QUESTIONS & ANSWERS:

Head of hats, brain of spaghetti, mouth of drivel. A truth
recounted as a flick-book. The sound of my own mouth grates,
squarks too early in the day, before pen touches paper in
the calm of cafe corners.

(K)

FLYING CUP:

Sent the second tea of the day flying in the hunt for a signal,
contorting my body to start the morning phoners out in the fields
– come-in Australia.

(K)

PULL OVER AGAIN:

Pulled in directions. Sleep trashed, eyeballs sandpapered,
up with the dawn. Pack bag, forget important files, drive to
favourite cafe. Sanctuary. Park in frost, new wiperblades
glide sweet. Walk early streets a free man. Find a seat
at the back, a table for a notebook & pen. Porridge & black tea.
A warm place where the phones don’t work, I chuckle to myself,
escaped. An hour’s writing healing medicine in the company of
carcrash thoughts that slowly line up into calm, clear images
of light. Walk the streets, breath, drive. Every road blocked
by lights & holes, I chuckle to myself. Eventually arrive
at a place where the phones work & the kettle’s always hot.
Sour n sweet, Hell n Heaven, a secret place in the physical
world only. Answer questions to global publications, international
communications. Hit the mark, the spot, the deadline, on time,
right place, right name, check the mirror, who’s face is this?

Listening to Oliver Dodd’s ‘Rhea’ on Detroit Underground

(K)

SNAPPER:

Started yesterday with a photo session after four hours sleep.
Nice. Had it in my head it would be with yet another photographer
so fixed on ‘the shot’ that they’d miss everything real & good.
So many wait for you to look serious before opening the shutter,
makes me sad, winds me up, bring me down. How many wasted
opportunities to capture ‘magic’ have we witnessed, pushed & pulled
around in front of the big glass eye? Prodded into place to ‘fit’
someone’s vision of us. I get it that they have to come prepped
with ideas, but these should only be ‘back-up’ incase nothing
happens when the lens cap comes off. Most photographers are so fixed
on their back-up set-ups they don’t recognise ‘the moment’ when is
dancing full technicolor right in front of them. You get an
immediate sense how the shoot is going to go just by how willing
the one behind the lens is prepared to embrace the moment. On that
rare occasion when a photographer steps outside the brief & gets
enthused by the honesty playing out right there & then the
electricity is tangible, self perpetuating, a buzz.
Buzz-begats-buzz. When you know you’re working with someone like
this, time opens up, people relax & magic comes out to play.
Yesterday was one such moment. Rare & totally unexpected, yet at
the end of the session everyone knew something good had happened.
Jamming.

(K)

FILTHY SKY-HOLE STORY:

Body & brain poisoned ragged from another wait in another airport.
Another sardine squeezed into a tin can thrown through the air in
the company of sneezers, coughers, farters & attitudes.
Wide-eyed youths talk ‘tech’ the whole flight as ‘grumbler-the-woman’
reluctantly vacates her seat one-more-time, releasing the desperate
to queue for a stinky little cubical at the front of the plane.
I can’t go in there. Can’t bare to breath abhorrent winds,
warmed-over perfumes, relief on exiting faces. I hold my breath
as each one passes fearful their rancid molecules will nest in me.
Then the cool kiss of Essex in a chill wind relief upon release.
The arduous depression of another flight over. Ticket wont open
the barrier at the short stay. Car park wants us forever.
We laugh, join forces, pool our resources, use what’s left of our
sense of humour, the magic button to talk to someone, anyone.
A dis-embodied voice, a metal good fairy to soothe us with sweet
London twang. Waving her oily wand over us, sets us free.
Safe passage, happy ending, escape from the filthy sky-hole.

