Discussions Of A NonConformistA welcoming sight. A huge white arch towers over three sets of bright, clean double doors. From inside, a soft buzz of activity. The doors swing open, then slam shut us people trundle into the realm of white. Fresh and sterile, waving the latest trend or trash under wide-eyed shoppers' noses, like mice spying a crumb of cheese atop a mouse trap.A terrifying tableau. Something looms out from the darkness, laughing and taunting in its silence. Like a mouth, it swallows all who would be foolish enough to heed its calling. There are no promises of bargains now, the only comfort the soft tap-tap of rain on the roof. But then, who would expect even a shred of comfort in such a light-forsaken place?Past the first set of cheap attractions, tending their fresh crop of goggling victims… I mean, consumers… a central hall, full of the usual East London bustle. A man flaunts his television / broadband / phone line / cleaning / rubbish / products, but he knows nobody in their right minds will take
In The Mind's EyeIt's not every dayWhen that one rayOf sunlight, bright, warmAnd wishing no harm,Will light your soul,The one that you stoleFrom your loving self.My soul was never taken. I have all I need.So, then,No ZenOr cheapWeekly creepTo PsychiatristSpewing mistWill help.My mind is all I need.ThenLessenYourClaw(Scrambling,Praying)Trying(Failing)To catch a dream.