Rhythm

Rhythm, the speed at which we tick.

Most people keep a fairly steady pace, fast as children, slower as adults, slower still as they age and then stopping.

They tick at their own rate and, as their hearts are still new, find themselves attracted to those with different rhythms to their own - new dances.

But, as they spend time with each other, ticking, and need to depend or wait on one another, the miss-match between them jars.

They are fixed as they are at that stage of their life.

Their mates are too stressfully buzzing about or too slowly dragging them down.

Dancing to 2 or 3 rhythms is too hard and people grow tired of their lover's tiresome steps.

Some of us have clocks that shift and drift with the wind and time and waves

We do the rhythm of the waltz or polka and some of us just love to tango

- some of us just love to can-can and do the fucking pogo!

Aircraft - happy flights

A sensible comment on air traffic control - in response to concerns at work about different approaches to the issue of congested skies.

best to buy in an expert - bah...

who cares: let 'em fly their planes wherever they fancy - they have windows and headlights don't they? If the pilots could be bothered to stay sober they could look out and not crash into each other.

Give them a sat-nav and let them sort out where the passengers fancy going. Just fill up the plane and take a vote on the most popular destination... the majority will be sure to know the best places to go. In any case, what does it matter where they go, really, in the grand scheme of things what does it matter where we actually are, physically, during the poxy amount of time we are a conscious collection of bits of infinity on this planet spinning though time, space, probability.

All this regulation and government fiddling about - just let the fuckers do what they want.

Nothing

Nothing never hurt me - no, only nothing ever hurt me,

The choice is to do, or to do nothing - to stop, to die.

Nothing is in the spaces in between life.

But, life appears in the nothing like bubbles carried on time and possibility.

Nothing generates life; nothing, is a fluid, a glorious soup.

Life takes life; nothing does not take life.

Nothing is where we all return, it is our whole, our make-up.