tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82325779529447106572024-03-15T18:11:49.023-07:00WHEN WE FALLUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger70125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-4063855361075384872022-01-12T19:51:00.009-08:002024-01-11T17:22:40.958-08:00Mountain.<p>The best was when the fire was outside. </p><p>Everyone sat wrapped in thick jumpers staring at the flames with dirty cigarette fingers and cold beers nestled between the thighs.<br /><br />We'd get a good one burning and then what we'd do is throw copper wire and piping on it.<br /><br />And the old metal would burn all sorts of colours.<br /><br />Orange
sunsets and bruised purples and the green was life in that fire, and
the fire was life in us, and we would sit all night under the stars just dreaming alone together and
sometimes...</p><p> </p><p>well sometimes </p><p> </p><p>I'm afraid of the darkness and forever that lives in the night, but up there on that mountain, up there the whole damn sky was a
diamond and I was never afraid, not once.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-70467481274780407732018-02-04T00:56:00.001-08:002022-11-14T16:33:05.595-08:00DreamingLife's just dreaming<br />
faded colours<br />
on an empty wall<br />
makes no sense at all<br />
<br />
all those pictures<br />
hanging like dead men<br />
one day they'll fall<br />
no memory at all<br />
<br />
down in the old bar<br />
Time stands still by<br />
his lover's heart<br />
and her eyes are dark<br />
<br />
lights are feelings<br />
burning questions<br />
though i can't recall<br />
no answers at all<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-53579265097493744002015-12-08T15:31:00.000-08:002023-12-08T15:32:23.383-08:00The King is Dead. Long Live the King.My family<br />we<br />built this place<br />together, you know<br />been here since<br />before the Great<br />War, my Grandfather's<br />Father cleared these<br />paddocks, calloused<br />hands and an axe<br />that's all it bloody<br />took, honest work<br />and a place<br />t' drink<br />at the end<br />of the day<br />and look at it now<br />good people punished<br />an Act of God<br />you say<br />well he better<br />bloody stand back<br />the mongrel<br />'fore I wave my fist<br />and shout<br />ya<br />took my two brothers<br />in Normandy<br />my son in Vietnam<br />and three<br />innocent grand children<br />tiny kids you bastard<br />2, 4 and 7<br />here<br />afraid and burnin'<br />alive<br /><br />and<br /><br />got halfway<br />down the track when<br />I realised I'd forgotten<br />the bloody dog<br />had to go back<br />didn't I<br />anyway<br />she was there<br />under the porch<br />ran straight to me<br />but we both knew<br />it was too late<br />the sky was thick<br />and the heat, mate<br />so<br />I sprayed her with a hose<br />and told her<br />get under, dog<br />under<br />and she did<br />with a look<br />as I climbed<br />up the roof<br />hose in hand<br />to spray the serpent<br />The Devil himself<br />in the eye<br />and<br />screamin'<br />piss off, ya bastard<br />piss off, would ya<br />and wouldn't you know it<br />the prick<br />heard me<br />stopped at the fence<br />turned and<br />ran a yellow<br />backed coward<br /><br />and<br />gone, all gone<br /><br />and here and there<br />the souls of the dead<br />live in the eyes of the living<br />the wing of the moth<br />crumbling with a tender<br />touch<br /><br />and<br />maybe a spark<br />will jump the lines<br />in the unified heart<br />of a sun blistered<br />country<br />take my hand, brother<br />we will stand together<br />and I will<br />listen as<br /><br />she was my<br />everything<br />you know<br />fifty five years<br />t'morra<br />would've been<br />since<br />that night<br />at the dance<br />red haired just like...<br />and a temperament to match<br />I tell ya<br />I just knew<br />first time she<br />smiled<br />I coulda sworn<br />me heart<br />broke<br />then and there<br />and the air was<br />like stardust<br />sprinkled silver<br />with<br />real magic<br />my Love<br />a true blue sheila<br />through it all<br />and now<br />she's<br />and he's<br />and it's<br />this whole damn place<br />every memory<br />lost<br />in the ashes<br />buried<br />somewhere under this<br />rubble<br />and if I can just find<br />one, mate<br />just<br />one bloody piece<br />of yesterday<br />to grip tight<br />in these wrinkled<br />and useless<br />hands<br />then who knows<br />I might cry<br />a river<br />to douse<br />forever<br />this damned<br />Hell.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-50581606486482430572015-02-18T19:55:00.005-08:002023-11-15T13:56:12.538-08:00Jodi-Pops.Today I say goodbye to my sister.<br />
<br />
I say goodbye to my sister whose sadness was a weight, whose sorrow was an ocean and whose tenuous grip on life was a broken hand clinging to the hard ships which had carried her so far but were destined to never reach the promised land her heart had set to find all those years ago. I say goodbye to my sister who could no longer carry the heartache, violence and pain which had plagued her one true desperate search, the search for a Love through which to transcend herself and find peace.<br />
<br />
This sister passed two weeks ago in a final act of stubborn defiance, a lonely raging against all that cursed this beautiful but fragile journey that she called Life.<br />
<br />
To this sister I say I love you and goodbye, beautiful. Goodbye my broken but beloved Jodi-Pops.<br />
<br />
Today I welcome, greet and happily introduce to you all to the incredible, powerful and inspiring sister of my memory and heart. The sister that I knew in her True Form. For my sister was not defined by the often difficult circumstances of her life. The sister I knew lived, laughed and loved despite of them. <i>She danced in open spite of them</i>.<br />
<br />
