A piece of prose…

In Suburbia

In suburbia the mind restlessly wrestles with paved inertia and the beat of life passes by on a horizon distant and forgotten, nothing left in the heart to feel and nothing left to jump at with zeal; so passion and a little life has flown away across the roof tops and gone away into the miasma of haste and mortar. In suburbia she raises her head a little from the passenger seat and peers through the triplex, eyes as glazed as the pane she looks through, distant and longing for something that fell from her grasp so long ago. And he walks with solemn purpose but with no purpose all at the same time in a semi-detached nation of indifference, indecision and inaction. There is a job and a duty but no longer love nor zest to spring forth the dreams that a long forgotten youth once hinted at with an eye’s caressing glint of eagerness. And the drum goes on, the tarmac marches on, the streetlights turn from blank to sodium orange and the sky turns turtle on the mark with racing headlights searching out a lifetime’s journey of déjà vu. In suburbia he longs for the day to break free and make good on the grand promise of travel and writing the book; but turns to the Valium provided for the masses to sedate any hope of breaking from that nine to five he once swore never to be part of. In suburbia she peers into the mirror hanging jewellery from her neck and bunching her hair back waiting for a day to parade in grandeur and pride; But nothing, but nothing. Not even the clarion call to action or the faint sound of a song seeping through that was once felt so deeply inside. And so it goes in suburbia: the pavement cracks and the creeping cats, the windswept parades and vaunted charade of breaking loose. But in suburbia the ring road has you encircled, with your hard-shouldered love waning and verge-side passion wilting before an ever darkening horizon over suburbia.

I have been watching Sugar Rush again the past few days. Whilst the second series got a little bit sillier in parts (it was still good) – some of the dialogue in the first series was spot on; not just from the perspective of it being a coming out story for a young lesbian, but for life and dare I say love (though infatuation is probably closer.)

One of the aspects that always hooks me by the lip is the words in in episode 7 (if I can count) is the sentiment that once a special moment has gone, it was as good as things would ever get; and you want it to on forever, and moreover you want everyone to know – but that sometimes isn’t possible. Whilst that might sound like a disturbing sorrowful thought, it’s actually quite positive in a way that isn’t it just a wonderful feeling when you have something so wonderful happen to you that you just feel this bursting brimful urge to tell everybody about it there and then.

I was just thinking, that probably never goes away – somewhat like your first crush, the world becomes this vibrant, over saturated universe from what was a slightly quirky, grey, indeterminate place. At least I hope it never goes away. I can see why perhaps those who are older seem so much more frustrated by life and at least in the UK.

The past couple of years have been interesting (in fact the past decade has been somewhat interesting really) – I’m finding that hard to express right now; but I’ll find the words soon I’m sure.

I guess I just had a little Zen moment (as clichéd and trite as that now sounds) on the beach earlier on today. It was just peaceful listening to the tide in the distance and the seagulls cawwing in the distance, watching the sun set after I had watched it rise and set on Saturday too, and the world felt a good place. A vibrant universe, over saturated and endowed in silly bright poster paint.

And whilst Robert Peston and the media will have us all believe we’re all going to the dogs, there is some good things still around. And I’m not being harsh or unsympathetic to those being directly affected by the loss of their jobs – I have seen what that does first hand with my own family (in the late 80s and early 90s) – I just feel that you have to at least avert your attention from all this gory badness once in a while, release the pressure almost. Take a walk, take a drive in the car at an ungodly hour, it’s soothing.

It was utterly beautiful to drive down Grand Avenue on Saturday morning at half 5, no cars but mine, window wound right down, a gentle hum of the engine and birds twittering in the Scots Pines, and that wonderful icy fresh air whistling by… I just had to tell you about that, of course…

After all, the last time I was made redundant (in 2005) I decided one day I had enough of endless forms and the depressing state of affairs of having to sign on; so I went for a drive to Bodiam Castle. And when I got there I didn’t want to go back so I went to Rye. And when I got there I didn’t want to go back so I went to Ashford. And then up the M20 to the M25. And even when on the M23 I decided to dive off into Crawley and out the other side before getting back… It’s just good to get away from it all and then tell someone about it. The world can be an enriching place, even with its ever incessant march of retail parks, motorways and suburbia enveloping you all around…