UP FROM THE DOWNS:
There’s a drumming on the roof in the dark, a rhythmic hissing from the black-top beyond the trees, the morning kiss of an Autumn chill as a dispassionate clock dishes the 6:00am alarm. Check my bones, my skin, my head, listen for breathing next to me…silence. Was it a row?, a call to nurse the sick?, an early rise for an overdue promise?, are we still speaking? I feel around for all my parts, state of mind, health & find that nagging cold still knocking on the back door to be let in, full blown bedridden, but I have no time for the luxury of illness. The dark & cold hold the seed of a thrill so I grab it & ride it’s energy like a parasite all the way to the Emerald City, fortified on throat coat & honey, fresh bees fed on Thyme from the other side of the sun, slip a couple of Red & Greens onto the tongue & surf them down the hole on the sting of cold water. Brixton, it’s been a long time. The buzz of legend memory, nights in public, full illumination & the dark trawling skull-dug of a dogboy on the hunt. Brixton in daylight feels wrong & suits my mood. I want to walk in the sun, soak up the light & store it for Winter. My first exhibition of the day is on the pages of Time Out – a small portable paper gallery. The first art of the day is rendered in ink, ‘gallery’ is just a state of mind as I jump the kick drum & ride.