So I will not stand here and openly examine what brought her heart to an end but instead share with you what end her heart brought to us. I will share with you the meaning that my sister's heart meant to me.<br />
<br />
Determination, strength, humour, loyalty, kindness, generosity and love.<br />
<br />
Jodi was determined, stubborn and strong. She was an Atlas, an ox, an elephant. She never forgot but would always forgive. When I was thirteen years old a very tall, very strong, very blonde man held my tiny five foot two mother against a wall and punched her repeatedly. I stood there in shock. Jodi did not. Jodi was seventeen years old and leaped into the fray without a single thought for her well being. Her only instinct was to protect those she loved. I watched her punch a grown man in the face to protect her mother. And the shock of her doing that made everything and everyone stop. The <i>grown up</i>s walked away and went to separate bedrooms. I stood open mouthed in the hallway until Jodi said, let's go downstairs and steal some wine, matty, you look like you need some. I did. We did.<br />
<br />
Jodi fought her entire life.<br />
<br />
In the late eighties, early nineties, the Australian Navy picked a fight with Jodi over the fact that she loved women. They made her life so difficult and did things to her so terrible that even now as I recite her life for you to understand, I still will not share the things I know they did to her.<br />
<br />
For the simple crime of loving women, The Navy made life so difficult for Jodi that she was left with little recourse than to fight back. In a counter strike worthy of a master politician Jodi appeared out of the blue as a double page spread in the centre of Who Magazine. Her big, beautiful face on the paper with the words "gays in the military" splashed across it and her bleeding heart splashed wide open in the article that ran beside it. The Australian Navy had picked a fight with my sister and stubborn and proud of who she was she would not lie down and disappear. Her instinct was to protect herself, to fight for her rights and the women she loved. But to do so openly. To call the world to her aid.<br />
<br />
What possible crime had she committed, she would cry. What right does any organisation have to tell a single, free soul who they can or cannot love. Jodi was right, they were wrong and she knew it. I learned a lot from my sister back then. I learned the value of fighting for what you believed in, no matter the cost. Not long after, Jodi was dishonourably discharged. The fight was over and to everyone but Jodi the Navy had won.<br />
<br />
24 years later Jodi received a substantial payout and apology from the Navy. Never in those 24 years did Jodi stray from her conviction. I love her for that. I love her for knowing what was right and not letting go, no matter what the world did to her.<br />
<br />
Jodi was silly, fun, hilarious, unabashed and unashamed. Jodi was a bumbling, trembling, clumsy goofball. Jodi could be so dumb that she would forget she was so perceptive and intelligent. But Jodi's intelligence was not mathematical or analytical. Jodi's intelligence and smarts were born of a simple, clear vision of the world. She saw clearly what this world has the capacity to be and how it has lost its way. Jodi didn't <i>believe</i> in things, she knew things.<br />
<br />
She saw the deep and simple truth that the world needs laughter, it needs to dance, it needs to feel joy, to be playful and childlike. The world needs to be pushed, to be embarrassed out of its self infatuation into humility.<br />
<br />
This world that "powerful men" have created needs to be shown for the self-important, self-destructive bullshit it really is. But this world fights against people like Jodi who live outside its confines, it actively seeks to destroy them, to cut the non-conforming cells out of the body and force compliance upon them.<br />
<br />
Tonight in celebration I see Jodi clear as day, lighting one last cigarette, drinking one last can and staring the grey, lifeless world in the eyes as it came for her that one last time. Tonight I see Jodi saying, if I am going to die, I will die in my own way. This world will not kill me. I will kill me.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Fuck yeah.</i><br />
<br />
Jodi was kindness and generosity.<br />
<br />
She lived and taught the understanding that at the moment of death a person should measure their life not by how much they have accumulated, but by how much they have given.<br />
<br />
Jodi was the first to ask when she needed help, whether it was money, a place to stay or simply a hug. But if Jodi ever saw someone in need, she would give everything, anything she owned to help that person. Like a pauper in desperate need of change, Jodi would gladly hand the world around her the last of her coins.<br />
<br />
The religions of the world pretend to worship people like that<br />
<br />
But more than any other quality, Jodi was Love. Being the recipient of this love for 42 years I can describe its every detail, its incredible spirit, its all powerful, all consuming warmth. Jodi had a star burning in her heart so mighty she was unable to control it. Its force led her to adopt stray dogs by the dozen, big ones, little ones, ones with no teeth as well as four stray cats, two snakes, stray plants, stray friends, stray lovers, other people's families, other people's friends, other people's lovers. Nothing could escape the light of Jodi's love once it had proved its worth to her. And like a star, Jodi gave and gave, selflessly bringing light to every corner of her life, some so dark no one but Jodi could or would love them. Because of this, some people thought Jodi was a mess.<br />
<br />
