I Switch on the radio

I hear a couple of piano notes

Enough to tell me that they are part of a Jazz song

No no no

Fuckin hate jazz

That particular kind of jazz that sounds like someone cut up parts from a hundred different pieces and randomly mashed them together

Some call it improvisation.

I call it shite

I switch off the radio.

I become momentarily unstuck from the world.

When I come back I find myself scratching my chin.

A song gets stuck in my head


I wonder what life would be like if we saw everything in black and white

Would we have completely new words to describe the shades of womens’ hair?  Would we instead just have a couple?

Colours get in the way sometimes.

Sometimes you just need as few distractions as possible.

Last night I walked the city streets and I found nothing worth liking.

The clutter of forks on plates and the blankets of chatter coming out from the sidewalk cafes and bistros made me sick.

I imagined the city as it was a thousand years ago, or rather how it wasn’t. How the landscape looked before it was flattened and covered with cement and asphalt and food joints.

It would have looked better.

Tonight I hope I will dream of snow.

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