LONDON THUNDER POOLSIDE
Spirits slip through the keyholes of doors angry to be locked out. They claw across the dimly lit walls where shadows play tricks near midnight. The ghosts you think you see sneak behind you and into the corners of your mind only to laugh in mockery.
Echoes. Pinpoints on skin that cut and bleed.
The calm curse of the late-night glow. Lights flicker in stereo while you stare at a screen oblivious to the Poltergeist trying to play tricks on you.
Work. The waterfall of it all. The wonder and the blur clasped hand in hand.
Sometimes we just have to have at it in order to have a go at trying to have it all.
Then again, sometimes we simply create something for the look or the sound or the feel of it. It doesn’t make sense because it doesn’t have to. It simply can exist. Sometimes it can even be quite moving in its nonsense.
(Excerpt from Midnight, a work-in-progress since 2013. Currently have 95,000 words.)