But I saw her true form. Jodi was a saint. An angel whose capacity for loving those around her could not be sustained by her physical form. She ached for someone to love her in this same way. When I told her I did she would say, <i>no…I need more than that...</i>and she would leave my house and follow her blazing heart down some other pathway, some other alley, into some other dark corner of the world where people would receive her love with selfish gratitude whether they were able to return it or not.<br />
<br />
This is the Jodi that lives on today. The bright burning star of Love. This is the sister that I introduce to you today and who stands beside me now, and will forever live inside me and inspire me to be a greater, more giving person. This is the Jodi that is here with us now and who feels nothing but giddy love, joy and sparkly goofy gratitude that we are today able to come together like this and finally appreciate her for who she was.<br />
<br />
This is my best friend, my protector, my sister, my parent and my child. And I am grateful to have known a Jodi that some of you have met, and some of you have misunderstood but all of you have loved. And I am grateful that in the 42 years I shared with Jodi, I found many opportunities to say to her the things I say to you today. I love you, Pops, Poopy Poo, Bum Fluff. I love you.<br />
<br />
Always have, always will.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-61128454219010093722015-02-10T13:28:00.001-08:002023-11-15T13:59:11.091-08:00Routine.You wake, sit up<br />
and stare<br />
there are sounds<br />
a bird, a different bird<br />
then cars, the footsteps<br />
of people going to work,<br />
a train<br />
all that nothing<br />
continuing and you think<br />
my sister hanged herself<br />
and nothing happens<br />
you don't cry or feel<br />
you just sit in your bed<br />
with open eyes<br />
thinking that the tide must be out<br />
and you know it'll return<br />
maybe later in the day<br />
maybe lunchtime when you're about<br />
but for now<br />
there is a lady beside you<br />
and a cat at your feet<br />
and they both breathe slow and sleep<br />
so you edge out<br />
pad barefoot<br />
around<br />
this room that room<br />
bathroom<br />
where you stare at yourself<br />
and say it again<br />
into your own eyes<br />
but nothing comes<br />
so you just<br />
do<br />
what<br />
comes<br />
next.<br />
<br />
Again and again.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-48248855391428309962015-01-26T14:07:00.000-08:002023-11-15T13:57:17.731-08:00Old age / bad hipsYou assholes,
he screams,<br />
you broke
writing, you broke it<br />
you took what we gave you
and you fucking broke it<br />
I mean you fucking interview
<i>each other</i><br />
nodding and bobbing your<br />
proud empty sneer<br />
as though that's a fucking <i>piece</i><br />
your little articles
stuck on a wall<br />
like semen stains
in a public lavatory,<br />
all beard, no balls,
jerking off in a public john…<br />
<br />
I see a tattooed girl
touch her<br />
striped and lumbering captain<br />
as he feigns indignation<br />
ready to strike<br />
<br />
but he doesn't<br />
<br />
none of them do.
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-5875790960820650692012-09-15T08:36:00.001-07:002023-11-15T14:00:38.886-08:00Visions.I've been noticing,<br />
as I walk,<br />
more and more people just<br />
standing and staring.<br />
<br />
And I turn to see what<br />
it is<br />
that catches their attention<br />
but there is nothing there.<br />
<br />
The first time this happened<br />
I giggled<br />
at the thought<br />
of the person<br />
drifting off<br />
and after another time<br />
I began to think<br />
perhaps a sadness<br />
larger than all of us<br />
had began to creep in<br />
so much so<br />
that one by one<br />
we were all just<br />
stopping<br />
dead<br />
in our track<br />
to stare in idle patience<br />
waiting for the tired<br />
to come in.<br />
<br />
But today<br />
when I passed yet another<br />
I perceived an almost imperceptible<br />
smile<br />
on the face of the one who stood<br />
and I realised that they were<br />
seeing something beyond<br />
all this nothing<br />
a something<br />
a further something.<br />
<br />
These days<br />
I walk to the coffee shop<br />
every day<br />
hoping to come<br />
to a sudden halt.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-48521581194808847072011-10-17T07:28:00.000-07:002023-11-15T14:01:45.863-08:00Night.We sit atop the truck and talk but we don't talk much. Deer ghost just far enough away as to not wake Moose, the dog, who lies beside the front wheel. His ears twitch in semi-sleep. The moon is in hiding, giving light to all those worlds that exist behind it. Billions of lights amongst that red mist which spears the spine of the sky, your side, my side, past and present, now and forever.<br />
<br />
We pass the cigarette back and forth.<br />
<br />
So many things disappear as smoke.<br />
<br />
I have learned that.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-30559868810678522932011-10-10T06:31:00.000-07:002023-11-15T14:03:34.666-08:00Earth.There is dust in the air as we walk. Dust which kicks and eddies up off the chalk dry field and settles on your skin, your hair, your teeth. There's been no rain for almost ten years now. None to speak of anyhow. There is dust in his voice as he speaks, saying -<br />
<br />
My father grabs me by the arm as he lay in the bed. And he was still real strong, though he was pushing ninety. I was crying though I couldn't help it. Crying even when my wife came back in the room and daddy was screaming at me, screaming - <i>you got to do this son, you got to do what I tell ya, bring me that gun, bring me that gun</i> - and was all I could do to tell my daddy, no, I can't do it. I can't do it. And I had to walk out that room and have all them doctors and what not see me cry with my woman wiping my face and my daddy screaming for me to bring his gun...<br />
<br />
The dog comes close. We stop walking and everything is still.<br />
<br />
...he died next day though it wasn't of his own hand like he want to. And I swear that's the last time I cry and I won't never cry again.<br />
