Category: #SOCS
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3 February: Stream of Consciousness Saturday
Perfect Timing Time has a perfect view of my life. A clock in the kitchen, well, three actually, the microwave, the oven, and one on the wall that calibrates itself with some radio in Greenwich, a process worth marvelling over, if I cared to. And there’s a clock in the living room, two to be […]
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29 January: Stream of Consciousness
Sunday morning: (304 words) He’s sitting in his brand new car, my neighbour, reading the user manual, I assume, although a moment later I see it’s The Times newspaper. He turns the page, shakes it straight, and folds it into a manageable rectangle. It rests on his steering wheel, and he’s drinking coffee with a […]
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21 January: Stream of Consciousness Saturday
Count On It ……. my eyes are pinned to workmen down the street, yellow and white stripe van with little amber lights on top, and they’re pulling thick cables from a wooden spool, the likes of which would make an interesting table for the patio, a great improvement on our wrought iron one with the […]
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15 January: Once Upon a Time
Once upon a time when the hordes began every hesitant sentence with Ah or Um or Well, they took comfort in knowing everyone started a thought with the same pause. To collect their thoughts, most like. Like pulling up their socks. Adjusting ones belt. Like before blowing their nose they’d say, Um, and then examine […]
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31 July: #socs Wash
I just read a full page article in The Sunday Telegraph about how to wash Birkenstocks. I don’t own a pair of Birkenstocks, so why I read it … I don’t know. I tried a pair on once, and it was like sliding my foot into a brick. Birkenstocks have cork soles – I didn’t […]
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12 June: #SOCS Spring Green
The Grassy Margins Nature’s apparitionis a green garb,blissful colourspilling from itself.We tangle into itsbouquet margins,we, who find ourselvesin a cuckoo’s shoes,displaced in green. for Linda Hill’s #SOCS, prompt: write a piece based on an image. Image by Thomas Hart Benton, Spring Cave, 1955. A new musical find for me, Cosmo Sheldrake, who’s producing some very interesting […]
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8 May: Stream of Consciousness
Mum used to say that I had a hollow leg. I thought bits of myself had broke away inside me, snapped off and were rattling around in my own air, like spare change, and I never wondered why I didn’t hear my own hollowness inside my head. Like an echo when I walked. And this […]
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31.03.22 Stream of Consciousness
Hum It’s Bees.Like when I walkedpast the laurels.Bees.A roiling key of F. Call it humming.Buzzing.Whatever. It buildscrescendo fright. So would you,if you’d steppedin a nest of mud waspswhen you’re 8. Electric toothbrushesall sound likepissed-off mud wasps. Sketch by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, The Beekeepers and the Birdnester 1568 on WikiArt. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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Stream of Consciousness Saturday
In Search of Wild Garlic Spring ends on Thursday.Or it might be Friday. That’s what the weatherman says. Wintery showers.Maybe snow.Nonsense.It’s 19º and sunny today. I’m foragingfor wild garlicon the creek embankment. Maybe it’s too early, althoughmagazines are fullof wild garlic. Soup. Pasta. Pesto. Avoiding stuff by the footpath,or the road. The county spraysweird-smelling stuff […]
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12.03.22 #SOCS Trip
My first impression: the hand of catastrophe slapped us, and we are its remnants. It’s 11am. Where are the people? Bond Street is nearly empty. A man is laughing with his girl friend, must be a girl friend, their limbs are entangled like ivy. He’s strapped into a backpack with words LONDON in bold letters. […]
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