Sarothic Hymn to Brian Jones…

Hey, hey I’m calling you now… Goat Boy.

Skirling Pan pipes and blinding visions under a harsh Moroccan sun. Demon of the Summer of Love in flashing white silk and Berber jewellery.

Electric guitar, dulcimer, melotron, the thunder of your passion could shake or caress, blast and whisper in the psychedelic passion play of your incarnation.

That sacrifice you saw… blood spilling on the golden hair sand of Jajouka. TRANCE-SUBSTANTUATION.
Dulcimers, marimbas, crossed legs and sideburns sitar…

We shared the earthly plane for only a spring and that summer when the 60’s went Rolls Royce 666 Prince of Darkness.

Your spirit informs the mind of the Mage and you are an ancestor.

Your primal energy infuses that fuzzy air… incense and weed smoke in the dream world cottage. Now it’s that time again. Sonic energy and all ecstasy again.Floating in the swimming pool.
Die every day you did and you did.

Wasn’t that a glorious time my friend?

The endless English orgy of drug busts and headlines and broken butterflies on wheels and lightning storms in the black broken air.

So I summon your spirit in fur and fuck. I wear the beads and dust my broom for thee!

I invoke Loki and Lucifer! Pranksters and illuminators. Thee I invoke! Adonai! Pied Piper, the Great God Pan. I invoke thee! Thee I invoke! The deviant spirit, the playful initiator… manifest HERE, NOW!

I Just Left…

I slept my hangover off all day, sick, uneasy sleep it was. I remembered I’d taken the last of the MDMA that had lain around the flat for weeks. Meeting ‘I Walk’ and doing Chanter’s show had been a little overwhelming…

Everything got strange when I got to the bus station. Jill had that flat tone in her voice. She sounded tired and depressed and told me she could only watch three minutes of the YouTube hangout coz I was drunk and I got really irritated.

Strange looking people at the bus station. Ghosts and departing kin. I heard “I love you” three times and saw a white pigeon amongst the dirty grey ones and it reminded me of Picasso. A good omen I thought…

Diary of a Dog Fiend.

I talked to a beautiful young rose and her scent was intoxicating. Verbal thought was jumbled glossolia, utterly meaningless… In that moonlight park I danced with Pan, saw impossibly complex geometric fractals changing into even more complex patterns, I had the idea I was looking into my own DNA… More than that, the DNA of all creation.