The view from the bus

The view from the bus is always an intriguing one. Bear in mind that it is the same journey everyday, and sameness is throttling to catch up with all the small objects of suggested inspiration that pass through the corner of my eye.
But some patches of contemplative fabric cannot be avoided without the elaborate involvement of the mind
And so here it is, the momentary glimpse into the world of the real deal.

The bus window, dusty as always with the absent sun’s rays making a path through the emancipation of voyeurism.
Traffic was slow and so I wished my watch would be. Lateness to school was imminent.

Parallel with the strolling motion of the bus, there she walked with the usual smile of curiosity missing from her pale face. A cigarette tightly clutched between her fingers with a jest of mindless smoke pouring from it.
Surprised she smoked, I looked away for a second into the opposite direction, only to find moments later, her tight-eyed (in a good way) glance, tantalising my very own curiosity.
Her freshly-appeared smile was accompanied by a ‘hi’ motion of her hand (the one which was also occupied with holding the cigarette).
I smile back, only to find the traffic’s abrupt shift to liquid-fast motion interfering with the desired mutual greeting.
So, this was the view from the bus. A pretty, intriguing and contradictive one.

1 Reason to love(d) Top of the Pops

Speaking of ancient...

Whoever loves, go to hell. I want to break Venus's ribs
with a club and deform her hips.
If she can break my tender heart
why can't I hit her over the head?

Found some interesting ancient Roman graffiti that momentarily put a smile on my face:)

Ancient Dream

I am craftsman in the Roman Empire. I have been given the rather daunting task of making a statue of the Emperor. His days are counted which does not leave me with much time.
I need to bring out the most of my experience and skill to accomplish this.
I get working and in the course of the next days, I am on the verge of successfully finishing the challenge. However, with the least level of expectancy, I am faced with some questioning by the emperor. It appears I have made some crucial mistakes. There is a flaw. I have made the statue perfect.
I do it all again as ordered by the emperor whose enigmatic criticism keeps me awake during the night, all in the hope of finishing it to his satisfaction.
Another perfect statue is “flawed”. I am drained of all my energy but I continue with a new statue. The intensity of my work is overwhelming my ability to do it right.
Finally, the emperor talks to me. His quiet tone clearly showing his age.
“You are the most gifted craftsman, I have ever seen”. He softly mumbles.
“And I am sure you are wondering why I am making you do the statue over and over again”. He continues, almost breathlessly, “Look at me. Do you really see me as one of those statues? Where are the deep wrinkles on my face? The menacing scars on my arms? The old, crooked gaze of my shadowy eyes? It is not on the statue. This is why”. A pause, he is looking straight in my eyes. “I want my people to remember me the way I am, not the way I used to be. Here, on my death bed, I am not the man who conquered the Mediterranean. I am not the hero who defeated millions of men on the battlefield. I am only human, as God wanted me to be, and people should see that I am one of them, that we are all the same beings. Nothing more, nothing less but equal.
Now… the statue I desire from you is one that portrays me as a human being, not a hero or a God. Someone who is mortal, closer and closer to a hug from the inevitable death”.
The wisdom in his breath is emanated throughout the room. Suddenly, I am engulfed by a burning energy field. Gone is the fatigue.
I continue my work.