3.14215926 ~ DAZE GONE BY
(TELL LAURA I LOVE HER)
City waking..
Cars coughing, snarling. The 90s. A slow spit fell to the ground, trickling slowly without volition or escape - other than a sudden splash - into the dirty oily littered gutter. Gone. And with it soon enough.. the frontline that had accommodated me well but nudged me toward an exit: me sadly but excitedly moving on again.
Oceans, new chapters, characters:
waves and new-waves and unwritten
fates now calling me.
TOO MUCH MADNESS BEFALLING ME!
Oh Laura. I am sorry.
So so sorry.
You,
the girl I loved … truly adored.
I always felt, hoped you were able to move on.
In beat, hedonistic crazy manic thrust a lousy lowlife addict ..
"SHE’LL BE OKAY!”
“SHE’LL BE OKAY!
That was a fool’s mantra ..
I was a fool.
LAURA
IN MY MIND YOU ARE IN MY MIND.
YOU ARE OFTEN IN MY MIND.
Sometimes LAURA you just gotta
run
kid run
from all the
CRAZANY
muscles + tussles + hustles
you loathe
and love and loathe and love and loathe and love.
Hot exhaust gases rising skyward: tiny, puffed out shimmering clouds.
Poison.
Kids coughing.
GO! GO! GO!
ALL SYSTEMS GO!
We’re going to a Go-Go …
Traffic lights blurring, flashing, drizzling mist. And the omnipresent pernicious imp of impatience beeping and zooming and endangering existence with its wild careless crazed tantrum.
And me ~ head out the rotten flaking sash window .. likewise. Fix me, fix me, fix me. Aah! Lovely. Cool as.. as I lovingly breathe the junk down.
And can I fix you up a single-skinner of squidgee to really get you coughing your universe up like a rusty old busted-up motor vehicle now you’ve had your drag and sneaky aperitif? Yes please. Yes please. More please Sir…
.. and it’s all going magnificently nay swimmingly my jolly olde-worlde picturesque bean till you are cursing a transparent emerald cheap and cheerful lighter.
Cheap cheap.
Chirpy, chirpy.. cheap cheap
These pieces of crap, they never last very long, we all know this but sales are rocketing, explosive.. through the roof, stellar, orbiting as always. Why are humans so daft and gullible? It doesn’t work but it’s cheap at thrice the price. Yeah, I’ll have 50 please. Fools! All of us. Nobody is exempt from this silliness.
We should all stand outside the aging shoe mender’s shop. He is called R. Sole and he is in there with his ancient wrinkled pole-axed shoe-mending pals. Shall we tap on his shop window in a law abiding way and ..
YES! YES!
I AM SO EXCITED.
GOOD LORD, GOLLY GOSH …
I'M LIKE A NYMPHO TEEN,
MY CHEESE-CLOTH RUCK-SACK
ABRIM WITH CRUSHES,
DESIRE AND WILD WILD OATS
YES! YES! YES!
LET’S UNITE,
SAY A GIGANTIC BONJOUR
TO the MERRY OLD SOUL
who is R. SOLE and his JOVIAL
CREW of SHOE-MENDING
SHOE-MENDERS.
Are you ready to rumble?
GOOD!
Then we shall tap on his window next Easter
06.33 precisely and
bellow “SURPRISE” as drunk as lords.
Mr. Sole check out our deadly medley of bamboozling
discombobulating Xmas carols.
And then?
And then?
WE SHALL YELL
WHAT A LOAD OF OLD COBBLERS!
You don’t like this stuff do you?
OH WELL!
TOUGH!
I DO!
YOU'LL GET THE HANG OF IT.
IT'LL GROW ON YOU.
IT'S NOVEL!
NO more tyranny from fools like you!
BIG egos - tiny MINDS.
Gonna canonise the canon and kick behinds!
Phuket! Phuket! .. you curse as you run burnt fingers through your hair in the way Tony Beckett a 1950s squaddy in his 50s then explained to me how you can, could and should in a builder’s van in the 80s. The 80s when when there were tribes everywhere – Mods, Goths, New Romantics, Old Romantics, Madheads, Wreckheads, Rudies, Punks and all manner of crazy cool intersecting kids “just hangin around” - one of them was me: me who having messed up one’s apprenticeship, sunk enough Snakebites, Black Velvets, clandestine chasers and “Lager, lager, lager” to sink Vikings and armadas whilst stumbling though life largely lost, sozzled, searching for meaning and clinging to some semblance of sanity, living on frazzled feral wits, robbing Peter to pay Paul, hiding from Bailiffs and in the end the debt collectors turn round sharpish 180 degrees because you are known to be an unpredictable lonewolf, no back up required, whirlwind of chaos who changes his bench or bedsit or hideaway quicker than his underpants and does not analyse whether he should walk into a bar solo and pick a vicious hood up and spin him round whilst imitating a helicopter.
