Dateline.

When the fog hangs thick it's difficult to make out what's going on around me. Best to just sit still and wait. Wait for the noise to subside. Wait for the chills to fade. These days, The Fog is only ever a temporary setback. An intermission, a moment between Moments. Almost a blessing. Crawl into The Pod TM, focus on breathing, remember the future, now that I've forgotten to forget forgetting. Everything is coming, I know that now, whether it comes as Reality, Fantasy or simply as Hope - it's coming regardless, and I've walked blind and tripped trippity trip too often in The Past, so what's to do but sit peaceful in The Fog and wait for the path to show itself.

I write a ballad, a Love Song Dedication, a ballad of Two Ghosts, and I don't even wonder what they would say if they heard it. I just smile at the knowledge that The Past is a quaint holiday destination, but my ambition lies dead ahead. The song is a gentle goodbye, a better way to walk into Tomorrow. That's enough to bury the dead, isn't it? With soft water colours, a picture they will never know I painted of them,  but which I will hang proud from my heart now that I'm finally ready to play - to face the self imposed intimidation of being surrounded for so long by people I put on pedestals, people, that through no fault of their own, held me back, frightened me into thinking I had nothing to give. But I have my own Soul to give, and that's the one thing I've always stood by, though perhaps, have never lived up to. So...Matty James, I think, I'll play under the name Matty James. It's two sides of me, the known and the unknown, and the blanket of enigmatic contradiction feels warm around my shoulders. I think it fits. Ego or no.

Her and I - we write, as it's all we have, but it's all we've ever had, so that fits too. And time bends and stretches in circles and oblongs and I slide into it now, comfortable, clear...and well...I'm restless as Hell, but that energy sure beats Anger. Or worse, Shame. Besides - nothing beats this Hard Fought Freedom. And I am reborn, as is my sister, as are my friends, reborn from all those bloody tears and yesterdays. Young again, naive again, built of dreams yet holding the power to create reality in a single word.

Yes.

Yes,

I can do this.

We can all do this.

Salute.

Inspiration.

Thumbnail.

Peace is out there somewhere.
Under a tree, by a river.
In a room, on a bed, blinds open, watching the white drifts dance by.
In a car - driving away from
every thing, to find The Silence
in which to place
each thing in Context.
The Void Canvas which so easily
transforms a man's blood
into a new vision...
My Painting.
My Heart.

Volcanic.

Something has to give. Back behind bars. A reality less real than The Dream. The sort of life that people nod knowingly at, and give a little understanding tap on the bicep as they "understand". We're all in this together, right? Got to do what we got to do. No such thing as Freedom anymore. No room in This Modern Age for Beat movement. Walkabout. No more Freight riding, sunset chasing, everything comes with a plan, a set pattern that if you stare at for too long, can feed your grunting nightmares with shapes so familiar it's almost as if you've been Dead, dreaming for eternity. That's where you are, Man. It's just that stubborn child that thinks otherwise, that believes there is still an underground, an alternative, a tunnel, carved and focused, straight through the Grey and into The Black and Light. So, Coward, what are you prepared to do?

What are you prepared to do?

Dream.

C'est fini.

That's all I have to say about that. The last week...the last week is mine and hers to cherish forever. A Dream Come True, a Fairytale. The single greatest week of my life. And I will take what The Universe so graciously gave and turn the Heat into a Fire to fuel the year ahead.

There is such joy, if you are True to yourself. Such Bliss in an open heart, an honest grin and a wonder filled gaze.

I sit in the heat, drinking a cold beer, and sharing my memories with True Friends. We talk about Important Things, and the need to stay True to The Path. And there is nothing but Honest Optimism, and we all feel it, we all take hold of it, we all silently, internally, vow to make the Necessary Changes. And this time, it is Real.

And as we walk back to the car, The Universe lays a punchline on me. Two people, so terrified, ashamed, or simply Vacant, who have to cross the street and hide their faces when they spy me dancing and giggling on the sidewalk. And I laugh and laugh and laugh, and call out to them, smiling, Wide Open, though cheeky, to be sure...and they scurry and crab sideways into their own shadow...and life lives on, as it does, and my friends and I drive back to our blissful Home, drinking in the music which pours melodic and inebriating from the speakers, high on the chorus, and sated by the warm key changes of 70s rock. Yeah, baby, yeah.

Oh man, Life can be so fucking amazing.

This Universe. This hilariously breathtaking Universe.

Au Revoir.

At night the snow melted
and left the streets
wet
as though the stones themselves
were mourning
beneath
the lascivicious diamonds
which glowed
rouge
in the
night.

This Heart Break
is
different,

not so much a Full Stop
 
as a

11.

How is it that everything can be going so right? That even when I think I may have burned all my luck, Angels appear to hold my hand, and help me continue along this Path. I cry as I walk toward Jaures, toward the Buttes Chaumont, because the sun is on me, in so many ways and I cannot remember The Universe and I being so in synch.