<br />
I turn to look but he stares straight ahead.<br />
<br />
I see a long, hard desert in his eyes and I know his words to be true.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-55269693500618727552011-06-09T22:26:00.012-07:002023-11-01T03:21:13.617-07:004.<p>We catch a bus from the airport, back 600 years into the Old Town, where all the beauties are collected together in a square dedicated to Freedom. </p><p>Beauty of face, beauty of architecture, beauty of heart and beauty of soul. I stroll in this place and I laugh and wave to the family that dust the streets with memories. </p><p>Tallin, Estonia is another home. These friends another family. We drink beer. The sun does not sink below the horizon. I stand up high on a cliff face with a thousand year old stone fence as guardian, and stare out over the Baltic Sea towards what is still to come, but it is no surprise that here I am content. And yet, what true journey man is ever blessed with bliss, settled upon the word content. I say goodbye in the square, my friends close their eyes when I speak of where I am going. They thank me, I thank them.</p><p>In the morning, Sam and I walk slow toward the dock, a languid parting with this beautiful, aged city. We travel over the sea, in a box built of lights, shopping, queues and ovine chatter which crescendos down the corridors of the ferry as a Momentus tide, as though the very beigeness of all aboard, is enough to keep us afloat upon these cobalt plains.</p><p><br />
And initially, this is my impression of Helsinki. Land in mass of writhing trolleys, ages of elbows which muscle and need, sun baked fanaticism to be one in front and potato people baking in a glass oven on a snail pace highway into the city centre - I am thrown, this chapter all grey, steaming and jagged stares though just as all is dizzy and fit we find our tradition, the first beer in a new city, and we drink to leaving this place with a different impression than This we have found upon arrival.</p><p><br />
There must be something here.</p><p><br />
Our text arrives.<br />We trolley off.</p><p> A host with most gracious handshake and grin, my first Fin, who laughs at the pressure and yet can give stories out like candy cane, as my ears act like children, greedily gobbling them up and yet always hungry for more. And then, as he talks, he moulds this city around us. I the observer, desperate to see how he does this, am too lost in the beauty he creates to follow his words, his hands, but in the course of a few minutes walking, he has turned these brackish steel streets into a forest fantasy the equal of which I have barely seen. This land a land beyond a billion lands, over the reaches and into The Heavens we have travelled to sit beside and admire this mirror of the gods, the surface broken only by the dance of a single white swan and the sky seduced by the face of The Sun herself to turning a roguish pink as the fir trees release their evening aroma and all the animals look at me with knowing Narnian eyes. </p><p>Here in the city - this great, wild surprise.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-90235522006235945872011-06-02T06:34:00.001-07:002023-11-01T03:22:47.299-07:002.How is this possible? I recall the tram to work, the stone faced hypnosis of the tired mass, the dreaming. Or do I? Perhaps I no longer recall these things. Here in my kitchen in Oslo. I will make coffee now. And eat caramelised cheese on dark Norwegian bread. Outside the rare cloud shifts position as if to stretch itself after an afternoon nap. The unceasing sun is not weary of its tireless shift. At 3am he will barely disappear, shading the night in pink, iced with scattered stars. Soft noises rise from the street. A truck passes apologetically. Everything is illuminated by the magic of the journey. It is Thursday afternoon, 3pm, and I am free to nothing. Though I will play guitar.<br />
<br />
Days ago, Monday Morning, I woke on the grass, breathing the fragrant air of Dresden, East Germany. I was surrounded by friends. Our candles had burned themselves as we slept. The rug was as grassy as my hair. We all laughed. Monday Morning. Collecting our things we danced down the street to where was parked a green and white van. We climbed in. Once a police van it was now a haven. We rolled a joint. Someone filmed us. Guitar, violin, singing, the magic of the night here in the morning. We could barely say a word to each other. So we played and played and played. Monday Morning. At lunchtime we giggled home. Coffee. More music. The violinist and I devoted friends for life, such was the joy we found in the music. I will find her and she will play on the record. Here in Dresden.<br />
<br />
Tears when we leave. Tears and fists over hearts and looks in our eyes and a jasmine memory sure to last. The Mayor of Neustadt insists we share a final coffee with him in his rooftop apartment and I listen to his histories as I hold dear the warm cup and look at the rooftops below. Such magic here. Deserted buildings garnished with graffiti and held together by the rapturous embrace of ivy vines, desperate to drag their new love into the ground, down, down, down, to cement the passing of time. We say goodbye. Goodbye. I stare quietly out the window as we drive. The Swiss girl next to me tells stories of lakes and parties and friends and plans and pasts and I do not tire of listening though I do so passively and let the road hypnosis take me.<br />
<br />
Home base, Berlin. One night. Another wanderer, another wayward breed to sit beside and share stories. Another member of this Gypsy Family. How very true it is. We smile. Ten seconds and we are brothers. That's the feeling of The Road. My Road. I do not pretend to own any other than my own.<br />
<br />
