FOXMAN RETURNS:

Another transformed man-fox crossed the road up ahead as I drove home
early, in the grey light of what we laughingly call ‘day’.
He thought he was invisible, staying low to the ground,
skulking across the blacktop, cutting under hedges. We caught each
other’s eye as he glanced back over his shoulder, concealing a secret
as he slipped into the cover of woodland.
Leaf mould, wet & succulent odours, naked sticks dance along the edge
of roads. Surfing radio stations for something appropriate for a head
as yet not fully returned from Berlin. Growing closer to Essex every
day, yet still feel like a spy who’s stolen my identity as a cover
to move around – invisible fox-man.
People stop me in the street, smile, engage in conversation.
Talk about next years touring, an album & personal stuff.
Whomever I meet we always end up talking about the weather
& how to escape to sunshine.

(K)

BERLIN #7:

Caught a train out of Berlin with new generation tech goths.
Smart-phoners surfing beyond the now. They get excited about
exchanging images of other people’s lives.
Dressed in black, heads shaved up the sides. Arrived too early at
the hole for the sky, fed my face at Cindy Diner – Burger & fries.
That instinctual mistrust of unattended luggage sleeping just under
the skin. I maintain constant surveillance, glancing between
dips into ketchup & mayo, I’m in the pink.
Flying leg-room-class in a budget tube with coughers & sneezers,
farters & the over perfumed. The geezer next to me is tooled-up
with cameras. They hang around his neck like prayer beads & he
never take them off.
Someone cracks one off behind, someone stands up all flight
reading broadsheets. We touch down with customary violence,
bounce a little, make everybody gasp then laugh. Essex in the dark
is wet, cold & hostile. I feel stateless, homeless, not sure why
I’m here, hoping I’ll remember soon.

(K)

BERLIN #6:

Late late session watching computer struggles to save a week
of our lives. Clock ticking, table booked across town, people
waiting. Computers understand all of this & chuckle, holding
power over all warm-blooded animals. Soon we’ll be sat around
the dinner table laughing, eating good food, exchanging
conversation & light through the eyes. One day that stupid
computer will be land-fill.
It saved. We left. Caught a taxi across town underscored
by Barry White. In the company of friends I never met before
we ate food made with love & passion by Ramsis & his crew
at ‘Industry Standard’. One of the best meals of my life
underscored by the OJ’s & the Supremes.
I have lived & loved Berlin.

(K)

BERLIN #5:

Broken tram confusion after late night studio in the back room
of an old East Berlin apartment, formerly the home of the state
‘watchers’. The seeds of 21st Century music & art are nurtured in
the horror-houses of former dark times.
The tram driver sees I don’t speak the language, indicates
with a waving motion ‘get off the dam tram’. Wait in the cold
with dazed night crawlers, couples kissing in the glow of
illuminated supermodel posters, blonde rockers in leathers,
wild hair & tiny lace bonnets, chubby boys with cheery beers.
Walking back streets after dark past wide-eyed party-heads
queueing to get into wonderlands concealed behind filthy doors.
Snow scenes projected onto the insides of warehouse windows,
macabre little tableaux pressed up against the windows of
curiosity shops tucked away in residential backstreets between
the heavy handed artistry of 10th generation taggers. Ragged-assed
flyers cling to walls & lamp posts fluttering in a chill wind
that blows in off the river as dealers step out of shadows chanting
promises as we cross back into the light.

(K)

BERLIN #4:

Last night in Berlin, as I walked to catch the last train,
a man turned into a fox. Looking back over his shoulder
he checked me out. Having satisfied himself my intentions
were good, he crossed the street & disappeared. Loners staggered
like tightrope walkers towards me, faces concealed in hoods,
slurring into glowing hands.

Some turned into birds. A Magpie, a Robin, a Hawk & two no one
knew the names of. End-of-the-day drunks sat alone to hang
their heads, stare into the floor on empty trains, hands limp
between the knees. I join them, my friends, my still cherished
old companions & we slip unseen without confrontation through
imaginary holes in walls from West to East. The architecture of
another time still visible in the fever-light of alleys.
No guns, no razor wire to hang off on the way to freedom,
just the price of a train ticket no one bothers checking.

(K)

BERLIN #3:

Intermittently sleepless, disturbed all night. One time feels
I’ve been slapped up the head, sit up, look around, nothing.
Woken at 4am by some crazy playing ‘Sweet Child of Mine’
on the street outside my window. Electric guitar cranked up
to eleven. He’s good, poin-point precise, so it doesn’t piss
me off. Then this gorilla flings open a window grunting & growls
– geeza-speak, “Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!” Kicks off an hysterical girl
who laughs mad, uncontrollably provocative. Now ‘that’ starts
to irritate me – not the LA rock machine busking to no one.
Eventually fall back to sleep, dreaming I’m outside the Roxy
at night with sleek 1950’s autos cruising slow custom paint jobs
past lines of pouting 80’s poodle boys.

(K)

BERLIN #2:

Benevolent samovar deliver us something hot, a kick-start
to a new day. Waking up in one piece from late night walking
in the rain through Berlin. Following a black star, a flickering
flame to guide me home. Violent doors jumped out of walls, posing
for cameras, dripping in savage colours.

(K)

BERLIN #1:

Walking in Berlin, rain, fists in pockets, fat white hat pulled low.
Legendary Punk, guid me where I need to go. Gathering in back room
harmony, head on straight. Returned to the night a new man, clean man,
thinking in straight lines. Windows wide to the city, sleep disturbed
by erratic noise. Two drunks sing at the bus stop outside my window.
Train brakes squeal, tyres hiss, a lone girl laughing at 4am.
Car doors slam, trucks honk horns, then silence just before
the alarm goes off – rolling in crisp white linen.

(K)

INTO WINTER SKY-HOLE WE GO JUMPING:

Essex to Berlin, too dazed to even know my name. Numbed-out from
hours of motorway driving, radio surfing, muscle tightening,
hands on the wheel, feeling like a football – kicked around.
Drove north last night to witness my favourite band transcend
themselves again – happens every time.
Taxi in the rain to airport. Blue-grey light, thick wet air,
low cloud. Essex pulls the duvet over it’s head & rolls back
to sleep. I wish I could, but then again the streets of Berlin
have poetry &a symphony of noise prepared for me & I can’t
disappoint it – can I?

Listening to Radioland

(K)

NERVOUS CONDITION:

Leaving the homelands, the roots, the river & the forest.
Sound of steam trains pumping iron up the valley in the rain.
The dirty road south calls & I don’t want to listen, wish I
could click my fingers & be back in Essex. The black top is
unpredictable,. Heavy truck spray, crazy weekend drivers
unaccustomed to the etiquette of roads, super speed boys
driving video games & me…
Fingers crossed I’ll make it home safe.

(K)