There are spiders in this room
And here they shall stay.
Like me they are lean,
But they receive no pay.
I won’t brush them up,
I won’t dust them down
And they’ll leave me alone,
Till we leave this town.
THE BUSKING DIARIES
[a working title]
1.
You can have a coffee,
Have your cake.
But there’s nothing else,
But to sit and wait.
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A tired and mournful start,
Prised from stupor by a plethora of bookings, reservations and deposits…
Habitual consumption and escapism had been the agenda in the months leading up to this long awaited trip. When it came, I didn’t feel much like getting out of the bed that had become a safety net, a prison and a home. As any guppy will tell you, he’ll occasionally come up to the shallows, breathing normal life… infrequent friends, family, trying to rekindle old flames… But this no longer seemed enough.
Allowing any chemical/ plant-based pressure to force out thought could no longer be an option for the next chapter. These waters must be tread sober and aware and for the longest period in my recent history and all in the knowledge that my swimming skills have always been somewhat limited.
And though initially heavy, my heart gained buoyancy. A Virgin took my weight and hurtling forward, the real journey began.
The Loco was in motion and everything was OK Computer.
YOU HAVE EVERYTHING YOU NEED