Sun, fast, snap, wake, coffee, croissant, airport. Over the Baltic and into Oslo. My other brother, the mentor, meets us at the train station. And we cook and laugh, three souls at the sublime serendipity of it all. A beer. Trails and strings that reach around the world and tie us all together, him to her to me to a friend to a city to a moment and back again. The world contracts around us and we drink whiskey to celebrate. There are shows to play here before we head further north. Deeper in. Estonia, Finland, Sweden...and beyond. A life now. A true, traveller's life. A dream come true.<br />
<br />
And Elizabeth is coming. To Berlin. In three weeks.<br />
<br />
I cannot wait to share this freedom.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-55738859214597072742011-05-25T13:49:00.001-07:002023-11-01T03:22:10.769-07:001.There's so much room to breathe here in Berlin. I didn't expect that. It's like Paris, but without the weight and peacoque expectation of beauty. There's an emptiness which exists as a perfect palette upon which to create. The streets are quiet. People move almost as ghosts, as though to draw attention would be to break the spell. I roll a cigarette and stand on the balcony and I can see beautiful apartment buildings hunched beside post-war brutalist blocks and everything just fits. I can hear birds singing at dusk. <br />
<br />
This is my life now. I will never turn back. I have a background in normality. As normal as all that ever was. Tomorrow the travelling, the playing, the work, the joy of walking my own path begins. I clean the blood off the guitar, caked and black from last week's goodbye. I make hand made CDs to sell as I go. I stay home, happy to be alone, drinking tea and quiet. I drink the quiet. I can't remember the last time I did that. I sit by myself, happy in a room with tall ceilings and a high lamp, though I am never alone these days. A happy thought synched with the buzzing of my phone. Oh, hello. Not long. I'm on my way. Just got to go through Europe to get there.<br />
<br />
Life has sure taken a turn. I have begun to learn the Art of Happiness.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-91300945671639606122011-02-17T14:45:00.002-08:002023-11-01T03:24:04.444-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cro5Q6r2zg4/TV2leo9saJI/AAAAAAAABMs/TEKQ4gOVE70/s1600/tumblr_lgqxma09xN1qz6f9yo1_r1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cro5Q6r2zg4/TV2leo9saJI/AAAAAAAABMs/TEKQ4gOVE70/s320/tumblr_lgqxma09xN1qz6f9yo1_r1_500.jpg" width="229" /></a></div><br />
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There is a river flowing now very fast.<br />
It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid.<br />
They will try to hold onto the shore.<br />
They will feel they are being torn apart and they will suffer greatly.<br />
Know the river has its destination.<br />
Let go of the shore, and push off and into the river,<br />
Keep our eyes open, and our head above the water.<br />
See who is in there with you and Celebrate.<br />
<br />
At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally.<br />
Least of all ourselves.<br />
Banish the word struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary.<br />
All that you do now must be done in a sacred manner<br />
And in celebration.<br />
<br />
We are the one's we've been waiting for.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-51157812094969929332011-02-06T16:33:00.001-08:002023-11-01T03:26:31.544-07:00I'm joined by Loneliness<br />
who gives me<br />
the usual -<br />
pot shots<br />
of savage self<br />
reflection<br />
but<br />
I just can't<br />
seem to swallow it<br />
these days<br />
<br />
so I <br />
read my book<br />
listen to Tweedy<br />
lay for a time on my bed just gazing at the ceiling<br />
I <br />
drink whisky with my friend<br />
and<br />
play my guitar<br />
as <br />
my cat climbs all over me<br />
and I just<br />
<br />
Believe,<br />
<br />
I s'pose.<br />
<br />
I just believe.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-62268975067317978342010-11-30T13:00:00.000-08:002022-11-30T13:01:27.383-08:00Three colours green, or what I seen.<p>I'm on the road again. Behind me storm clouds obscure the Emerald City and ahead the sky leans close to the earth for a kiss drenched with longing. If I reach my hand out the window I can trace my fingers through the scoops and cottons of cloud, the breath of the sky, it's a tender moment between the now and forever and I'm racing between the two, an insect, an atom, a tiny nothing relected in the dark still waters of eternity. </p><p>The horizon is a sensual hallucination of a lover's curves, blushed verdant and alive after the return of a love thought lonely and lost, the tears of remorse having doused the dry cracked wrinkles of drought and doubt while delight dances in delicious delirium, the trees, the grass, the flowers, even the scattered granite monuments of a prehistoric orgasm seem to have awakened, such is the explosion of sensation and life. </p><p> This place populated in a blink, untouched for millions of years beforehand, paradise neither lost nor regained, but simply created, it waited and I take it all in, everything, three hundred and sixty degrees of breathtaking insanity, and within the whirlpool my senses are freed and my ego shed and every thought floats and dances, a single, clear butterfly, dancing a scatter in pockets of memory and wonderment. </p><p> On the highway I find what always seems to elude me, one path, laid out in front, and all you need to do is drive toward tomorrow, through valleys and towns decorated in gold, nature's mourning pennant as the earth prepares to sleep in post-coital bliss, its back turned to the father, the sun, the holy three months before the resurrection of the land. </p><p>And in the meantime we continue to scurry and scamp, little lives with big troubles, alive on the back of a sleeping dragon. A cave where I have chosen to come to meditate rabid demons of thought and reflection. To let go of everything - to understand - to step back from the painting - to hold my thumb up to my life and see what works and what does not - and the painting bleeds colours and moods and random patterns flipper and scat and laughter is mixed with sadness and love with loss but under the mix, the palette retains a finish of hope and excitement, for an unknown future is a creation waiting to happen.