Bones To Bury

Glimmer, glower, sit and stalk, dark angels fall to see you swim through this city like you mean it.  Walls and doors, windows to the fuckin’ soul.  The security guards are the unwitting keepers of our feet on the ground.  They sit on the surface of transcendence.  Man, they clip your wings and drink from Thermos flasks.  I’ll talk to you about flying over terrain marked by all these political borders.  Maybe we should whisper, or maybe we should shout.  If the world knew that their framework is a net.  If the world had a conscience for every dolphin trapped with the tuna.

The key is changing and I’m slipping over the landscape and into the grass.  Tall grass.  When the lawnmowers come, maybe they’ll find me, or maybe they’ll mulch me up like field mices.  What a way to go, but if it’s good enough for those soft gentle creatures then the captain of this ship can stear that course too:  karma is my wind and my ocean, and there’s no voyage short enough to want not for companions.

Run, run, fuck.  Run but oh trip slide my god was that worth it?  I heard and felt her breathing.  In the end it’s all some kind of dance.  Sometimes it takes years to figure out what the tempo was, and to begin to hear the ghostly murmours of the music you were moving to.  We should make our own music.  Dance to that with passion.  Hum it or tap it and just grab a hand and start twirling.  It’s all vertigo either way, and like dervishes you could whorl to enlightenment.

Cackle my friend.  Feel warm in your skin, that warm glow is your warm glow.  Strike a light, little buddy, and let the match brighten your features for a moment in incandescence.

You’re giving me noise now with your gasket-face head-blowing.  Too much static now you swine, and too much swine flu.  I can live beside, we just need to keep the cake flowing.
(Rummages and find, former suitcase addendum, former flowing auburn - but my god that was a flowing Nile of red hair - former postcard in your mailbox. haha)
There’s old magic in old dust, and old dust in old magic, and some days more so the other.

Breathe in and sigh, smile and pause, and we can pass this one on as old luck.

well if you’d ask her she’d have to reply that it came from a common household accident,
and try to direct the flow of your talking to something away from the subject.
Cause the truth of it was, it would blow peoples minds,
without question if they were to know,
the places she’d been and adventures she’d seen,
in the underground tunnels of old

and she’d adventured at night, by the light of a ray of the moon, that she’d caught in a jar, with some ingenious use of bait.

cause moonlight like falling on romantic things, like roses and lovers and teardrops, so she’d put what she had in the bottom of the jar and waited, all baited with the lid

the first thing she’d met was a earthworm’s dream that was lost on the way to its appointment. It was concerned with the most exotic of cakes, all made out of mud grit and dirt.

the dream had agreed to share all its secrets with this redheaded girl from the cliff, and it told of the stories an old worm would tell, all the youngsters around a campfire

and on finishing up, retired to rest with a peculiar glint in its eye, the dream would be won, if an apple becomes the home it’s received by.

the girl didn’t protest for she’d heard said in jest, to ingest half a worm is quite bad,
so if a bite of an apple one has one should hope, all the worm’s in the piece one still had

The wind sometimes rushes through treetops.

Getting there on the motorway, with concrete structures that sometimes make swooshing  noises as they fly over head.

So hard to tell these days what with computer generated effects.

Germany.  Entering Germany on the train.  Suddenly Klaxons appear on every station pole.  Echoes of the fascist.  Football in cages and familiar signs.

More actual landscape than Holland.  Nicer greens and occational hills.

Kind-faced woman in DB overalls cleans up places.

After fighting with laptop, I do some quick work.    Before battery.

Earlier  I played some guitar, and when the vibration of the tracks makes deep “Diesel power”esque bass octaves I nearly get it out again.  (Bad beidenheim)

Want to be a writer, sculpture, photog, director, muso.  So will photograph  sculptures, write about all, not sure where director or muso fit, but making music videos a good start.  Coalesce my directions.  Search for water.  Bastards won’t give me tap water, and there’s none on the train.  Bite the bullet and buy a .5l bottle of water that just gets me to destination.

Fireworks coming into Berlin (Spandau).  Silent, ignored?  The man opposite me thinks I’m weird as I watch them through the window behind him.  Not sure if he has seen them and thinks I’m staring at him.

Get to Haupbahnhof and looking for U-bahn.  Get helped by two girls who have spent time in England.  One has just finished school and waiting to do English major.  Very optimistic about the vocational usefulness of Sculpture and Philosophy.  Offer to help me put coins into the machine!  We chat, one girl gives me her underground map, and when I get off at Alexanderplatz there may be an expectation to exchange numbers.  Too late!  I say I’ll see them at the happening clubs and head off.

Sigur Ros’s 8:47 minute song has similar chords to Mare’s Brand New Day

Melody’s Berlin SCA crew have ties to my (COFA) chaps:

Melody knows Jamie, Ben lived in Lan franchees with Phoebe and Drama club crew, Vic knows Jack Prest from childhood, Peter worked with Damo.

Neil Young I look like.

Appropriate technology: Access keyboards.

€350 per container including delivery €150 for moving.

—

Missed train.  Melody’s expression when I left and told her my phone was out of charge.  Apparently I looked so dejected.  Funny morning. Failed/not so good go down because of ending early to avoid ruining.  Impossible to get water anywhere.
Then was given free WC token, got water, and they were giving away free bottled water!

Doctor head, check,  healing/diet.

What goes through head?  Riding for 8 hours singing loudly to myself over the noise of the wind.  Can’t hear much of anything after that.

Sex.  Wonder and adventure and excitement you can share with someone else.  Nearly everyone shares this excitement. adventure into other’s bodies, or your own. Play games, roleplay etc.  Lust can get in the way.  Objective stands out and stops you from deviating and playing.  Takes yourself too seriously.

“The question of waste must be answered post-haste,
for you see it’s a waste of my time”
said the venerable man with the book in his hand,
and a thousand more answers to find.

“Waste makes no sense,
unless pitted against,
things that one finds most symbolic. ”

“So a life with some loss,
and reproach, and great cost,
are seeded with something Heroic.”

as in I suppose “X marks the spot”, and then indian jones leaps over the chasms and defeats the bad guys and gets to the “X” and all ends with passionate and well-deserved embraces with the leading lady.

And hugs like the emotional content of a days worth of airport waiting areas distilled into a singular gesture.

Open it up; that’s it.  The stretch of paper, the line of words.  The sea of sharks and islands.

You’re doing good kid.   Someone behind you coughs, and you’re in a library at a desk between the stacks.  All these books, all these enthusiastic readers.  Sponges.

You’re definitely on a roll.  Lanes of traffic, drifts of seaweed, jungles of Malaysia.

He found it somewhere in the dark recesses
of his backpack, and slapped it across the
counter next to the can of beans.

Its glassy eyes stared up at them.

 I think though that I’m much better loving the world as a whole and precipitatively, as I’m a bit of a funny creature and not at all a rock but just person soup.

Big colourful banners, with all the happiest symbols on.

—–

Mrrah. Hello. I am in England working my ass off. No free time and hard hard work, but it will mean I’ll be able to return to Oz with a pocket full of cookies to fund ideas! That’s the plan anyway.

Don’t feel up for jaunting verbal, as my soul is currently being held by high command. When shackles broken, I’ll sing about it all.

Cheerio!
Osh