I GOT DRUNK LAST NIGHT:

I was drunk last night. Not on that liquid misery, nor any of
it’s cousins. I was drunk on art & music & words & making stuff
that wouldn’t exist if I just paddled along ticking boxes.
In the last few days I’ve been punched into submission, stopped
fighting the desires & thrown good intentions out with the
Christmas wrapping………………………………for today.
A series of events, things that jumped me as I mapped out
journeys through the Winter. Mud, fallen stick rhythms, rust,
decay, wet brick rhythms, deer tracks, & the smell of leaf mould.
Sunsets, Sunrise, the cathedral domes of crystal clear blue skies.
NewJazz drummers, New York street sounds, Berlin, Ginsberg
reciting ‘HOWL’, Kerouac reciting ‘anything’, the smell of
woodpiles, sawdust, BBC radio, the sound of AM radio between
stations when I’m driving at night, voices from other countries
breaking in & out, always an accordion player in there somewhere,
morse code messages, the hiss of radio waves duetting with the
hum of the tires, Radio 4 Long Wave, the Shipping Forecast,
‘I’m sorry I haven’t a Clue’, ‘Just a Minute’, Saturday morning
Radio 4, Late night Radio anything, Discarded cans jettisoned
from passing cars found crushed in the grass at the side of
the road, Hub caps in brier ditches, birdcalls at sunrise,
the rhythm of birds sitting on telephone wires, memories of
old women sat on back steps telling stories tumbling their thumbs,
The rhythms of flocks of birds gathering in the sky getting ready
to migrate (the most fabulous of rhythms), The blood red sales of
Thames barges, Charcoal, ash, Paint dripping off heavy brushes,
torn paper, cardboard reclaimed from the street, objects found
lying in my path as I walk, marks on walls, conversations,
collaborations & the free exchange of information gleaned on
journeys, connecting up, building bridges, opening doors for
artists to talk & make new stuff, turn the insides of heads into
things I can touch & smell & feel & hear & feel alive!

(K)