Journal Fragment, October 2005: “Untitled’

Dee lay stretched out on the dilapidated couch, oily and paint stained, eyes flickering open. An almost pleasant ache lingered around his temples from the night before, scorched tin foil lay winking at him on the low table, ashtrays, wine bottles, tubes of oil paint…
He squinted as the bright sunlight found it’s way through the gaps in the confusion of masking tape, curtain and canvas on the studio’s large windows. His mind caressed the vivid dreams of morning as he reached for his cigarettes and eyed the large refrigerator, humming it’s hymn of cold beer and last nights leftovers. Small party last night… He pats his pockets until the sound of pills rattling in a bottle reassures him he hasn’t lost them. He cracks open the childproof top and shakes five blue tablets into his palm and places them on his tongue, he likes the sweet taste and sucks them till they melt.
His dreams have become more interesting since he started his ‘dream journal’ and he reaches for it before the already fading ghost is disappears completely.

The sigil I did yesterday seems to be working already as all through my dreams I was finding money, tucked away in books. One and two pound coins pouring out of an old diary, crumpled notes appearing in pockets. I’d been in a shop with a friend I hadn’t seen for years, trying on weird outfits… an expensive shop. A grey boating blazer with subtle grey stripes with a voluminous scarf of the same material attached. I’d totally have worn it… the scene shifted (or mebbe it was a different dream?) and I’m with my brother and a gorgeous girl with red curly hair and Modigliani green eyes, in fact she looked like a girl I knew a long time ago… she was at a piano in ‘The College’ (again this place, always spend at least part of my dreamtime here, always in small groups of people who are kinda familiar but not). Ally was on guitar and I was trying to explain something about octaves (I know nothing about octaves, I leave that to the musicians, I just shout into the mic and write lyrics!) I wanted her to play an octave higher than the guitar… it faded out after that...

Dee goes to the fridge, it is kinda early for a beer but he’s still half drunk anyway and he can feel a hangover gathering like grey clouds. He pulls a freezing pint tin of Budweiser from the twelve pack untouched from last night and pops it open…

On the easel stands his latest painting, a cityscape in blues, pinks and crimson, the way the light catches it makes it look like stained glass. There are more canvases, scattered around the large square room, radiating light and thick daubs of titanium white…

We are history.
Everything happens NOW!
Mother & Father were wolves.
Pan the European.
Radio Stalingrad crackles… SURRENDER!

Born of Fire,
Bones bleached desert white, in the nuclear winter.
We watched starlings swarm like bees,
Tracers under Union Bridge.

Believe this story when you hear it… Some sailors said.
That before there was land, everything was water.
Fish eventually became monkeys and built the land.
Humans were invented by god and saved by jesus.
The land became nature and people made centuries.
people remembered god but then killed him, several times!

Everybody knows, the screen stops you seeing.
Climb through the T.V.’s empty soul and set free those little people trapped inside…
The soul is an Eagle, or an Arrow, or just a weightless shadow that dwells within this frame of bone
I remember sunlight and walking down University Road…
Everything is so quiet and still i feel like i’m frozen in an old photograph
lying dusty in a drawer.
become an artifact, immortal, to step ‘Out of TIME’.


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