A Polarisation In Neon

I took a trip to the other side. While walking down the concourse I came to the realisation that I have never entered the duty free shop. I see it every day, its glare burning my eyes, its empty, plastic promises slicking my brain. Well, I ventured into that place, preparing for the worst. I was faced with odd images, false flashes of erotica, an overtly sexual yet empty atmosphere. The billboards advertising perfume do so with orgasm-faces of women, men licking necks, and movie stars "caught" inflagrante. This was combined with the heavy, tight, alcoholic air that is only found in places like this. Past my nose floated hundreds of different smells, perfumes mingling at some hideously glamorous cocktail party. Oddly I wasn't disgusted by this, I was swept up in the glamour, the red-carpet chic of the counterfeit. And just when I thought the scene couldn't get any more sparkling, I saw a bona fide celebrity browsing the racks, mobile phone to his ear. At first I took it for another hallucination, a coffee induced psychotic break, but this was just too real.
"Hello Darling," Russell Grant barked down his phone in a sing-song voice. "Just at the airport luvvy. I just wanted to confirm that appointment..."
My mouth hung open, not because of the fact he was famous, just because he was stood in front of a huge billboard containing the airbrushed image of Nicole Kidman. My mind was split in two. Here, right in front of my eyes, was the most glamorous and the most tawdry ends of the celebrity spectrum. Juxtaposed with Kidman's glacial beauty was Grant, looking like a testicle with legs.
I retreated, past all the orgasms, through the mist of perfume, and to the safety of the concourse. I felt as if I was fleeing the scene of a crime - the same feeling when you buy something from Tesco and you reach the car park, nauseated.

The Old Guard Returneth (or The Loop Completes)

I received a transmission from Cosmo who, after moving to London found himself working on a farm in Italy, and now he has moved to Australia. He is the Holy Fool, the wanderer - a man who has managed to find his way without clinging on to the establishment. The transmission came in the form of a text message.
"There is a spider on the window," it read. "It's huge. I don't like it here anymore." I received this text while halfway through an early shift at the airport and was annoyed that he was not embracing his freedom.
"Pull yourself together," I wrote. "Where's your backbone?"
And then after a short time:
"It's a huntsman. This is no place for the white man!" I looked up the specific breed on the internet promptly, ignoring the other work I had on my plate. They grow to an amazing 11.8 inches. I felt sick, realising that Cosmo was right, but also realising that I was surrounded by these beasts.
The morning carried on after Cosmo's interjection and everywhere I looked I was faced with the skin-crawling horror of nature. All these human beings, coughing, sneezing, their hair crawling with minute dust mites, their eyes the portals to all sorts of living creatures that lie under the skin. I had no place which to retreat.
I have spent a week away, in the Scottish Highlands, and I had complete solitude; nothing but me and my demons, and I revelled in it. But the shock of returning has left me fractured. Especially as all these events have been framed by a piece of news that has hit me like a punch to the liver.
The imminent arrival of a new manager. After months of uncertainty, we have now been given a new permanent manager. This is someone who is familiar - the old guard, the original malevolence that introduced me to life at the airport. My experience has come full circle, the days of my life forming a loop - like when I used to make loop tapes. The songs that used to be favourites quickly diminished, their sheen fading in my mind. But at least with those tapes I actually felt boredom with the repetition. With this news, after the initial shock, I can't really feel anything. Such is The Loop, it takes away everything...