What this blog isn't

It's not a Leeds-based exploration of the joys and challenges of shaping the mortar between house-bricks so that the rain runs off without undue damage.
Nor is it about looking at, achieving, or maintaining erections of the male variety. That's what the rest of the internet is for.
It's also not about drawing peoples' attention to the beauty of the Aurora Borealis by indicating it with an extended forefinger
It probably isn't SFW[Safe For Work] either (especially if you work in a church) thanks to the liberal sprinkling of profanities, heresies and blasphemies.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Reflections on my television screen

There's a sort of barely visible shifting
of minutely lighter patterns
in the phosphor of my television set.
Only when its on one of the digital radio channels,
mind you.
Not when it's off.
I am not crazy.

An Aurora Televisualis, writhing smokily away.
Is it the faint patter of the universe?
Bombarding silent radiation on our noisy population,
while we shout back and wave our fist in the radio spectrum.
Loud and wide,
all day and all night,
like neighbours from hell.

It's nothing like the bright spiky sparks
Of RF from a car's engine, passing by unseen.
Granting teeth-sparkles and snowflakes
to the unsuspecting,
undeserving, unresisting
characters on the screen.

It can't be the odd visual component
of the mobile's call - that's just straight lines.
Bands microwave across and jump about
and, temporarily,
you're watching Casualty
through horizontal blinds.

It's not poetry. It's not prose. I'm not sure what it is, but for some reason I can't stop doing it. Perhaps there's a helpline I can call?

Anyway, it's part of a twofer deal with the last post for anyone who missed me. Can't think why.

And, yep, I do indeed still have a CRT TV. And I wipe my arse with tree bark. That's how old-fashioned poor cheap retro I am.

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