Rusty

Composed via a mixture of bad cliches:
1 On a brown paper bag (now transfered to screen)
2 In a cafe with jaunty energetic jazz dicatating the ebb and flow of the pen
3 Accompaied by a ridiculously frothy (hippy) soya cappucino

Rusty could be tautologised as a cliche too: use it or lose it.

Here I am thinking about my penchant for excessive verbiage. My natural predeliction to over indulge my mouth :) and wondering how I came to be so removed from my philonomosity (working it here).

I was thinking about how simple truisms slip from the edge of our minds. The limited rainbow that our mind's palette can display to us allows many colours to muddy into a brown that is indistinguishable from the backgound that they sit upon.

So they're there but not there until somehow the brush unwittingly catches some of that colour and transfers it somewhere else making it visible again.

I wish my palette could hold a rainbow.