<br /><br /><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-49055349748939969782010-11-13T16:15:00.000-08:002022-11-30T13:14:27.393-08:00Where the road takes me...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/TN8o-YK9x3I/AAAAAAAABJs/dqZElmGmW2g/s1600/PB120526.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" px="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/TN8o-YK9x3I/AAAAAAAABJs/dqZElmGmW2g/s400/PB120526.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/TN8pPx86r9I/AAAAAAAABJw/leBUWh9P_T8/s1600/PB120529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" px="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/TN8pPx86r9I/AAAAAAAABJw/leBUWh9P_T8/s400/PB120529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/TN8pifpV0vI/AAAAAAAABJ0/ehd3Cj75Wcg/s1600/PB120531.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" px="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/TN8pifpV0vI/AAAAAAAABJ0/ehd3Cj75Wcg/s400/PB120531.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/TN8pyUrkP7I/AAAAAAAABJ4/Fhih6J3DvVI/s1600/PB120543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" px="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/TN8pyUrkP7I/AAAAAAAABJ4/Fhih6J3DvVI/s400/PB120543.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-14041525301474585372010-11-08T11:35:00.002-08:002022-11-30T13:10:23.837-08:003.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/TNhOYUpDeQI/AAAAAAAABJo/YVFHzo2r81k/s1600/photo-10.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/TNhOYUpDeQI/AAAAAAAABJo/YVFHzo2r81k/s400/photo-10.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</p><p></p><p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</p><p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Of course it was always a Hope that I would find a family. Truth is I stayed out of sight all year, because I knew I didn't belong anymore. That somewhere out in the world were my tribe, and I needed to transmogrify myself in order to find them. So I waited, watching the stars from time to time, choosing my actions carefully. Well, most of the time.<br />
<br />
Here in Portland the first moment happens. I sit outside a diner with a musician from NYC who lives in Oslo and a Norwegian film maker and we talk as brothers. They talk about my songs. They say, people like you and I, and the oak leaves tumble and spin around us and my heart flips and shudders and I phoenix, right there on the street. I am now people like You. I have made a complete reality swap. I am an International Gypsy, and I am Home, and it all hits me until I struggle to hold myself down. I feel as though I am lifted beyond all that I ever was. Everything that is said is right.<br />
<br />
Later that night I am in a bar, in a photo booth, and I am drunk on champagne. Mark and Jessy whisper to each other, and begin to tell me of other family members. In Paris, in New York, in Berlin, in in in...and everyone is a part of each other, and I can see the World I had only dreamed of finding, right here, sitting in my hands. They smile as we drink shots of whiskey, and they say - welcome to the family.<br />
<br />
We sit up singing songs in the apartment until 5, 6am. There are no barriers. Every story is open to everyone. We sing. We plan. And I know, that these plans will come true. I know honesty now that I have found it.<br />
<br />
I am stretched across this world into a new Universe.<br />
And I am Home.<br />
The Road is Home.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-4063968363601463512010-10-29T21:22:00.005-07:002022-11-30T13:05:47.396-08:002.<p>Seems like the ghosts are still close. I wake up in a Bear House and make my way outside to the back balcony, and there is a call in my head and I don't know why. I'm distant from that in so many ways, but here it is cobwebbed in the corner and dancing ethereal when the first light hits me. I take a slug of warm Coke and try to wait it out. There are smoke signals as I light my first one. Seductive silver plumes rise from my fingers. My face is still numb from the cocaine. I want to wince at what I'm thinking, but I'm frozen stiff and stuffed so I walk to the edge and lean out. </p><p><br />
I'm on the side of a valley. Below me I can see the houses of the rich, barely visible beneath the thick verdant canopy of the forest. This is the richest county in California, and I'm here with ghosts and I don't know why. Last night's mess contains over sized pizza slices. I take a cold one in the mouth for luck. It helps. It seems like I've been here forever. This city of ten cities, each so different, black world, blue world, rich world, tourist world. None of them are my world. I need to sit down. This is just a week catching up, this startled maudlin, out of place in an adventurer's kit. I realise how lucky I am to have a brother in the city. He's waiting for me now, I'm supposed to play to his class, a song of ghosts and monkeys, but I won't make it back. He'll understand. I forgot how much we understand. That's a good man, right there. Strange in the all the right ways. Right in all the strange ones too.</p><p><br />
