Idle thoughts

Flying Matador

While  admiring  the  pole  vaulter  at  the  athletics  meet,  I  am  reminded  of  the  writing  of  Hemingway.  Of  the  Matador  and  the  bull.  The  elegance,  the  artistry,  the  strength  and  the  bravery.  The  vaulter  holding  the  lance,  the  bar  is  the  bull.  She  survives  for  the  next  round  being  close,  but  not  touching  the  bar.  Stretching  and  prancing,  holding  the  lance  high  up  over  her  head,  she  is  up  on  her  toes  rehearses  her  expressions,  twisting  in  immaculate  form.  The  moment  of  bravery  and  strength  as  she  commits  to  stick  the  lance  and  glide  high  into  the  air,  lithe  and  liquid  she  pours  across  as  a  cape,  teasing  the  bar  as  she  passes.


Sitting in the classroom, double maths, some sort of torture of a thing to happen on a monday morning. Numbers confuse me and no amount of thought is making them any friendlier, I stare blankly at the problems lying on my desk. Many in the class seem to be having similar issues, the teacher is explaining the formula once again in impatient tone. Fraser the school lunatic is loudly airing his distaste for this class, learning and the school in general. Some of the class laugh, antagonising the wrought teacher some more. So the teacher tells Fraser to shut up, which doesn’t go down well with Fraser at all, in fact he tells the teacher to fuck off, a mixture of laughter and embarrassed silence permeates the room, and the teacher attempts to remove Fraser from the class. In a fit of kicking and swearing he is cajoled shoved and carried out of the classroom. In their absence the class turns to chatter on the events unfolding. My mind wanders and I stare out of the window. I imagine the Millennium Falcon landing on the playing fields.


Gravity tripped me once again, so I cursed at it once more, damn you pulling me to trip on nothing but a rug on the floor. The very next day I tripped on a paving slab, poorly laid on the crooked path, no fall was felt at all, quite the reverse as I drifted off the earth. I felt queazy at first, then joyful, as dream arrived and gravity let loose it’s grip. Now above the trees and above the roofs I continue to float on up. The joy felt now fading fast as my rise is unabated, streets now thin as cotton and the buildings just scattered crumbs. The clouds tickle my ears and the air too thin for my lungs, I ask for gravity’s forgiveness, but he is not yet done. The clouds fall from my feet, elation briefly reappears, as our beautiful marble gently tumbles under me, last breath, then I disappear.


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