Ashton Hickey Brief Interlocutions of a Simmering Mind in the Grey Morning
And so, Doyle, Oh Mister, reigns down upon his subjects with such fury and anger, furiousness angerness, son born of peasantry, idealised centricity, shopclerk through and through. Thomas, to Adam, to Peter, to Doyle, lacking in apostles. Dribbling and drivelling, only this time young, a gorilla’ s stubbornness. Moment of Interest: a lack of sunlight at this point in the day, around ten-thirty anno domini, it is all so very grey. The low grey walls run deep through the city and a grey overcast almost originates from them. Everything is all so grey. Grey cats hunting the rats that run from under the sheds into the neighbour’ s garden that is overgrown beyond recognition. Padded paws, scrithing. Beautiful grey, others the decomposition of fruit. Mould. Nongrey. Or is it nongrey? Hyphen or dash, this or that. Tit or tat. Enough with the ramblings, something must be said, and I am saying it all. A slight bend in the river occurs at the centre of the town, coagulated brown, singed ferns. It is a beautiful river to say the least, yet that is not a challenge. Is fearr gaeilge briste, na béarla cliste. How quick to forget? One can flatten Dublin and still be the centre of praise. A lovely gold-rimmed pair of glasses. Boredom-dom, the feeling of being uninterested only moreso. A ring from the door. A framed oak door that requires too much effort to open, inspiring malaise, shunning them away. What great strength Joseph must have had, to cut and mold wood to shape, perhaps a chair for his adulterous wife, enjoying the comfort of a man who is not entirely there. Present only in fluid it seems. The calloused hands grasp the sweat covered forehead of a man riddled with shame. Any option I consider, perhaps too swiftly, or filled with too much genuine consideration. A hand moves down the face pulling my smooth skin down along with it, a slight wet click sound comes out from the undereyes as a cavity forms between Doyle’ s ball and socket. Prickly collection like fields of rigid grass. Onwards and upwards, proceed fine gentlemen, my deepest and most formidable actions will be placed for you. References, references. Swerving in the street, a bend in the bosom, the grey is carried into.
Mrs Gradley, wrinkled yet still attractive, whispers: – Do you not have anything to be getting on with? Entirely spoken through the brow.
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