My cousin comes through for me at the last minute. Unapproached. She swings in from Left of Stage with that Dooley Psychic Know How and sets things right for me in ways that I won't go into here. Suffice to say, this is a lesson to be learned now. Early in the year. Part 2 of what was taught last year. That none of this would have happened without friends and family. And it's time for me to not be such a hermit when it comes to sharing the Love. It's time to Reach Out, as far as I can stretch, and never forget, just how far this Beautiful Family can go if we all step together.

I hook up with Nomi Fuz, my sister's ex and true friend from years ago, who is living in Paris, and as soon as I see her and she hugs me, huge waves of glee start washing over me. We talk and talk and talk over coffee, and I am a man dying of thirst who finds fresh water, I talk so fast I almost drown myself in enthusiasm. It feels like the first conversation I've had in years, not because I haven't spoken to anyone, but because we are both so in awe of where we are, how we are, who we are...this girl, this girl who I have loved for years purely for the True Friendship she always showed my sister, ends up becoming such an inspiration to me, and I to her, that I feel humbled by The Universe, again and again, for allowing me this New Friend. And I am able to actually express this to her, without sounding overly wet or cheesy.

I mean we lift each other up with our stories and we share positivity and Hope and say, YEAH! and WOO!, a lot...just like my friends at Home. My cheeks hurt with Awesome. Is this what it feels to be on the Right Path?

And all this, the day before Paris begins again.

Which is today...in 12 hours...

Um...

10.

This is a huge amount of faith to put in Fate. Things coming together, just at the right time. Resourcefulness, belief, strength of will - Good words for 2010. A confident way to mold the clay which this future will be made from. I won't say I'm not nervous, I am. Not so much of What We Are Doing, but more...that we can get home, that we can eat, that Life is gentle with us. Such a way to start a year, a lifelong dream come true. Can it be that things go right? Can it really be?

On the steps of Sacre Couer I sit and smoke and the whole of Paris stretches out beneath me. If I am to find a sign then this place is surely the delivery point. It's been snowing all morning. Not a heavy snow, more a breath, a light stir of butterflies which dance on the winds and land wet on my jacket. But as I sit down on the stairs of the ancient basillica, the clouds open and the sun shines through and all the rooftops of Paris turn from grey to gold. I light another smoke. What else to do in this city? I take it in, and take it in, the smoke, the vista, the sun, the dream. I leave my camera in my pocket and I just Am. Right here. This moment which will never be again. I smile at the busker who sets up two steps in front of me, and he leans into his microphone and asks the crowd, is everyone okay? And they cry, YES!

And he closes his eyes, and he plays

John Lennon, Imagine.

And the accent is atrocious, but the playing is strong, but I mean, who cares, the sun, the song, the crowd sings along, the cigarette burns, and my soul soars, and what else is there to think? Sign or not, this is a moment. And I would be fool not to drown in it.

You may say, I'm a dreamer....but I'm not the only one...

How did we engineer this? This extra time, this One Forever Dream?

I don't know. But there's a sign outside of Disney World, huge, across the entrance.

If you can dream it, you can do it.

Maybe that's all it takes.

So dream with me.

9.

 Dawn rises languid, and beneath a gentle snow drift the Romance of Paris is stripped bare, until all that remains is the bare humanity of Just Another Capital City. I listen to The Strokes, dance as I walk, air guitar and drums, just like home, I am at home. No longer a voyeur, but a bit part player, a tiny fish in a vast sea of Them.
Without Her, this is as lonely a city as ever was. Cruel, almost, in its Ignorant Grandeur. But I can still find Peace. I can still jump on a concrete ledge as the chorus hits. I can still startle the other pedestrians with a surprise grin, and a heart felt bonjour.
It's just another day.
As an Outsider, I can cry for the Paris that was. The centre of Bohemie, the heartbeat of a movement, when every man was a philosopher, and every woman a muse. Now...now every one is a survivor, stepping in time with the Universal Trudge. Here to there, my life, your life, a job to do, necessity over indulgence, the faces of the Parisiens carry no more or less of Now's Sad Truths, though the Ghosts here are closer, less...earthy, than those at Home. They are tangible, if you open your heart. The music helps that. A soundtrack always brings things to life.
I live the cliche, because I can, and because This Year, I aim to create. I fall in love with her as I read her texts, walking by the Seine, toward the Tower Eiffel. I stroll by the most famous Art Gallery in the world, and barely glance at it, because my eyes are heavenward, and my arms are stretched out to Her, as though I can feel her across the channel, Love's great reach, a psychic caress, close your eyes my darling and we are beside each other, inside each other, Time Travellers, explorers of all that has been between us these ten years, and all that is to come. This is what I create. This is what she creates. I can feel us both surrender, and nothing is more sensual, more Paris, than complete surrender to This.

I am standing up for this Great Chance.

Why would I not?

And Her, she is just so...


3 more days.