Neologism of the Day: pinkture
Meaning: A tiny stab of colour in an otherwise grey day
The weather is meh. I am blurgh. The work is ugh! The grind is grrrrrrrrr. Yes, you guessed it, my brain is porridge and I am once again beyond speech. Beyond sense. Or sensibility.
Time for a few onomatopoeisms. Onomatopoeigfaceisms. Not to be confused with authoritarian regimes of any kind, but merely the sound of flowers opening and closing with the ebb and flow of light. Of luminosity.
I have nothing to say tonight. Still there is the consolation of consonance, the balm of sound. The refrigerator purrs. The old dog sups at her bowl then clips about the wooden floorboards on high heels. My fingers at the keyboards clack. This inversion is a prelude to tonight’s Gaelic lesson, still to be done, in which I shall talk to myself in a foreign tongue in an old worlde word order. About pets. About items of clothing. About the weather.
My old dog is not herself. Back to the vet tomorrow. I am not myself. I am decranged with fatigue; still chained to the desktop for 14 hours a day. I can’t remember what real life feels like. Still. There is food. There is cheese. Oatcakes, and mustard fruits. There are online panels and seminars full of articulate artists and queer folx and women of colour who jolt me with the electricity of their brilliance.
And there is sleeeeeeeeeep!
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