For a moment I'd forgotten why I was here. At the bar of the Utah Saloon, with the Giants running 9-0 in the second game, and free Tequila shots for everyone when they won, and two girls I couldn't escape, yelling at me how it was fine that I talked to the other one, "<i>cause she's obviously prettier than me...</i>" - What the Hell are you on about? I need to find a corner while I wait for my friends to get here. I didn't come here to chase. I want the real thing now, I want an out to this forever fleeting fancy. I want my girl. The one that's waiting for me. The one that's going to understand. Not the one in the bar who doesn't even know who the Hell she's talking to. I've got three more days here. I want to remember them. I need my guitar. I need my guitar like I've needed it all year. The tequila keeps coming. I don't know what I say, or why, or how I look. Like I care anymore. Like I've cared ever since I was first not worth caring about.</p><p><br />
Yeah, that coke sure was strong.</p><p><br />
Later we drive across the GBB. And we're all laughing again, talking baseball, and I turn to the left and see the hungry fog edging toward the city, descending upon its prey. I lean back in the seat and close my eyes and the bone tired in me just says, bring it on, swallow it, swallow me, for this one night, let's all sink together and see where we turn up. Then I turn to the right, and there's the Pacific, clawing desperately at the cliffs and crashing in sickened revolt up, up, up, impatient to be done with these eons of erosion. Starving to just finally come on in and drown us all.</p><p><br />
And far out to see, a sprig of lightning, to garnish the whole scene.<br />
A storm slowly approaching.<br />
One dark Halloween.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-30000647592692130732010-10-28T00:50:00.001-07:002022-11-30T13:02:52.288-08:001.I ain't running no more. I think that as we land. I look out the window and I see the South Bay, I see a Land of Strangers, and I know I'm not escaping something. I'm arriving. That's important fact number one. Important fact number two is that I've travelled light. I haven't brought baggage this time, like I took to Paris. My heart does not feel heavy. My heart feels clean. My heart feels nothing at all, if I had to tell the truth. That's that. My heart feels nothing at all, though my eyes are wide open.<br />
<br />
I play my first show then I stand at a crossroads. Dusted signs which point to differing nights. I choose a glass of red in a home, with my shoes off, no jungle, no animal, no exploring, no wanting, needing, hoping. Those people who died, they killed that lifestyle for me. They used to tell me things, what they knew about everything, what they were going to become. They'd talk, all people fucking do is talk - then they'd fall apart on a cocaine hurdle, throw misguided missiles of fuck, suck, and shit out of luck.<br />
<br />
I used to to do the same.<br />
<br />
I drink a wine, and keep it close, keep it internal, and that's when the year's work really kicks in. That I've travelled all this way in a huge metal fish, over an ocean infested with sharks that shoot spiders out of their mouth - and I didn't change. I didn't blend. I just smiled and stayed safe. And waited for the right thing, not the Old Thing. The Old Thing is dead. I know that now. It's dead and it's getting deader.<br />
<br />
Similar things happen to last time. I walk a lot. I don't make friends with strangers like I could. I keep my head down and I try to use the streets as currency, to buy another piece with which to build a greater understanding. Everything looks like it should. The painted ladies, 2 story, 3 story, a static pirate station where no one knows any longer, just what they're tuned in to. Like anywhere. Like home. It's all shirts and shops and safety zones.<br />
<br />
I can sense the death of this place. This once great pioneer flailing into the New Age. <br />
I think about Space.<br />
I think about China.<br />
I think, <br />
<br />
<i>America will tumble, slowly. It won't die. Instead it will remain a place of ideas, of invention, of wild theories and outsider glory. America will become the wild, grey haired loon, and it will remain valuable for that. But China will be the one to take us out into space. China has the numbers, the discipline, the ability to dispose of whoever or whatever does not serve the greater good. America failed there. It placed too much value on the individual. Saving three astronauts, saving democracy, saving face, all of these things are holding us back. We need to cut things loose. Keep our eyes on the furthest galaxy. If we are to conquer Space, if we are to shift focus, we need to value the Ant Kingdom over the Me. I don't think America can do that.</i><br />
<br />
That's what I think.<br />
I light another cigarette. I'll always do that.<br />
I don't order a whiskey.<br />
I don't chase a girl or a guy who can help me be more than I already am.<br />
<br />
I am dying. So I die with dignity. I pour a wine, and remove my shoes, and think about the show I played, and look forward to the next one. I live each day in this dying world as though it were my last, and I frighten myself with the knowledge that right now, if I had a choice, my last day would be spent alone, in comfort, rather than burning in a gutter beneath the stars which we as a race are forever pretending we have already reached.<br />
<br />
I don't need to see the stars.<br />
<br />
Though there is one, ahead, that may just be an angel.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-83825992935907948262010-08-29T17:34:00.001-07:002023-11-16T23:41:26.165-08:00Back, Begin Again, Rebirth.<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7219/581/1600/converse%204.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7219/581/320/converse%204.jpg" style="cursor: pointer;" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
It's the feeling you get in your stomach just before she undresses you and you undress her. The feeling you get when the passionate kiss begins to mean more. When the hands first slide down and the first button is undone. When the hair gets messy and the kiss gets wet and nothing else matters.<br />
<br />
That's the feeling in the stomach.<br />
<br />
