Thank God it’s raining! Put my shorts on & went for a barefoot
walk, pulled a chair into the porch & plugged in the lap top,
I can think again! The heat makes me drag knuckles on the ground,
think like a slug, slur my words, loose focus. Summer days suit me
best early & late, you can keep the middle! Thinking of looking for
a cooler place to live when it’s hot, everyday walking barefoot
in the rain.
City day drifting between meetings, enjoying a quiet head &
east end backstreets, a cafe with a view of a road, a porridge,
tea & reggae package. London Japanese attitude food at Angel,
sun baked dirt & cracks & weeds, & walking, listening, trying
not to do anything between meetings. Catch an hour at Tomato,
where the vibes are still electric, where the light in the eyes
is still bright & where I’m increasingly drawn. A floor scattered
with artworks that excite me into wanting to make art. Find a
shadowed corner at the Barbican, listening to choirs practise
in the hall, whispered conversations I don’t pick pick up a pen
for once just let it all slip by, applauding coloured smoke
between the museumed towers of the 1960’s, making plans.
Driving late at night to park up, listen to the rain, heavy on
the roof, watch to the world turn fevered Pink in the broken
flash of thunder, smell nature turned electric, guttural rumble
at the back of radio waves carrying the shipping forecast.
These are the best times, quiet, hidden from view..
Into city heat, blacktop switched for the steely twins,
cruising sunbaked stains & stinks before the rains wash it all
down the drain. Give me shade & cool, a place I feel calm & human.
This heat belongs on another island, feel free to take it with you
when you leave. Thinking cool thoughts.
EVENTUALLY COOL ESSEX:
Sleepless driver, shiver, fist, fever, fear, darkness the overcoat,
honeypot gold. Lipstick smiles wow! Money, look around.
Birthday Doha they closed the world, but you keep moving.
Shine, never sleep at the wheel. The sirens slip away shaking.
Sweet tart sounding out for a random drive. I just need some rain,
it’s been really heavy, chasing the swarm.
THE LOST NINE:
Shake, shake, shake, whistling sun, wipe the spoon.
The message failed, the broken wheel, the pages turn.
You run away into the City, heat get hotter, sit back,
let the honey drip. Fingers dance, trip, trip, grip
the laughing paper cup.
Diverted into the sanctuary of the morning cafe, latin beats,
the shuffling of the elder statesmen of groove, inspired by
the memory of seeing the Buena Vista live, the grace & cool
of masters who perfected the skill of moving across a stage
like sexy angels, old boys with more youth in their linen suits
than lumbering frontmen 20 years younger. I remember watching
open mouthed, the grandmothers of Seville dance flamenco with
curvaceous gyrations, wishing I could move that good. I’m sat
at this table, my table, my morning sanctuary, taking good
orderly direction from the sound system, pen, paper, porridge
& tea, plugged into the electricity of groove & calm.
IN THE STUDIO WITH RICK:
Head mashed out in the world of jetlagged, time tabled, scheduled,
wall-to-wall, none stop, sleepless, relentlessism. Being in the
studio is the only peaceful place.