People swarm and swell And form a dumb mass Of bodies to fill the train Their vital signs are sound Except—they are dead And there are too many of them In this hell hole of a train Don’t they have somewhere else To be—or un-be—these undead? Like, I don’t know— Home, for instance? I’m open
Elbow to elbow | Thigh to thigh The guy on a packed bus | Sitting next to me No | On top of me He’s in my personal space | I’m in his Hardly humans, more pigs | In slaughterhouse no. five Thrown together by chance | Forced to intimacy With strangers | We are
Part of WordPress’s photography course Developing Your Eye I. Today’s obvious photo prompt asks to connect. I did so on several levels. I shot a horror snap of railway tracks, railway being the literal means of connection. The snap was taken very early in the morning, which represents the connection between night and day. So clever, right?
Part of WordPress’s photography course Developing Your Eye II. I wonder if edges can be straight (as I claim in the title). For the purpose of this post, let them be so. Today’s prompt is to present something edgy and make sure the edges align. My edges always align, I’m OCD, so it’s a no-brainer. If
Whenever I don’t know what to blog about, I blog about Trainspotting. It’s my favourite childhood film (sic) and one of my favourite books. The book is better than the movie, but the movie is good enough to have achieved a cult status in my book (see what I did here?). Trainspotting still matters. A sequel to the
My last day at work (for the moment, not forever) started early and poorly. The night before, my Wi-Fi had died in my arms and despite the tender loving care it promptly received, it failed to revive. I went to bed immediately after that since I had no clue what to do without Wi-Fi. (Feel
It’s my last week on teaching duty and I’m getting somewhat nostalgic about it. Not about the teaching, which I find a thoroughly depressing experience, but about my commute ritual. I hope the people I’ve been commuting with will miss me as much as I’ll miss them. Poor stewardess Patricia, who serves my regular bus line,
*In this post nothing happens.* My country’s public transport operates on a self-service system which places responsibility and trust in the hands of travellers. The passenger is required to procure a ticket prior to getting on the vehicle and then punch it in a mechanical device placed in vehicles. This operational plan is conductive to