Blood Blister Blog.

As you hurry past, barely turning your head to face left or right, bouldering through the inverted conical lens of your eye, learnt as it had been in the early days of big school’s biology lessons, and with no uncertainty allowing no mental wondering to that there teacher’s roadkill culinary exploits, and/ or her animalistic sexual concerns, you passed it all. It remains a stratified blur of grey, red and green, or sandy smooth, depending on which moment in time comes under the careful retrospective focus you choose to take. Time, at this point, makes no case for itself however. This is no isolated instance but, rather, an unmoving picture, a blank, panelled wall, the sole set piece of your life’s thrusting stage. (in recent times, that is). You had been warned against this. A forensic, scrutinising eye had been the mould upon which the plaster, rubber, and downiness which makes you had been cast. But this was long ago now, and the rest is the future.