Jhender

[recording some stuff that i found, i suppose i wrote them on the ferry across the Channel. the waterbody currently blockaded by protesting french fishermen. i thought trade blockades only happened in starwars]

In the dead of the night, on the dark waters with the gulls illuminated in the orange lights. A sleep broken.

If I had expected to be in a dream, to see the sun awaken me, perhaps now the ferry is th vessel to the next day.

I suppose it is true, that the night brings with it wonders and dreams. That the semi-lucid state dulls the external senses and heightens others.

In the dreams of poets there were castles in the trees and spirits in the meadows. If the little fairies of NeverNeverLand came to say ‘Adieu, amigos’, would that the World is ending, the dream is waking.

I see with my broken heart, in the pieces of the mirror of the world, a lonely figure by the road. A suited gentleman with a briefcase and a bouquet of flowers. Biting his lips, he stares hard into the distance, into the crowd rushing towards him from across the road.

He turns around, the flowers hit the ground gently, he leaves without looking back.

In my world there are pencils and paper, delightful swirls across the surface, displaying artistic flourishes. In my world are the distorted curves of the cubist painters, the abstract dance of surreality where all things real are a shade of themselves. In my world there are shadows big and small, shadows sharp and blur, shadows overlapping other shadows. In my world are spinning wheels burning rubber on bitumen. In your world are there letters written by me, are there silly meaningless sketches, are there unknown shadows following you and peering from behind street corners, are there silver knights on white horses.

In this world what is the difference between black and white.

Noir et Blanc. Est-ce que tu avais jamais pensé si les rêves, sont-ils en noir et blanc ou en couleur?

Qu’est-ce que c’est Londres? Une autre ville? Une ville de rêves des autres?

It really does feel odd to be in a english-speaking city. of so many countries in the world, what are the odds of being in an english-speaking one. why are america and england such good friends, perhaps because they are the only ones who speak to each other. hell.

Is it all about beer? But no, there are other countries like that too. probably plenty.

*left out a chunk of previously-mentioned stuff*

Perhaps alot of babysitting too, is that where sg learnt it from. “Look left, look right” security cameras. security warnings.  “In view of the hot weather, it is advised to always carry a bottle of water with you. If someone is unwell on the train, please wait till the next station to seek help.” A similarly archaic country, with all its silly lords, queen, royal families, stupid coins, inefficient transport system.

*left out the rest*