(K)

A WALK IN THE DARK:

Walking late night Miyazaki-town from sundown ferry ride turn right
along the dock till the light runs out & fear trickles in &
common sense tellS you turn back this is really stupid. Walking
alone at night. So there’s three of you, ok, but the restaurants are
way back behind & now it’s only abandoned warehouses, blown out
glass & hungry street art. The gaping toothless holes of loading bay
doors ripped off & burned long ago give way to nightmare corridors,
moonlit & inviting. Rubble tangled & needle strewn in the twisted
film playing in my head & every time the dock looks like it’s
running out on us, dumping us into the deep black river it takes
another turn around another desolate corner where the wharf gets
increasingly narrower, darker, more treacherous. Out of sight
but seconds away from help we go deeper into the badlands & the
sight of car lights dancing across the twin of the golden gate
bridge only fuels my fear that some huge leviathan is about to
erupt from the depths of that cruel black river, all tentacles &
giant eye, to drag us deep to our deaths before some loner turns us
over for change, leaving us bleeding amongst stinking rubble.
We keep walking, turning corners into the rank unknown. Until
reaching the Miyazaki dream fish restaurant tucked under a rock.
Straight out of Cornwall or some romantic Greek Island smelling
of wood burner & safe harbour & smiles & warm & welcome & Kodak
moments.

(K)

VISITING RIGHTS:

Street crawling new town, eyes wide, camera stopped believing
it’s a cell phone. All these cities of the world, visited on tour
we never get to see. Decided long ago to return & plug in to it’s
pulse. Fabulous Miyazaki dreamscape architecture.
Cruising alleys & back streets randomly cut by the gravel growl of
ancient Danish trams imported to make the steely twins sing like
Lee Marvin doing ‘Wandering Star’. Disneyland for ceramists &
food lovers. Ate somewhere great last night, filled with bright eyed
vibrant conversation. My buddy Casper from Liima & Fabio from
Lovers & Lollypop. Our ears rock-gig-ringing from a night high on
laughter in the standing waves of tall tiled rooms of fabulous food,
walking to a new groove, underscored by the throaty muttering of the
28 tram snaking alone through the dark.

(K)

BITTEN LIP:

It’s all down to the infamous family teeth, the ones from
Dad’s side of the family. You should meet cousin Ian, he’s
the first I remember with ‘the teeth’. Photos from the 60’s
tell the whole story, look ’em up, proper ‘Timothy Winters’.
Dentists all say, “it’s because you’ve got too many”.
Photographers say,”When the light catches you that way
it looks like there’s one missing – don’t smile with your
mouth open” (My mate Perou has a trick up his sleeve for that).
I used to be self conscious, about teeth & a lot more.
Stuff that nature & the family jean pool gifted me, but what
you gonna do? There’s only so many teeth I can get removed
to relieve the pressure on the rest of the crew. No, if I got
paranoid about the ivory it’d be the nose & ears next, & I
got over them a long time ago.

(K)

TOO SHORT TO GRUMBLE:

Breath between lips turns into clouds. Red wires turn into music.
A blusher-ed face turns into a frown. Smoke from a fire blows up
the street, a man wanders dazed in the middle of the road.
A mother wraps her head in a giant ball of wool for protection.
Black Dog turns into a smile, levitates above pavements, waving
to laughing children. A big man smokes alone in an alley.
Everything is pure honey, nothing is too much, foot lifts off the
pedal.
Now here comes ‘the one’, the first song sung, walking tall in
vagabond-chic. He’s got money tucked away, it’s obvious if you look.
Never seen it so clear before. Thought he was down & out& finished,
but no, he’s the man, the dude, King-Big-Stick. Smiles radiant
from his eyes in deep lines, laughter sheltering in his beard.

(K)

DID THE BINS MY HEAD:

Did the bins, stood in a field feeling good. Cleared a room
for guests, but didn’t get to a cafe for pen & meditation.
Can already feel the bad vibrations forming precarious
architecture in the land of calm & cool. Got a list as long
as both arms & legs & a voice that whispers ‘you deserve better’.
Ha ha ha, gotcha! Behind every whispering snake there’s a kinder
voice & a small but eloquent sign reminding me ‘go easy’.
‘Keep away from the dark sides’

Listening to Møster! – ‘When You Cut Into The Present’

(K)