LIGHT! LIGHT! LIGHT!:

Rivulets of electric lights hang from trees along the roadside
celebrating our journeys in the dark cold wet of a Sunday evening.
Can’t find a radio station I like tonight, tune instead to the broadcast
in my head – first up: Dark Dark Dark.

(K)

SCRIBBLESTCIKS & STARS :

Walking in a crisp wind, the aroma of Autumn leaf mould, the succulence
of mud beneath our boots. Birds describe quick black marks in the sky,
exit bushes in fear, startled by our arrival on remote paths. Sunlight
through hawthorn thickets, new growth exposed in subtle purples.
The dance of the scribbling hedge rows resumes & I was too busy
to notice that leaves had already left till spring.
Farewell Patrick Moore.

(K)

KNOCK-KNOCK:

When fear & loathing come to call, sunrise hits the spot.
Sleep steps back & mocks as we bump into furniture in the dark.

(K)

BLUE & A CHOCOLATE TREE:

A late arrival for the diary, locked away with instruments of delight
pulling songs to pieces, making music with a friend.

(K)

LIGHTWAVES:

Ventured out to get painted blue.

(K)

BEFORE VENUS:

Silent as a cotton wool stadium, shovelling snow at 6:00am,
missing your light. Finding humour in sculptural forms of
cartoon proportions, building a place for random thoughts to rest
before they congeal into something darker. Swerve that ride down to
the crossroads in the absence of her light, pass the shovel. Manual labour
is a natural panacea for the soul, does the trick until she drives by.

(K)

VENUS:

Venus waits for me before the dawn, where pink turns blue.
All other stars run & hide, but Venus waits unflinching
in her duty dressed in radiant light.
Down at the crossroads every morning a dark hand extends to shake,
offering a welcome ride but Venus waits when other stars desert, to tip
the balance & set me walking towards the sun.

(Listening to Letka in a break between)

(K)

TWICE A DAY:

The Doctor said, “put this in your ear & squirt” I thought, “Looks like something I used to find in alleys”
Twice a day eh?

(K)

UP EAST:

The East End streets were peaceful, wandering, taking photographs
of shadows & discarded things, The exotic food stalls had been concealed
in abandoned warehouses so that graffiti artists could line up along walls
openly like they were taking part in a public demonstration at a village fete.
The air smelled of aerosol & spices as we dug our fists into our pockets
between the retro shops. The music of independent labels & the perennial
rallying call of the Stooges clashed with the jangling guitars of the
Byrds singing ‘Mr Tambourine Man’, cutting heavily in some Cheesy old
Funk with requisite kitsch appeal.
London has acquired a Mediterranean whiff of drains, only noticed as
we wait at curb side, photographing stripes & parallel lines, waiting for
the lights to change. Grinning as we hung at table drinking coffee in
Rough Trade & a trawl through the racks of a record store that exudes a
tangible passion for recorded music – it still excites me. Looking for
nothing in particular I heard ‘The Exact Colour of Doubt‘ by Liars bought it.

(K)

FROSTY THE ‘NO’ MAN:

A peach ribbon of stain describes an horizon beneath a watercolour sky
of subtle greys, A frost so thick you exclaimed,
“Wow! Its snowed!”
A pile of guitars from last night’s rehearsing, trying to get my fingers around
someone else’s parts. The shapes make no sense, they sprang out’ve other
muscles, other influences, other stories, other journeys. I learn them, walk
away & when I return they’re almost as foreign to me as the first time, but
I remember this feeling, it’s just a cheap show of obstinacy a rebellion in
my head that wants to wave it’s flag before the inevitable.
The fingers have minds of their own & will learn to play all by themselves,
so the voice can eventually come back out to play.

(K)