The Old Fool sits on his comfy chair staring fixedly at the blue painted wall…the only wall in the house devoid of immodest art…with his eyes wide open, attired in just a manmade coal-black dressing gown that trails all the way down to his frozen feet. During his spell without an hourglass, wearing the dressing gown every single dull day he has concluded that it has a certain cheap panache. He hasn’t spoken a single word since waking up non compos mentis on the last day the sun shined and that was a while ago. Nevertheless, in his exclusive madness he still manages to think…this and that; that and this.

Late afternoon, the bliss of winter’s darkness close at hand. Soon the robotic shadows will make haste eastward bound following the couldn’t-care-less sun. Those that linger, the scarlet ones, hang around street corners and lampposts pleading to the fancy-man moon for more clientele. The Old Fool wonders if the girlie shadows will ever learn. Probably not, his verdict.

He feels thankful that the ‘Blue Wall’ will never grasp the fact that the curse of time is truly intimidating. Blue Wall cannot comprehend the concept of time, the lucky bastard. If ‘it’ did ‘it’ would know that time is a sadistic gift from mankind to self. “Well Person Blue Wall, were it not for human consciousness and chronicled memories, piss-useless time would never exist,” the first words The Old Fool had spoken since the old king died.

Later, when the darkness had blocked out Blue Wall to the extent that ‘it’ manufactured ‘its’ very own stand-up bed, The Old Fool pondered upon the subject of lines on the surface of Mother Earth’s maps…the sort of comical lines that define warmongering nations and variations of male-only debatable gods of numerous names. On top of that ‘how so’ believers believing in the one who they’ve never seen let alone been spoken to? Eerie, the feeble ways of smart-arse humankind.

Blind, the inane eyes of unequivocal lifeless winter’s freezing nights. No need of dazzling lamps when The Old Fool doesn’t give a damn. He knows all too well exactly where his monumental array of minuscule pills live; pills that get swallowed along with a half decent bucket of Burgundy. The Old Fool is envious of the uninvolved Blue Wall…vertical structures have that effect.    


The quack tells me my irksome polar opposite illnesses at battle with each other can’t get better and apparently I can’t get worse. I don’t know if that’s good or bad…time will tell. With that in mind I may as well do the one thing I’ve been missing, namely WP and its bunch of talented artists of all genres. I hope you all are well and delightfully insane. 

Copyright © 2022. All rights reserved save for Coldplay’s music and the photographer. Unauthorised copying, reproduction, hiring, and lending, prohibited.

38 thoughts on “THE BLUE WALL

  1. Good to see you back here, you were missed. Sorry and concerned to know you’ve been knocked down with health problems, but let’s have faith that you will be feeling better day by day !

    1. I must admit the dressing gown serves a decent mode, more so as one doesn’t have to bother doing much waking…lazy the ways of old fools. Good to be back. Regards, Mike

  2. It was good to see a new post from you come across my email this morning! I’m sorry to hear that your health is still giving you trouble. The third paragraph of “The Blue Wall” resonates loudly with me.

    1. My thanks, Liz. I’d been pondering re should I post this one. My imagination gone south; my demeaner lost to the wind, I had a chat with Shirl who’s had a bad time keeping me at least vaguely sane and she sanctioned the piece. Women are far better than males when it comes to plain-speaking…and most other things. In short I’m living with it now, whereas I was fighting a battle I’d never win. I hope all is well with you. Thanks again, Mike

    1. My thanks. It’s good to be back. Your blog is a joy to read. My mind is beginning to work again. Life is a funny old thing, the games it plays when you least expect it. Still, living with a curse is, I’ve determined, better than moaning and staring at walls. I hope you’re doing well. Regards, Mike

      1. Thanks so much Mike for your kind words. It does sound like your mind is working like Mike. I’m happy you’ve come back to blogland. It’s a good place to come for us all to commune. Be well. 🙂

  3. TOF, you sound perfectly okay to me.
    Walls can be good for nothing, or painting. Or, In my case scribbling all over a beige wall with various size black felt pens. I thought it would be a masterpiece. People laughed, so I bought a small can of white paint and a small paint brush.
    The paint only covered 2/3 of the wall, and quite messily at that. Hence I understand the use of a roller.
    Everyone can fly away. I’ve
    kept it as is as a reminder that as an artist, I can draw whatever I want.
    Sending a pic in the next comments box, so you can delete it if you want.

    1. I like your line, ‘…as an artist I can draw whatever I want’ ‘tis a bit like me when I say, ‘as a writer I can write whatever I want however off the wall my words might be.’ I guess I am okay now. I’d had one of my fabled depressions. I simply got fed up with docs and nurses telling me, ‘I have to do this; I have to do that,’ when all I wanted to answer back was, ‘The only thing I ‘have’ to do is die.’ I never told them that, of course, as they are jolly fine people doing their best. Anyway, I’m back in the game now, and thanks for your fine words. By the way, I think your ‘wall’ magnificence. It reminds me of some of Shirl’s wild work – she’s a decent artist. Regards, TOF presently playing his part in Lawrence of Arabia wearing his latest thobe…true. I don’t wear them out, yet the neighbours spotting me in the garden think I’m the Emir of Dover.

      1. 🎼 I’m looking over the Emir of Dover
        One thobe’s for sunshine
        Another’s for rain
        The third is for snowstorms
        The fourth, a hurricane 🎼

      2. An absolute gem…love it, young Resa. I see your talents have no end. No need to spend time replying to these few words, but the tale of thobes and me might amuse you. It all started around the time, 3 years ago, when I got the wretched IBS. My gut was, still is some days, felt like it was full of concrete…most uncomfortable, plus the gut bloats. The thing was, every so often I had pain as well. Enter Shirl. How clever women are, for she listened to what I had to say regarding the pain, and immediately told me that I shouldn’t wear clothes with belts or elastic around the waist, hence she went off and got me my first thobe for warm/hot days, and a down to the ankle dressing gown for cold days. It worked, no pain ever again. I looked rather grand in that first thobe, pure white and thin material, just what is required in Arabia come summer. So there we were, in the garden sipping vino when we decided to take dinner. Off to the kitchen we went, the light in said kitchen very bright. It was in that kitchen, under that light, Shirl announced, ‘I can see right through the thobe’. Not good, if visitors arrive etc. Ever since she gets me coloured thobes. Also, it was at that time I asked of dear Shirl if she could also acquire me a harem full of gorgeous gals from every continent. Her answer, a four letter word followed by ‘off’. There we have it, drivel at its best. Regards, TOF

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.