Log in

No account? Create an account
Entries Friends Calendar Information turkeyphant.org Rewind Rewind Fastforward Fastforward
Last weekend was terrible, but also enjoyable, as weekends go. The bus journey was uselessly useless as I sat at the front, intimidated by the jocular chatting of my team-mates. Upon entering the opposing school's car-park, there was a eardrum-tearing graunching sound, and the coach jolted to a stop, before gingerly reversing back into the road a little way. The driver hastily realigned the wheels and successfully attempted entry once more. When we all gaily bounded out to grab our sticks and survey the damage, I saw the gate had been wasted - it was totally taken out and the tarred cast iron was only hanging onto shafted bricks by the remnants of one hinge. It had been wrenched out from cemented brickwork and nobody had noticed. We all scurried away while the coach driver tried to surreptitiously polish off the tiny scratches on his bodywork. Still, they got their revenge on the pitch even though, this time, we got a goal back and kept it below double figures.


The way back:

Thoroughly knackered, the early setting of the sun and gentle rumbling of the engine's piston cycles was welcomed as I slipped into the comatose world of subconsciousness. Forever drifting in-between the idle chatter around my sentient body and the mystical dimensions of my brain's latent emotion, I experienced one of the best semi-nocturnal coach journeys in recent memory. I was probably even better than that time we came back from Ironbridge cracking jokes, playing dare with cards and sending notes back to girls we had a crush on. I had more fun alone than the time we drank Best Badger Bitter and watched Lord Of The Rings; the infamous bus trips through Italy, waiting to get back to the beach; or drowning out the Grease soundtrack as we reminisced about Pompeii.

I lay back fully reclined - a dim aura of sodium-orange light dappled the seat back with colour and fast lane traffic zoomed down the empty motorway lane behind my head. I was listening to Radiohead mp3s on random, with a little bias set toward under-appreciated Bends-era stuff. I found myself lost in a different world; like a hypnotic trip through Harry Potter's platform 9¾, I dreamily floated around suspended between reality and dream. This was a enchanting place, magicked up by the tangible music surrounding my ears - each second I noticed a sound I'd never heard before (both in the song and in my existence) and meditated upon the process of its creation. All the while, the occult mystery was echoing around my head casting charms and spells, the eldritch sounds conjuring out my feeling. And it was all so beautiful.

I wanted to lie there forever and, indeed, I felt I was being raised to heaven in a silken cradle woven by angels...

    mood: dreamy
    choon: The Smashing Pumpkins – Tonight, Tonight