i took a trip through my memories once, a landscape made of melting clocks just like dali, there were homes and houses, smells and sounds, children laughing and adults crying, there was a ghost playing with a wegee board summoning the living.
came to a big old house with a gothic vibe, the flowers were all overgrown with weeds and the trees alive with malevolence, there was a crow in the branch smoking a cigar, singing a jazz song with another playing a tiny saxophone, jivin. i listened to the voodoo message, 'don't dwell in the past don't return there'
i went to protest and found myself mute. i wandered onwards.
climbed up stairs, trying to find the door, but the steps just reached the sun and the sun just went on and on, and i was thinking no no no...
i was burning like icarus falling falling calling out for god, the devil and any random deity who happened to be in the neighborhood, fallen angel fallen friend fallen faller.
my descent was broken by a travelling band of troubadours and maverick's, wearing bright colours and playing tunes of the spirit and soul. they said 'hey brother you're home now.' so we lit up the peace pipe and blew some smoke rings, under stars and by the oceans gentle wave. i lived with a cute celtic girl who wore bangles on her feet and had the woman's way. she was strong and healing and nursed my wings. we lived in a tee-pee with a dog called pan. we read to one another, did yoga, meditated and surfed, grew our hair wild, untethered to anything material we were free. time propelled its influence no longer for this was love beyond time, just like a dream. there was no power and no desire to control, freedom smelt sweet and light.
then in some other dimension things began to bleed and everything started to change, i was trapped in a series of dreams, symbols and symptoms all merging like lyrics from a bob dylan song when he was just fucking with us, and then i found myself wrenched again. abducted by forces beyond my control.
all i carried with me was the terrible weight of loss and a tragic sadness of longing.
in this life i'm looking for something, something i only know when i find it, i don't know where to even look but i look everywhere, inside my heart, the depths of my soul, i look across the globe, asia, america, europe, i speak to poets politician's, thieves and jokers, i converse with holy peoples and the shaman and the wise, i talk to gardeners, builders, artists, scientists, mystics and magickians, people of the cloth, people of the metals, people of the woods, people of the book, i search within nature, the stars, the patterns in the sands, i look into the tiger eyes, and every night i ask, where will i find this thing that is lost to me.
one day in this strange life i find myself looking through bookshops in the city, old second hand ones where out of print books line the walls and form a maze, bookshops where the books choose you.
i'm walking along kings street. and i see a freind who yells out 'mission' and waves.
i turn and see a friendly face. not quite steve mcqueen in bullet type drive by motion but more like the killer with his beautiful kids. i salute you sir. the king of king st. i know you seek it to.