My head feels tight and I'm angry--cause unknown when in doubt--pass out. As you know, being a deep grownup guy with a sensitivity that envelops painfully the global trauma. It is, in those short moments before donning your twin dorsaled wet suit and adding your contribution to the shark infested waters, that offers of spare beds on the other side of the world evoke feelings similar to that of a lone maternal post apocalyptic historys major sifting through a newly rubbled city and finding a still functioning sperm bank with tubes labelled Einstein, Chaplin, Zappa. Apart from those of us who have to exist via subsistence grain handouts We all exist in a state of dreams, What we are and what the world is, is a collective hallucination brought on by an excess of nutrients. Having realised this I try to sleep as much as possible. Giving meat to the metaphor, sacrificing nothing but the dreams of others. Spiralling Down And spiralling up again Attending to your integrity As I say this I smile carefully Its not a sulk Its more a dry resolve Wetly attended The fabric of life Is all dead wood to a writer The fabric of life Once stretched by indulgence Sags embarrassingly in folds In time of decline The fabric of life The loom of ritual The rewards of startled harmony The fabric of life An all purpose garment Part evening wear, part straitjacket Part varnished history The fabric of life/No loom to groove The fabric of life/Cast offs rule |
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