SPLIT SECOND:

Woke to loud drumming on the roof,
the sweet green smell of cleansed summer air,
car windows open all night, nature all over the
seats. Standing in the rain at 6:00am, key in hand,
face up to the light, in a smile & trainers & little
else. The seasons roll around, clouds fill the sky
& leave, reveal the sun & feed the seed. Life goes
on, but not for those who left too soon by violent
hands, driven by whim, beaten perhaps to their own
intentions. And what of those hands now, not to embrace
or wave in greeting, nor raised open to the rain in
celebration, caressing locks & bars & brick dust?

(K)

ON THE HOTTEST DAY:

On the hottest day of the year a man in a wool hat waits on the
platform drinking coffee from a mug he brought from home. He’s
festooned in headphones & wires, a low slung record bag & stubble.
A teenage girl smells up wind of a whole cosmetics department,
skinny in pastel. Concealing her complexion beneath a porcelain
veneer of city slap, heavy leather bag, half her size & three gold
clasps.
On the train, the man in the wool hat cracks his knuckles, tapping
his Apple, a smart phone with a shattered screen receives a
constant stream of messages, attracting his glances as he sniffs
& sneezes across from me. This train isn’t stopping in the usual
places, it’s ten minutes late, it’s jumping the rails. Old women
stagger off in shock when it’s stops, looking around like they’ve
arrived on  another planet – frightened & confused. They smell very
different to the porcelain girl who’s peach legs protrude into the
sun from behind the heavy grey legs of her travelling companion,
his face concealed by the news.The woolhead man peers into the tiny
shattered screen, transfixed by tiny ice skaters pirouetting in
silence.

(K)

LIGHTER FLICKER:

Driving late between there & here, following tail light trails
to sit by the river miles from here. Empty streets, only the
rhythm of stray paper scraps to dance to the beat of our feet.
Something sweet to ignite a thrill, counting stone faces, the
marks of time & passing, the generations recorded on the chaotic
facades of Ely cathedral. We drift back to the river, where it’s
no more quiet than anywhere here, slip orange paper bands around
our wrists to watch our friends Holden Girls‘ first gig of the
summer.
Who was on the lights tonight – the switcher?

(K)

BETWEEN THEN & NOW:

Found a place where the sounds of the world reduce to
a muted hum, clearing the waves for fractured birdsong
& the delicate trickle of concealed streams.
Rhythm of corn sculpted by the wind, rhythm of numbers
on sticks in annexed clearings, rhythm of coppiced hazel,
heavy with Autumn’s crop, Blackberry blossoms as thick as
cannon confetti. Solitary feathers erect kick drums in the
grass point towards the sky as flocks of pigeons rise in
fabulous patterns, startled by the sound of whispers.

Listening to ‘Mestertyven’ by Moskus fits my head today.

(K) 

WRITTEN ON THE WIND:

In the studio writing, savouring another collaborative
exploration. People gathered to exchange experience,
strength & hope. A visit from the boys of G-Force,
introduce a momentary break in the groove, a kettle boiled,
tea brewed, mugs filled, conversation clutched in the sun &
ideas freely trafficked. A classic Citron, the smell of
seasoned leather in the sun, smiles, laughs & wide-eyed
thrills.

(K)

SCRAMBLED HEAD ON TOAST:

Still surfing the edge of the world with a head full
of something acquired in the air, free gift from a
generous sneezer. Thinking, scattered in directions,
pass the list made by a previous head I owned, better
suited  to the demands of this world. Jimi waits in the
next one with a soft pillow & a soothing tone, but he’ll
have to wait a little longer. It’s just a state of mind
induced by the breath of a sky-sneezer.

Listening to ‘The Karman Line’ by sPacemoNkey
– fits me just fine.

(K)

TRAFFIC JAMMING:

A bridge with a barcode, A car with a fish, a van with a
crystal pool, a round-a-bout for an iron Cockerel, a motorcycle
sagging under heavy bags, a lorry to hide the sun, a hard shoulder
for a smal fast dirty car, a woman that waves & smiles,
a mercedes that pushes in, radio waves carrying distractions,
A/C carrying exhaust fumes, toll booth hands for frustrated vans.

(K)

IN A HALF PAST MIDNIGHT CAR PARK:

In the half past midnight car park of a motorway rest stop
young men ballet stretch around a white coupe. Sharp hair,
fizzing, fresh razored, tight t-shirts, soap powder clean,
too clean for the time of night. With pumped up stares to
pierce metal they limber for action in the corner near the
shadows, furthest from the light. I lock the car to slip inside
for coffee & unhealthy stuff, anything to stay awake, then pause
in noting an ignition, a flicker, a radiance, a bitter beauty,
an angelic grin. Something in the way they stare straight ahead
yet watch out the side of their eyes, makes me get back in the car
& drive.

(K)

THIS IS ABOUT LIFESTYLE:

I wish I had a lifestyle, things keep getting in the way,
every object obscures another. The positivity of absence,
music & sound scattered like islands. Painting with colour,
wasting my essence on the desert air, swearing so beautifully.
I can’t tell where the music ends & the world begins, if I
could make music like that it would be another story,
a science fiction story.

Listening to ‘Maelstrom’ by Stain Westerhus & pale horses

(K)

BETWEEN THE FINGERS:

A shadow hand impedes the light.
The experience of joy, the taste happiness, then…
To not only crave the journey to the edge, but to
experience it, only to be recalled.
A shadow hand impedes the light, mocking intuition.
Searching for a gap between the fingers to make day trips
into happiness.

listening to ‘A/B’ by 1982

(K)