Contextual Disfunction


She cannot tell him how she feels. Instead, she arrives to work half an hour early to park her car in the empty spot next to his. She can look out of the window, away from her computer terminal, and see their generic hatchbacks – covered in filth and bird shit – and see an outsider couple, side by side.


It is never psychologically sound to presume a talent and then boast about it to other people, hence why so many people seem to do it. I do seem to have a talent for confusing though. Innocent faces might talk of individuality. Cynics might suggest a degree of manipulative distraction though; a desire to maintain a distance from any kind of meaningful emotion. Even today hiking out on the moors, miles from a heartbeat, I stood lining up a shot with my camera. It took me a while to realise there was a man breathing on my shoulder.

“What can you see?”
‘A tree…’
“Oh. I thought you were chasing a buzzard.”

I wandered lonely as a dapper fox today, dressed up like a homeless Jedi and generally causing carnage and mayhem to mud and puddles. Standing out on the moors you can experience true silence and touch history.





I had lots more to say, but I’m not in the mood now. I feel like sleeping for a thousand years. I’ve seen bright eyes, I’ve looked into smeared eyeliner and I’ve wondered what is my purpose. And the answer, as it always has been, is the same – to not be like Them.

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