And this bloggy-thing seemed like a good idea at the time of its inception, but I’m starting to harbour second thoughts, third thoughts, etc. Initially, I assumed that creating a character everyday and writing a flash fiction from their point of view would take me somewhere unique, take me into lyrics from a different road. In fact, I have broken down some of the flash fictions on this blog and turned them into words which will more than likely appear on our next album but the rest is rubbish. A lot of sound and fury for fuck’s sake.


 

Branches with Leaves Insist Upon Nothing

 

    Strom sits at the back of the northbound 320 surrounded by (in his estimation) igits and douchebags. There are two women from Sweden or Finland broadcasting their conversation for everyone to hear and no one to understand. At the next stop the bus becomes bloated to capacity and a man’s crotch faces Strom who’s squeezed off his seat by the Swede/Finn on his right and a chav with a Burberry handbag worn as a hat on his head. In all seriousness.

   Strom tries to take refuge in a memory, something from his life previous to getting on the 320 but his mind is empty. Worse still, his mind is nowhere to be found. Strom is simply a seat that’s half sat upon and he’s starting to ache. The crotch in front of him starts to make a musical jingle, a Kylie Minogue number that came and went seven or eight years ago but is now making a comeback in this man’s pants. Strom looks up but the man is tilting his head back and forth to another tune between his ipod buds. The cell in his pants continues to sing its na-na-na ring. The Finn/Swede is on a rant of a roll and continues raising the pitch of her voice at the end of every sentence. The chord from the man’s ipod dangles in front of Strom’s face and he considers giving it a serious pull so the man’s ears can be alerted to his cell. But he does nothing.

   What else can he do? He belts out his favorite Humphrey Lyttelton tune.

   And the bus is silent save for Strom’s rendition of a jazz trumpet through his mouth. 

   And if only for five seconds of bliss.

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