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From the Golden mile to the Lady Muse
It
was raining after the joust we scrolled off at each other. I
think you went under a ground or at least switched off for no longer
could I reach you. I wasn’t thinking as I sidestepped a j-walk on the
Charing Cross road. I was gliding in and out of myself as I tried to
picture your face photographically. Icicle- rain- drop- alarm- bells
pelted into my face passing the 24’s and the 38 to Victoria that was
bubbling at the brim with Beckhamboyalikes. I was starting to
sprint a little past the walking back packs, ‘old Rog from Denmark
Place and a few east-end crack whores who got stuck without a lift and
as all these impermanent devices competed for my dream-span
attention, I still managed to shine your Gaze-driven soul on the silver
screen in my head without their ugly interruptions. It was a very
‘rainy summer night in London’ kind of moment, and there you were up in
front of me like a flash light in a treasure chest. Then out of no
where, a Hackney Carriage Cab flew past me and rather inappropriately
splashed what must have been the entire reservoir of rain water in
central London all over me. Needless to say, I was soaked. And
rather typically of me, I started to laugh out loud in front of many
bemused touristicles and Japanese cool cats. You were still there lady
muse, hovering around in a bubble coming from my brain, and rather
cleverly you had managed to stay dry. And yes, you were laughing too.
A
few moments later and I found myself back in ‘the heart of it’. I put a
few pillows in the window sill, got ‘me guitar and serenaded the night
air and its children, who on this occasion happened to be the usual
Jazzer’s getting gout of streitch limo’s. The beautiful Italians,
muso’s from musicals, trannies from Old Campton street followed by The
Pirates of Menspants and a very cleanly looking oriental crowd passing
TAPESTRY who stopped to listen to the chorus ( of your song ) and
clapped in the rich mist of mediarranean perfume cafes, Issey Miyake
club girls and watford boys made good, strangled by goldchains and
handcuffed to their switch cards.
Ahh, the wonders of a strangeness with strangers. I’m zibadee doo dah in a day of days like a praying Mantis clip clipitty clop on the stair. I used too make cubby hole bedrooms for gnomes out of balsa wood in doll houses as gifts for the prettiest girl in the class. She was Espanola. Took me a year to make it and I was only eleven at the time. I thought I’d never love a one like a one can in a story book you know? But nothing stays the same for long when you’re breaking roots at every school holiday. Loved and Lost. Dotted and crossed. A steering wheel in me grand daddies study . E-type or something, can’t remember, and less impressed with cars than ever before so why why why? Just a comet from a childhood sweet tart, no, I remember. Coke. Float. Are you a vanillary one? Ah, you’re tough, and as I remember,very fair and patient and with a Velvet Hammer tone ( did you know that a piano is a percussion instrument?) that does not pre-suppose a background, but rather, defines a level of wit and “Lit.’ that I have missed for a Moon too many. A lucky penny. Found one I did by the bus stop, after I kissed yer on the cheek as a one and another hugged you and your bottle goodbye. Only came back because I thought I’d never hear hide nor hair of you again. Well, some would say I havn’t, but whats behind the eyes is ever flowing m’lady and I never felt this close to sillyness and joy in all me hungry years.
Arthur Rimbaud walked these streets, with Verlaine. Theres not a study I didn’t borrow and since Mozart lived next door in his time, I can safely assume that on occasion since I been in this golden Mile, the lot of ‘em have possessed me in their own sweet time. In their own sweet way. Stealing souls and surrendering to no one. That’s a hierarchy of demons and angels to you. I been up and down the Magick ladder like Crowley in a petticoat or Wee Willy Winkie doing a Highland Fling on a fackin Oui gee Board.
Still, you come out with a thing or two don’t you? And sending spikes in me heart is the way I have allowed meself to know what you say from time to time. ME own fault. I thought I was born in a classic faerytale you know? Just wanted to meet the other characters before the real quest begun. I done a few. True. But Percival had to go back twice as I remember while the King lay bleeding. Whos a who? Can you spin a spell? I reckon you can. And have. Don’t forget this though. Yer tut tut tutin’ and I’m grinning like a one who’ll see you over the bridge if need be. You got a friend for sure. Shoo-er, is what the brother hood say in their ‘Brownery’ You seen the pictures, but you ain’t seen them. You got wings to get there whenever you like fair maiden! Just dwindle here this way. Say your say. Stars only come out at night. But they’re still there in the day.
You are a brighter shiner and if I were writing with a pen, this is the moment where it would… snap!… as I remind myself what I saw when I knew with you
that “its all through the eyes’.
For The Ladymuse
Ahh, the wonders of a strangeness with strangers. I’m zibadee doo dah in a day of days like a praying Mantis clip clipitty clop on the stair. I used too make cubby hole bedrooms for gnomes out of balsa wood in doll houses as gifts for the prettiest girl in the class. She was Espanola. Took me a year to make it and I was only eleven at the time. I thought I’d never love a one like a one can in a story book you know? But nothing stays the same for long when you’re breaking roots at every school holiday. Loved and Lost. Dotted and crossed. A steering wheel in me grand daddies study . E-type or something, can’t remember, and less impressed with cars than ever before so why why why? Just a comet from a childhood sweet tart, no, I remember. Coke. Float. Are you a vanillary one? Ah, you’re tough, and as I remember,very fair and patient and with a Velvet Hammer tone ( did you know that a piano is a percussion instrument?) that does not pre-suppose a background, but rather, defines a level of wit and “Lit.’ that I have missed for a Moon too many. A lucky penny. Found one I did by the bus stop, after I kissed yer on the cheek as a one and another hugged you and your bottle goodbye. Only came back because I thought I’d never hear hide nor hair of you again. Well, some would say I havn’t, but whats behind the eyes is ever flowing m’lady and I never felt this close to sillyness and joy in all me hungry years.
Arthur Rimbaud walked these streets, with Verlaine. Theres not a study I didn’t borrow and since Mozart lived next door in his time, I can safely assume that on occasion since I been in this golden Mile, the lot of ‘em have possessed me in their own sweet time. In their own sweet way. Stealing souls and surrendering to no one. That’s a hierarchy of demons and angels to you. I been up and down the Magick ladder like Crowley in a petticoat or Wee Willy Winkie doing a Highland Fling on a fackin Oui gee Board.
Still, you come out with a thing or two don’t you? And sending spikes in me heart is the way I have allowed meself to know what you say from time to time. ME own fault. I thought I was born in a classic faerytale you know? Just wanted to meet the other characters before the real quest begun. I done a few. True. But Percival had to go back twice as I remember while the King lay bleeding. Whos a who? Can you spin a spell? I reckon you can. And have. Don’t forget this though. Yer tut tut tutin’ and I’m grinning like a one who’ll see you over the bridge if need be. You got a friend for sure. Shoo-er, is what the brother hood say in their ‘Brownery’ You seen the pictures, but you ain’t seen them. You got wings to get there whenever you like fair maiden! Just dwindle here this way. Say your say. Stars only come out at night. But they’re still there in the day.
You are a brighter shiner and if I were writing with a pen, this is the moment where it would… snap!… as I remind myself what I saw when I knew with you
that “its all through the eyes’.
For The Ladymuse