It's the feeling you get when you hear THAT song and you turn it up and you get in the shower, together or alone, and as the water beads on your shoulder and drip tickles over your lips you scream what words you know and make up the rest. And when you get out, it's not cold. When you get out, you're still dancing and naked and bouncing bouncey you stare in the mirror and laugh.<br />
<br />
It's the feeling you get when for the first time that year you step out in t-shirt and shorts and old battered converse and the sun rewards you and so do the girls on the street. That first short skirt, that first flimsy flighty shoulder showing dress. And your stomach works with your sex and they both tell the corners of your mouth to turn it up baby, turn it up...smile that fucking spring fever smile. And you do. And the twinkle and the cheek returns.<br />
<br />
And you remember how to skateboard.<br />
<br />
And you remember how to play guitar.<br />
<br />
And you remember that Beer Gardens are always welcoming.<br />
<br />
And you remember what she tastes like outside in the sunshine.<br />
<br />
And the fucking grass, the air even the grey suit concrete smells good.<br />
<br />
And so do you.<br />
<br />
And you see it stretching out in front of you.<br />
<br />
It's coming, it's so fucking coming and it's not going to end.<br />
<br />
And you're too young to die.<br />
<br />
And summer, spring, any fucking thing, injects you with passion and youth and sex and drive and creativity and spunk and cheek and humour and fun fun motherfucking fun here it comes...<br />
<br />
Hi.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-26338412128065586442010-01-28T20:28:00.000-08:002023-12-08T15:14:21.245-08:00Dateline.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 <span style="font-size: xx-small;">TM</span>, 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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Yes.<br />
<br />
Yes,<br />
<br />
I can do this.<br />
<br />
We can all do this.<br />
<br />
Salute.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-75051622523478802062010-01-24T18:08:00.000-08:002023-11-16T23:57:39.559-08:00Inspiration.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8mpSgULI/AAAAAAAAAt8/5rW9XkJt67E/s1600-h/19969_264938698938_529428938_4305459_4775781_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8VKWde_I/AAAAAAAAAs0/vP8v2Dl8DeA/s1600-h/19969_257768213938_529428938_4258495_1753880_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8VKWde_I/AAAAAAAAAs0/vP8v2Dl8DeA/s320/19969_257768213938_529428938_4258495_1753880_n.jpg" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8X0SS4wI/AAAAAAAAAs8/Yhr9EU0E3y8/s1600-h/19969_261603353938_529428938_4284873_2280042_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8X0SS4wI/AAAAAAAAAs8/Yhr9EU0E3y8/s320/19969_261603353938_529428938_4284873_2280042_n.jpg" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8bL1ywVI/AAAAAAAAAtM/QGaLLDKLJMA/s1600-h/19969_261669723938_529428938_4285195_4911172_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8bL1ywVI/AAAAAAAAAtM/QGaLLDKLJMA/s320/19969_261669723938_529428938_4285195_4911172_n.jpg" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8e88BwoI/AAAAAAAAAtU/EUKavplykNM/s1600-h/19969_264938538938_529428938_4305445_5197990_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8e88BwoI/AAAAAAAAAtU/EUKavplykNM/s320/19969_264938538938_529428938_4305445_5197990_n.jpg" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8gvf1kiI/AAAAAAAAAtc/sBXh9svYusI/s1600-h/19969_264938623938_529428938_4305453_1528992_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8gvf1kiI/AAAAAAAAAtc/sBXh9svYusI/s320/19969_264938623938_529428938_4305453_1528992_n.jpg" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8jHKwndI/AAAAAAAAAtk/CBQ42m3FATw/s1600-h/19969_266539593938_529428938_4314147_6771270_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8jHKwndI/AAAAAAAAAtk/CBQ42m3FATw/s320/19969_266539593938_529428938_4314147_6771270_n.jpg" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8kdyktzI/AAAAAAAAAts/Yy5v3wT_q_0/s1600-h/19969_266539618938_529428938_4314149_4042524_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8kdyktzI/AAAAAAAAAts/Yy5v3wT_q_0/s320/19969_266539618938_529428938_4314149_4042524_n.jpg" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8ljS_vlI/AAAAAAAAAt0/kSufVzGCk7w/s1600-h/19969_266539623938_529428938_4314150_2311751_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8ljS_vlI/AAAAAAAAAt0/kSufVzGCk7w/s320/19969_266539623938_529428938_4314150_2311751_n.jpg" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8mpSgULI/AAAAAAAAAt8/5rW9XkJt67E/s1600-h/19969_264938698938_529428938_4305459_4775781_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S1z8mpSgULI/AAAAAAAAAt8/5rW9XkJt67E/s320/19969_264938698938_529428938_4305459_4775781_n.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-7126993172521963642010-01-22T11:51:00.000-08:002023-12-08T15:15:13.501-08:00Thumbnail.Peace is out there somewhere.<br />
Under a tree, by a river.<br />
In a room, on a bed, blinds open, watching the white drifts dance by.<br />
In a car - driving away from<br />
every thing, to find The Silence<br />
in which to place<br />
each thing in Context.<br />
The Void Canvas which so easily<br />
transforms a man's blood<br />
into a new vision...<br />
My Painting.<br />
My Heart.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-65209771499903856812010-01-12T15:41:00.000-08:002023-12-08T15:15:48.671-08:00Volcanic.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?<br />
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What are you prepared to do?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8232577952944710657.post-1908648031029916052010-01-11T18:12:00.001-08:002023-11-16T23:56:35.403-08:00Dream.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S0vahFOqhGI/AAAAAAAAAsk/Bsnqu1MmRUw/s1600-h/Eiffel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_HU7pAB0F1-k/S0vahFOqhGI/AAAAAAAAAsk/Bsnqu1MmRUw/s320/Eiffel.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0