CAFFEINE SHOUTER, BROKEN GRINDER:

The Boy with an infinite patch on his arm shouts loud, almost funny,
Busy leg in the window, sweetness in progress, left too soon,
cartoon violent, fakes jackin’ it.
The Speeches roll, the wake-up call, eulogies trigger tears.
It doesn’t make sense. It’s not right. Just a notch either way
makes all the difference. A dodgy bean batch done it to the blades.

(K)

CROSSING THE BRIDGE:

Back street sun on a house for sale, re-imagined as a jazz-dive
for dreamers. Yeah, I can see you pulling that one off, sat on the
kitchen step when you’re old, fingers folded into a cradle, rocking
back laughing. Today, I met a boy who shook my hand with blonde
exploding hair, happy. He plays guitar, great.

(K)

GOODBYE TONY TRAINS:

The one who answered the phone when I eventually made the call
that changed my life was Tony Trains. An unmistakable voice
anywhere in the world, unique even in his East London borough.
I remember exactly where he was sat the first time I saw him
in the corner of a tiny smokey back room near Romford dog track.
It blew me away how articulate he was & yet how different
our backgrounds were. The fact is, our journeys were the same
and when he spoke he told my story so eloquently that I
instantly liked the man & wanted to do whatever it was he was
doing that was making him so damn cool.

(K)

LYCRA WOMAN SUNDAY:

Road blocks of bicycle processions.

A THOUSAND STRANDS 1975 – 2015
by The Dandelion Set & Alan Moore
suits my mood

(K)

MORE ESSEX:

Rooftop drinkers casual giants, scan horizons,
look down on cities, lean against glass walls.
A cardboard sign, small & crumpled lay in the lap of a quiet man.
Loose change waiting between ticket machines for mercy.

(K)

STUDIO BRUSSELS LIVE BROADCAST:

Chocolade spring cascades in a radio waves waiting for elevators of
distractions. Sunlit ramp, clutching cereal bowl on the slip road
trying to find peace. Conversation Kevin on a bicycle stops to
catch up, reminisce, old times, new times moved on. Buds concealed
in winter wood wait. Hope eternal percolates in sap, bare avenues
between 70’s brutality – architecture. Radio romance, don’t get too
trippy it’ll trip you up, concrete’s no good for internet.

(K)

PARADISO MARCH 2016:

Dear Tom, how is Cambridgeshire today? A beautiful part of the world
or, perhaps, a bit boring at times like rural Worcestershire was for
me as a teenager. I hear you were there at the Friday night Roundhouse
show – what a great gig to be at! Filled to the rafters with friends
& family & what a crowd that night! Fabulous! Such beautiful energy!
I can’t tell you how good it feels to be a part of energy like was
present that night. Together we lifted the roof off the place,
didn’t we? – levitated the building, moved it off it’s foundations!
Took it for a drive up the street!
Thank you for being part of what will go down in folklore as being
one of the greatest nights of our lives.
Your vibe was noted & gratefully received.
Let’s do it again..?

(K)

CIRQUE ROYALE:

What is sleep? Lying awake, street lights too bright. A message of
love discovered. Zodiac sugar shower, air-conditioned driver stagger.
Face in a mirror, number, no name, falls in the deep without fins.

(K)

ON THE ROAD TO BRUSSELS:

A secret that can’t be revealed. Spinning arms are stilled,
standing in the sky, tips dipped red. Lights on sticks bow
their heads at the side of roads. Glass house nurturing silence.
Slabs of concrete slide right to left, block the sun, momentarily
black. Two stick, one stick, stepping stone. A debt repaid.

(K)

GRONINGEN:

Shouty woman shopping bag loner, drifter in a chill wind, dazed.
A single bell tolling in a church spire. Arch of flowers above a
concealed entrance. Bronze pony park the car, why so serious?
A stone-faced man pulled by giant pigeons, a metal head stairs
out of a bleak window onto an empty street. Cafe crown, happy walker,
head of flowers, wild poet cat. Herds of abandoned animal bicycles,
one strapped to a tree, white like a two wheeled bride sacrifice.

(K)