Happy fuckin daze man.
HAPPY FUCKING DAYS!
The hot burnt finger thing. If you still know what I’m waffling on about. I’m not so sure I do. (GET IT OUT KID! BETTER OUT THAN IN.) It actually works. Try it. Set fire to your finger for a millisecond: run it through your hair and then yelp:
GODDAMIT, YEEHAH AND HOLY EUREKA,
GOTTA HAND IT TO THIS MR BECKETT.. IT ACTUALLY WORKS!
God bless Mr B’s blazing hot miracles of reality and science forged in jungle war-zones. But… I wonder, fair exchange being no robbery ... Did he ever get round to having a pint of Stout when his missus popped to the January sales with her good friend Daphne Dubstar and put a lightbulb in a microwave and hit play like I told him. You can forget PSILO and PEYOTE and bombing LEB and striding through metropolises like a giant … I tell you straight nothing will freak you out or mesmerise you like a glowing bulb spinning round in a microwave. Even Mr Einstein gave me a pat on the back. Cosmic! He applauded.
Outrageous hey, the cosmic breakthroughs you have when you don’t have a shilling left, the party’s over, your pals have abandoned you because you quack and dance too much and delirium tremens a close relative of non-compo-mentis has warped your cognition so far that a person actually asks lifting their head from Asimov if you are an alien?
Yeah! Yeah! I am an alien. How did you know?
Man, you should see that bulb light up.
Come in Mr Beckett, a slight return from the next realm please if you can,
you gotta be dead bless you, either that or 130 yrs old by now.
DID IT GLOW MR BECKETT?
DID IT GLOW?
“We’re not really supposed to smoke.” Laura’d say jocularly: sexily too…
When she smiled naturally without any major shift in role or weird scary script-diversion - we all have these changes and quirks don’t forget, perfection is mythology - I always felt like I wanted to remove her vintage retro covers immediately and stay in bed with her for about a week. A very cool chick.
Cool chick?
You used to be able to say that once upon a time but now … Look out .. here come the
“ DON’T SAY COOL CHICK POLICE ”
Respect and all that jazz but doesn’t the recipient of the compliment determine the lexicon utilised t say how cool they actually are. Discuss? Much as I dig sheep. I have given this much thought and am a tad confused .. who said sheep were in charge of the whole joint and were thus allowed to ram their ideas through without uurrggh proper debate?
Have you heard what the vicar calls his wife in high jinx?
It will be private. Cool, but all love has sauce.
Tell it like it is.
Outrageous?
Says who?
And …
Half the world looks askance, staring at me: anybody at all who dares to ask any fucking question at all.
We are bewildered. The sheep and puppeteers say, lying. What are you on about you maverick madman?
I don’t know. Do you? Can you define free?
You’re crazy man!
Am I? How about you ask me if I care?
Do you care?
No I don’t. Well, yeah actually I do but I’m the good guy and got thrown overboard for the sharks …
How do you conjure up this crazy beelzebubabble of garbage?
Hhhm! Well, I am both honoured and lucky in truth.
I bumped into Tiffany .. and
She: disguised amazingly as a wizardly ghostly man gifted me ..
An intangible epiphany.
Que?
ALL IN GOOD TIME!
ALL IN GOOD TIME! ALL IN GOOD TIME!
ALL IN GOOD TIME!
.. and with a later rain now, many years later, a 21st century schizoid rain pit-pat-pattering pit-pat-pattering on the flaking rotten sill of a sash lounge window: a window where I speak daily, a window with a desk, chair, small birds that pop by silhouetted at dawn, Zippos for incense, a Magritte paperweight, creative organisation depending on perception and more windows, outlets, portals, worlds and people who may not exist, bots perhaps, tourists, spies, observers, magpies, vultures, singing canaries ... who fuckin knows or cares it's just me, CRAZANY old me saying hello really.
Howdy!
Bonjour!
How's it goin?
Howya doin?
Metamorphosis, this change is done ... a new chapter latent, more momentum, more flow.
Where are we headed?
Does anyone know?
NO!
AND I NEVER DID THINK SO
SO HAVE YOURSELF A GIGGLE
GIGGLE RESPECTFULLY
GLOW & GROW!