This lockdown, that lockdown...

Last time around this website was a flurry of activity. Memories of meandering alone along Marine Parade coupled with Soho drinking sessions and perfect days (still to be completed). 

This time, I've spent more time playing guitar and less time hovering over this keyboard (complete with sticky G). Anyway, the purpose of this post is to remind myself to write, write, write. 

In the meantime, the anniversary of Jack Kerouac's passing lead me to seek out some words on writing:

“My story is endless. I put in a teletype roll, you know, you know what they are, you have them in newspapers, and run it through there and fix the margins and just go, go – just go, go, go.”

“I really hate to write.”

So until tomorrow...

For Lawrence Ferlinghetti

A picture of a long gone world

 
                            Stood at the top of the long world

lighthouse at my feet
            chalk cliffs plummeting into the grasp of the relentless
                                    Aspidochelone in the depths
                        the gorse leaning towards life at 45°
                                    rainbows plucked from other hemispheres

   words shimmer in the refracted/reflected light

                    the steam rises from the Cappuccino machine

 plumes of Marlboro smoke emerge and merge

                            a huddle of young poets sit

        amazed and deranged in the hurly-burly hours of a weekday morning

                                    the haunted shadows of deep night erased by the golden cacophony of sunrise

            the book is held open and the words are shared...

... there are others out there, we are not alone.