening in the dew.

"We are gathered here today to commemorate the passing of the colourful jumper. It had so much life, so much promise. But yet it wilted like a sound from the top of a mountain".

Suddenly I woke up. There were a group of people sitting around in a circle, all dressed in white. Reality became three dimensional. There was a sound which got louder substantially, moment by moment. Suddenly I realised they were me.

"But I want to go back to the world!", I said, realising that the world I wanted to return to didn't exist.
"Silence!"
Now I sit and watch, watch the movie unravel.

"But what do you talk about?"
"It doesn't mean only flesh and blood, I believe in it". I hear myself say things and wonder where the voice is coming from.
"You were given the gift" said the High Priestess. "And you threw it away. So now you must go through the motions of this reality you longed for, always with the knowledge that you glimpsed something, totally beautiful. But you can never return."

The child was crying in the corner. "Daddy" he asked, behind the rain. "Daddy? Why is it all so hidden? Why is it so hard to discover? Why must I be here?"

Marking the papers in his pretend office Mr pretend Hawthorne pretends to work, hoping that he won't be found out. A child walked past the window in a pink coat and waved. Just to remind him. Just to remind him. Appearing out of some mystical backdrop.

She was following the old woman through the maze. The old woman's hair was grey, and her eyes were empty. Running and running, hooting and howling, screamed the charade. The old woman's shape kept twisting and turning, forming and informing like mist, untraceable. But the maze continues.

Every morning the girl wakens up and thinks about that old woman.

Lost in the maze, a little boy with blue eyes is crying. The women pick him up and cradle him, singing humpty dumpty and placing him on the wall.
"You must act your role to the best of your ability".
"But why? Who am I? What is this? What is the point? Where did all the wine go?"

The mystery rolls on like a ball of knitting sitting on the armchair beside the sleeping cat. The hot clothes are burning into the waif's skin like acid. He keeps inhaling the gas and expanding like a gas player viewing the score.

The woman with the hair and the jewellery fucks the bar man over the store, screaming her head off.
A teenage boy masturbates furiously over his computer screen, which buzzes gently.
All the people have left. The cafe is filled with nothingness.

"The children keep me sane", even though they're so hard to see and nobody ever tells me anything. I don't know where I'm going from one moment to the next. I don't understand why but it keeps on going and going until it feels like the bannister is about to explode.

"Excuse me. Are there public toilets here?" the petulant child asks, high on life on this Friday afternoon in Brighton.
"Why so serious?"
"Why? Because it's a very serious matter". Never stop long, just passing through, over and over again. A person pretending to be another person.

A monkey is chattering outside my window. I slam the glass and return to be.

I am at A's house. We sit on the sofa drinking mint tea and hearing ourselves hear the words we are supposed to say. So why not lighten up?

A fat, red faced man, washes his shower tiles with cillit bang. Eyes fell on the chef and he looked the other way, blowing smoke out to the clouds. But just stop a moment. Stop right there. Step out of the story.


Nobody knows. Sure I don't need to use them, but thanks for the tip.