I had forgotten about this one..

http://www.lcgs.tas.edu.au/poimena/exhibitions/33-susupicious-minds

If wishes.

I remember my mother repeating a rhyme.

"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride."

MadMan.

Spilling out from a particularly heavy wooden door was the terrible sense of stagnancy. The atmosphere was imbued with the fetid green pallor of sour neglect.

A white haired man passed by mumbling misheard lyrics. The man, my father, had been incoherent for years. His only form of communication was rhetorical half and misheard statements of others. Randomly, selected sentences would accidentally string themselves together to surprise the listener by becoming incredibly profound. Such mumblings would often jolt people into a suspicion that he was more genius than insane. He was mad alright. Mad at the world and madder in it. Drink had made his dreams a fuzzy peach wash with flying Chagall horses. What was the point of returning? The halls he walked at night contained other madmen and their offspring, ideas.

With words of apology I would stumble past his dreams, aware that is comrades were supporting him from afar. The dust in the halls would end up in crusted paste on the sides of their downturned mouths. Twinkling eyes showed teeth. I could only look at them for a moment before a guilt ridden revulsion hit my throat and I had to search for him again. With a bit of good timing I could sense him, or more smell him. It drifted across the cafe, the smell of milk, tea and arrowroot biscuits. It was a smell of birth and death. The munged biscuits would sweat into the cloth seats. He smelled sour cherry milk and sherry. He was just mad and wanting me to come along for the ride. No matter how hard I tried not to, I flinched.

Flashes

Flashes of brilliance come to me and I'll been damned, I haven't the faculty to recall them.

Melanie

Is a shameless random blog cheater.