A big white screen I look at it and type a few words, utter banalities about a washing machine, the brain has nowhere to go but to think of the near things. There was a time when I sat on top of a mountain feet dangling high above ground when I thought if I tried could fly; everything was possible now I’m dead inside. Death starts when the mind goes numb and you forget your childhood, was I a Child? I don't know wish I was a giraffe and could see life from a lofty height. The TV bores me, I was never the poet I wanted to be I don't want tomorrow to happen it is too difficult to write anything sensible. The thing is to break new ground plough pristine earth and produce something that doesn’t look like carrots. But up from the earth sprout old clichés written over and over again by respected intellectuals and famous poets, except for Oscar Wilde they are just boring old ******* dressing up their ordinariness in words we had to look up the dictionary to understand, but it is still trite. But their reputation a great thinker follows them into perpetuity.