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Some Candy Talking – 3


A number of days, any number, make it up, the facts are not important, they do not matter, it is all one – say it was forty days and forty nights – it might have been, it might not, it could have been more, I don’t know, I lost the thread, it still seemed to make no sense. A slight mental jarring, a little uneasiness, some unsettling thoughts - that would never do, get a grip on yourself, strangle the sensations and don’t ever let go … or, at the very last, day or night, light or shade, you know that it will never be quite dark. The unceasing blurring. Uncertain in the ever wandering thought. Unsure of the motive. What is the motif, where is the emotion. Feel it, draw blood, and see the endless pain … know the pain. Maybe the days were ok – no, maybe not - but how I really hated those lonely nights. I was alone, but I suppose that it was not so bad either, all very much a part of the endlessly soft focus. Just the eternal stream of unconscious thought in the darkness. Washing away the tears, washing away the time, ebbing, never flowing, always ebbing. So you see the debris that always collects at the high tide – it is, therefore, the low point - a long line of forgotten fragments, lost in life – all crowded around and feeling so very alone, abandoned, left out. With a friend – I think not – without a friend – it is the only certainty … and yet, the choice is always there, somewhere, in the distance, so close, and yet, just beyond the pale event horizon. You know what I mean. You know it all. I just can’t handle this. So, now I’m coming home … yes, I’m coming home – put out the flags – you know I’m coming home – raise the full glass and put out some more flags – Lord, I’m coming home – it is now party time, a time to gladden the heart and, beyond all hope, there is that smile, the smile that says it all. I know that feeling, it is like the warmth of another new day, don’t you just have to love it. Yet, you turn away, you turn your back on me and I don’t know whether there will ever be this time again or if it is all finished – and that is what really hurts.

… and yet, I never understood a fucking thing.