Monday Muse. Metal Hunks.

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Is it a pre requisite when having the bar of a trolley in your grasp that your mind resort to thoughts of propelling it into the river?

I wonder if this pile of discarded metal carts are the remorseful remains of some guilty jaunt or low budget joy ride.

Be that as it may, these trolley pushers are limiting their worlds to the powerful potential that ownership of a trolley could bring.

What’s in a kiss?

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I lived my teens 160 characters at a time, during the age where text messages had to be short and sweet, and all grammar went for a mini break via the window. Nowadays I am a serial text essayist, I am free and easy with my word count and I am positively salacious with my fondness, that is, my text kisses.

So what happens when someone like me comes across someone who isn’t so carefree when it comes to text affection? Trapped in a simmer of too many thoughts at a time, when I read a text minus the kiss, by brain gets swamped with a cacophony of questions. Have I done something wrong? Am I being punished? Did I forget their birthday? Because when I hang on to my kisses I am outwardly expressing a mood of annoyance.

I then start to wonder about the person… Do they save their kisses for special recipients? Do they think a kiss is too precious to bestow on every member of their phonebook? How do I become ‘x’ worthy in their eyes

Then I face the predicament of whether or not I ignore their current lack of affection and continue to douse them with mine, or descend to their level and reply sans kiss. If I have messaged them first will they notice my sudden lack of a kiss? Will that make things uncomfortable, like I’m trying to make a point… that I have become well aware of their lack of affable text behaviour and have decided that I too can be just as callous.

From time to time I will send a text as a one off connection, but it leads to a hurried chat, sending and receiving responses every ten seconds, to which I then start to feel imbecilic signing off with kiss every time. I have visions of red lipstick plastered all over their face as they’re overloaded with statements of my love. But do I stop? If I stop will they notice? I just feel so ridiculous carrying on… if it were a real conversation I certainly wouldn’t be kissing my friend on the cheek at every sentence.

Perhaps it was this mess that caused some people to go ‘x’ free when it comes to texting, maybe they’re not so coldhearted after all…

Whatever your opinion, whatever side of the kissing gate you sit, we live in a veritable minefield of x’s.

Generation ‘Car Window Music Video’-ers.

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My thoughts took a nostalgic turn last week as I stumbled across Eli GarMont’s confession that he was a fully inaugurated member of the Spice Boy patrol over the era that Girl Power reigned supreme. This prompted my mourning over the nineties soundtrack that accompanied my early years. It did indeed include the Spice Girls, Take That and the Backstreet Boys, but it also featured the dulcet tones of Radiohead, Oasis and Blur once I’d begun to strive for elements of self conscious cool in my early teens.

This lead me to lament the loss of the days where I would sit in the backseat of my parents’ car, headphones in my ears, watching the rushing world go by as backdrop to my faint reflection in the window. I would pretend I was the latest Radio One flavour of the month and this was my music video.

In adulthood I have kept these make believe moments a shameful secret, until I confessed it to the boy and realised that perhaps we were all an MTV generation of music video pretenders. Not only did he also like to fantasize of fame whilst he window gazed, but he caught a friend doing the same on the train to a Limp Bizkit gig. We are all music stars at heart.