275. “Dum, dum, dum dum, dum, dum, dum dum….” (25 Apr. 18).

To any of you who may have been foolhardy enough to have held your breath after the last piece I posted, I hope you rest in peace, and know that I can’t make the same fool of you twice.

After this most recent hiatus I thought I’d better present some high art to make up for it. Then I couldn’t be bothered writing any, and I’m too lazy to steal any, so this’ll have to do instead.

 

275. “Dum, dum, dum dum, dum, dum, dum dum….” (25 Apr. 18).

 

Splish, splash, I wasn’t taking a bath,

I was stood in it taking a shower,

When I saw a true hero of the hour,

If not for vanity shampoo in one hand,

I’d have given a round of applause,

 

For the superfly, superpy, spider,

That abseiled down next to the door,

As the gallous arachnid did it so well,

From the ceiling onto the dried bubbles,

That crowned the can of shave foam,

 

Then he took eight single steps to the left,

And a collective jump to the right,

Pulled all of his knees in tight,

Landed on the shelf that to him was the floor,

And Ninja’d off into a myth that’s impossible.

 

Jim Laing.

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About Jim Laing

The Buddha said there were four kinds of people. Those who run from dark to dark, those who run from light to dark, those who run from dark to light and those who run from light to light. From a life going from dark to dark to having a few years running from dark to light, with scuffed hands and knees from sometimes falling, I may be getting the hang of it now. How it began is not now how it is, I need a quiet space, After the noise of the day, So I take sanctuary in the creativity, And my soul feeds, On sometimes dark, Sometimes light fantasy, And I dare like many to work, But stay up off my knees, To dream, perchance to suffer, But always still to dream. Here are things mostly lyrical and poetic, with nonsense sometimes, reviews and personal musings. The coffees hot and always black. The words not necessarily so.
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