Suffolk Off.

Complexities abundant, simplicity and ease remain absent.
Escapism appears at a price, with these arrows drawn upon maps as the crow flies.
I sometimes flex my puny poetic muscles.


Today, I'm feeling damn detrimental toward detail.

I took a drive to Wigston, and slept in my old bed.
I sat in the back of my Dads car, with Oceansize in my ears, and Richard Dawkins' "The God Delusion" before my eyes.
I arrived in Stowpland, and looked around my sisters new house.
I had lunch in a pink pub, called The Crown.
I had a pint of Aspalls. Suffolk Cyder, apparently.
I looked at wedding photos.
I looked at wedding photos.
I looked at wedding photos.
I fed the guinea pigs.
I did a little more reading.

I wrote this blog.

I will watch a film, probably High Fidelity.
I will probably fall asleep before it's finished.
I will sleep.
I will sleep.
I will sleep.
I will awake.
I will sink some toast and coffee.
I will travel home, once again with Richard Dawkins, perhaps accompanied by Sigur Ros this time.

But when the crow flies free, and these arrows find wayward direction,
our maps become pictures, and we're escaping in circles.