A Dozen or More Beds.........

Text and pictures by Blogger 

 

 

But where do you go to my lovely

 When you're alone in your bed

Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look into your head, yes I do.

Where do you go to my lovely chorus – Peter Sarstedt

  

I’ve slept in my fair share and both – repose and beds – have become a fascination, in recent years, particularly when you are constantly hopping in and out of them in the most unlikely places. An opiate, the elixir of life, an emotional and psychological tortured rack, lurking shadows – Tell me the thoughts that surround you – marish nights never ending and barely controllable beasts. Arrhythmic capital cities, intercontinental travel, unfamiliar and conflict-affected environments, aloneness, restless soul(s) and age deprive one of the purest, simplest and most blissful escapes. 

Bed, bedder, bedded, better dead – conjugal, death, flower, burning, hospital, rose - BEDS! So much commonality and finality! Why is it then so surprising and shocking to most that, ultimately, you are as you arrived and depart from this earthly existence - bedbound and more often on your very own or oblivious of those around you?  

Singles – reminiscent of childhood and adolescence negotiated in a blur of staccato snapshots. Easy, carefree, natural and so full of anticipation and promise juxtaposed with the all-pervading reality of twilight years ahead - a cruel yet the inevitable prospect of emptiness – fending, fighting and warding off..... Turning full circle in a twirling and twisted tango.  

 

 

Singles..... Green Village accommodation - Kabul Afghanistan





 

Three quarters – bold, brave, productive, passionate, euphoric, crowded and the shortest of interludes en route to dreams and destinations  unchartered.  

Kings, Queens and Families – So real, so sustaining, imprinted life, form and shapes - was it real? Once the centre of the universe, purpose and peace; vivid, vibrant and boisterous 24/7/365 visitations; dreams delivered and dashed; sense-arounded and cocooned in envelopes of intimacy and familiarity; pleasurable presences - leisurely caresses and traded secrets all but blunted now by tell-tale time, circumstance and LIFE ………  fading facsimiles ……….empty footfalls; uncomfortable and enduring silences; bodily superheated and suffused sheets slowly dissipating ………cleansed, sanitized, washed away, non-lingering, nothingness; stark, spreadeagled, chalked crime-scene silhouettes freeze-framed - older, colder, COLD! Achingly dismembered and disabled yet finding sensibilities, solace and self in numbing loneliness.  

As a response, befriending the most unlikely of companions with grace and humility especially H.R.H Insomnia - the obnoxious, unannounced, disagreeable and 'unliked' surrogate socialite that she is as H.R.H drops in occasionally, like a smothering cloak, for rude but intimate awakenings between 2-5 am. Leaving one savagely abused and crudely bruised and invariably facing a zombied day ahead as one of the many, walking dead. Her attempts and no good are thwarted by another old and regal friend, St. John's Wort, chased down with a few pages from a good read. Then ….. glorious repose rushing to meet you swiftly and sweetly - oblivion with incredible restorative and rejuvenating powers - a hint and lasting legacy of the past and perhaps, perhaps a furtive, fleeting hope for the future. 

 

 

The blogger ......flat-backed on one of a dozen or more beds