Customary Proceedings
Play. Playschool. School. Schoolwork. Work. Workout. Outsource. Out. Laid out.
Innocent children playing in the sandpit, with our heads full of dreamy nothings - an ice-cream cornet topped with a sprinkling of Enid Blyton adventure stories. Excitement's just a street away in the greensome park. Conkers, pitched battles in muddy puddles, hot baths and smiley scolding Mums with steaming cocoa.
Primary school beckons with it's painty fingers, and letters home tell of accidents and spare trousers, Christmas plays and sunny sports days.
Hard edged buildings with flint-grey walls, sharp-cut classrooms, and over-tired Teachers tell the story of High School diplomas, boffins and bullies the haves and have-nots.
Crazed pupils, crazed Pupils, proud parents and fluttering hearts, grinning Masters with winning classes, trophies, sentimental chalk-dust marks, Graduates gradually graduating.
Top-notch jobs with top-notch firms, top-notch fortunes notched-up, interest and experience gained, houses bought and gardens dug, nurseries painted for baby bugs.
Greying temples, Directors' addresses, temples grazed and missing tresses, pressures building on precious buildings, higher rises for the higher risers, penthouse lifts for millionaire misers, stoney pavements for company strivers.
Mahogany coffins, too early to bed, waiting silently to claim their dead, dusty ashes fill golden mugs - favourite golf course scatterings by grown-up bugs; Software, Hardware to avail but naught, what you didn't believe in can't be bought. Can't be stored and frozen until, someone invents the perfect pill.
Live young, die old, forget your birthday, cut your losses - for dreamy nothings, and candy flosses.
Sergei.
Innocent children playing in the sandpit, with our heads full of dreamy nothings - an ice-cream cornet topped with a sprinkling of Enid Blyton adventure stories. Excitement's just a street away in the greensome park. Conkers, pitched battles in muddy puddles, hot baths and smiley scolding Mums with steaming cocoa.
Primary school beckons with it's painty fingers, and letters home tell of accidents and spare trousers, Christmas plays and sunny sports days.
Hard edged buildings with flint-grey walls, sharp-cut classrooms, and over-tired Teachers tell the story of High School diplomas, boffins and bullies the haves and have-nots.
Crazed pupils, crazed Pupils, proud parents and fluttering hearts, grinning Masters with winning classes, trophies, sentimental chalk-dust marks, Graduates gradually graduating.
Top-notch jobs with top-notch firms, top-notch fortunes notched-up, interest and experience gained, houses bought and gardens dug, nurseries painted for baby bugs.
Greying temples, Directors' addresses, temples grazed and missing tresses, pressures building on precious buildings, higher rises for the higher risers, penthouse lifts for millionaire misers, stoney pavements for company strivers.
Mahogany coffins, too early to bed, waiting silently to claim their dead, dusty ashes fill golden mugs - favourite golf course scatterings by grown-up bugs; Software, Hardware to avail but naught, what you didn't believe in can't be bought. Can't be stored and frozen until, someone invents the perfect pill.
Live young, die old, forget your birthday, cut your losses - for dreamy nothings, and candy flosses.
Sergei.
posted by therussian | 11/26/2004 09:30:00 PM
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