MISSING DAY:

Hospitals & trains & fast walking cut-throughs, alleyways &
the first hit of tea early in the afternoon. A chocolate
addiction returns to satisfy that voice that whispers,
“You’re run down. It’s what you need” – what next?
Lies come sugar coated in the suburbia on the edge of crazy-head.
I need a ‘New Pair of Glasses’ to swerve the landslide.

(K)

MOTION:

First day of workshopping the play.
“What play?” I hear you ask. Ah, well, that’s another story.

(K)

KEEP IT LIGHT:

Pheasants shelter in the garden from the gun. Still hotter than
winter should be & all the better for it, but snow is rumoured
by the locals for Friday. Snow tires on already, missing Madrid.

(K)

ON A HIGHER PLANE:

Last night, amongst the cigarette fumes & sweat, laughing
backstage, clutching water, focused head, clean & serene.
The light of a glass fronted fridge stacked with juices &
water sugar. People come & go, smiling, pose for photographs,
grateful. Cameras raised in the hands of thousands, flickering
digital flames as the chords drop to that song again.
Never gets tired.

(K)

MOURNING IN MADRID:

The news.

(K)

LEAVING ESSEX FOR MADRID:

Oxygen starved in a box with a bed without opening windows.
Choose between an air-con-stripped throat or headache.
The latter brings the joys of neg-head & treacle leg,
but it’s preferable to not having a voice to sing with.
The upside is I like the number 13 & it’s Friday brother
makes me chuckle as others scuttle for talismans & cover.
Another hole for the sky, another leap of faith. The pain of
separation from family & home & bin day. The thrill of smiles,
of reunions, of focus, groove & adrenaline. Looking down on
Solaris clouds, remembering the first time, every time we
leave the ground. A pocketful of gratitude still to counter
any grounds for complaint.

(K)

GETS OVER ILLNESS, GOES BACK TO MADNESS:

I’m going to stop my washing machine ’cause it’s starting to
disturb me. God, I love to see you dancing around in there!
Yeah, at the coalface of literature.

(K)

FRIED BODY BACK ON LINE – PENDING:

Hot skin & minor shakes aside, it’s coming back on line.
All we need is a functioning brain & we have a workable package.

(K)

THE GREAT THING ABOUT BEING ILL:

Guilt-free time off, sleep, letters with kisses.

(K)

RUN OVER BY A PLASTIC TRUCK:

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t self pity. I got no time for that.
I wake up every morning, count my fingers & toes, look out the
window & say, “Thank you”. Another chance, another opportunity,
another blank canvas.
But,
I didn’t see this one coming, thought I could keep going ’til the
cavalry got here. Well, it was looking like the cavalry got lost
until I remembered, ‘there is no cavalry’. Been living in an insane
world for so long it’s stretched me gossamer thin, undermining the
foundations of peace. ‘You were doing good’.
Thought I was still the one who could walk on stage at 2am, like
Terminator, relentlessly sick with sleep depravation, no energy,
every lead boot step dragging me until the kick drum deals it’s
magic – new body arriving right on time & everything is ok.
Thought I could keep the kick drum pulsing in my head, sending is
adrenalised love, cutting through the daily nightmares. I’ve been
pushing other people’s rocks up hills for years, never sure why.
I listen, love & do the right thing – occasionally human, but
mostly ‘programmed’& all the better for it. I was standing rock steady
in a storm of abuse until the slightest of breezes knocked me over.
Embarrassed & ashamed I curl up with stomach cramps & shaking
sickness. Hacking into the bowl, wishing I could eat or sleep,
or be Arnie waking to the sound of laughter & things the way they
were.

(K)