Supagloo

As with most things, this beginning, starts at the end. When children die, When love dies, When flowers die, birds die, fictional characters die. And we find that in our grief there are things that under normal circumstances perhaps we would not have seen before. Like the gentle words of a stranger, or the loving hands of someone you thought you knew but that really you took for granted. You can taste salt, sugar, spice, crisp new tangy flavours. You open doors which lead to rooms which lead to windows which leads to escape Into new fields, new lands, new worlds A new universe. By placing a thumb to thumb Fore finger to fore

There are flowers in these fields, where shadow hands caress the silence of a thousand broken promises and words long put to rest. There are words in this bedroom, sticking to skin, clinging to fingers, sucking from soil, leaving cracks in the earth and a dead garden. There are lovers in this garden, more like a war zone. Trenches. Bombs. The sky fire red and the ground strewn with madness. And yet    amongst it all There are flowers.

Once upon a time a piece of paper was stuck to a wall. On this paper was written several rules for life. The rules were: 1. Understand or TRY to understand 2. Take everything with tea 3. Serious vs. Brushing things off with a laugh 4. Be On Time 5. Miss them 6. Blow on the dandelion 7. Take Lots Of Photographs All seven of the several rules were ignored. This was due to the ridiculously small print of the rules on a piece of paper which was (ironically) incredibly large. It also did not help that the paper and the print were invisible. Especially the rules themselves which were not only in miniscule print but written in invisible ink