SO there's me...
Am I me?
Which sounds all very existentialist
and twee.
Let's be clear, she, cannot know of this.
You, reader, sadly
Exactly what on earth does one say next.
No poet could.
I mean if we started
Eleven months ago.
I wish I was eleven months ago as the perfect living in the perfect moment.
Day after day.
I must remember for always the way, cycling out from the ruin
A real ruin, more ways than one.
Down that drive.... two hundred years ago he would have come up by gig or trap, that drive.
But everything that was him is behind me, as i head down that drive.
Every day - that moment coming out from the woods, into sunshine
"is she here lurking, waiting for my money perhaps?"
An inadequate way of describing not one moldy molecule of shame.
Fuck their living in the moment at a hundred quid for a few hours of moments
Of nonsense.
This is living - the energy just heading off, because one can.
And then it all started...
Every day, in the middle of nowhere, so much.
That was mine.
Those months were mine
Perectly mine.
Only mine.
And everything else for years - many a higher form of low and highish investigation of things never known.
Before, nothing.
Just that perfect few months .
Sometimes 'hiding' but then a few hours stripped off on my higher hill
who cares - no cares... just me and one or other once more good book.
But surely a bit of Balzac, cannot be much good. Until it is the only story ever made any sense.
Being 'me'.
Bully for me.
But then perhaps you want real emotion, without knowing you want real emotion.
Autopilot, standby....
With one difference - shame gone.
Is paradise. Is peace - the frauds claim even more there is online.
Nope peace is absolutely nothing
can happen.
So forget.
And where i wonder did he come from?
One day:
but i have to just play it...quiet
meaning this is not, exactly, inplacement, but exactly in sound, that which heard on a June day in twenty twenty because i have to be not me.
And....
"my oh my can we have forever more of this.... those naughty bootleggers all this marvelous free time....to share with us at last their genius goodies and goodies and ... I mean, it is impossible life became so viscerally poignant and completely liminal in a way that only, well... its a fuckin dream... a lovely one that hurts for the right reasons.."
But that is inadequate, for the person most of the time so hurt that only the greatest jokes can be made of it....
which is exactly what one must do.
Or die.
Living.
So the frig what.... nahh thats not me. Me is, "ten years of this... i survived but....
oh fuck.... he gonnan done it again how can only he hit you with Mozartian busseye so many a time..."
so lets have a little light relief.
There is a run up to this ditty but t will have to wait because in fact I need her now. This moment
Nineish Pm on the 25th of May 2021
She really... is me?
Noh but she is perfect and she is now - this time.
This moment, because Most of The Time was meant to be forever,
wasn't it the fuck meant to be surely it was...
I looked at the translation once of this sexist pig version above that does not even mention her name
typical fuckin ITI fuckin arrogant deliberate MIss Oh Jenny get the dinner on will yer...
But that's something from eight years ago
which is not this year - that year i remain cycling no hands through the most flowerful hidden away byways ever
June...
Last...
she could have been on then
she summed up then exactly the complete and utter fuck all else than her
and nature
and surprising amount of new friends, living genuinely nowhere
But then fast forward through literally a whole lifetime in a few months.
To her.
Her layby.
I have quite a few different named laybys.
But i did not know her, then.
I should have known, t'was 'their'.
Because within just a few weeks.
Her...smile is as perfect as Alessia's
For sure
I cannot lie.
You cannot lie when she
is all there ever was.
But she was gone....
not most all the fuckin time....
f you knew - you it says just one of you.
Now this minute.
Maybe you are a bot
oops accidental italics i type very very very fast and aint wastin my time unitalixin
though there's something to be said in that
You. Witness....if you exsist.
You here this exact moment.
Oops again hahh hahh...
accidental!
No poise, no Grace
No words can get me from then to now.
This exact second.
oops again whats goin on
Last early autumn - another gorgeous stoppin on the horizon.
Another perfect no more shame
Another stop
ANother off yer fuckin high horses and... just be
That had worked, especially with her the great beauty
(not capitalised - only one gets the real GB treatment)
I mean harmony fuckin hairspray my trousers
That was not possible.
But lets get serious. this will not be.
But do it.
Of course every moment of true fear
true wonderation at our gatheration
mine
for her
only
As always.
A dream
Mad
get on yer old bike
head on why not
fight fight fight and sneer
but be thine self...
what self when there is no self it was gone years ago
a husk a silly notion a silly memory of someone once silly enough to loop his aeroplame middle of
Carribean sea nothing else to do but turn it up in the then Walkman
"this is the apex... there cannot be anything more.."
And that ship i once saw all a burnin.... seemed to fit.
Anyway lets not be too Richard Bach about this because there is the Hollywood version
And the real.
Them.
Oh my.... four of them...so dispirate
so surely explosive to gatherate together.
And then within just a few weeks, not for me
only for them. It just
Worked....
Even Ludvico could not compose even five minutes of it in five hours of Nuvole the extended version
With Upshaw or Elis Regina as perfect interpreter rather than the more perfect less well known.
Novemeber...ok out of year, until.... but by Marco we did it
the really heavy version but same net effect - all our rumpuses and fights and worries...nothing
Because by Marco
god the smiles on that young woman's face
I never knew such
bliss.
And her friends
And then mine even if i am cheating as mine was February. Midwinter. Srong sunshine up high
with them,
How did that happen!?
That's what i had wanted ten years ago.
T'was impossible.
Anyway i shall spoil it
Now
BY even writing one more word.
Because it - was done. Just done. No one else did. I did.
But it was a silly dream and embarassing fantasy i hardly shared
T'was for her
It did not need to be for her
because i just learned so much.
Not pious-learned, earest learned nuthin.
Real learning.
Depth.
Deepest possible depth.
Deepest possible why the fuck not.
There is no more not.
There is only we did.
But it was not for
Me
Of course not
Until, and talk about many to copy in.
BUt you really know before anyone else except her
The ringmastered sidekick Non Byronic sis
"i cannot....yet open it.."
But i can open this because even if she will never know
well she might it seems
who knows
because in fact I never before really knew what that word meant
But now live it
Cos the impossible, worked.
But not one smart arse bit o' cynic nor boo....
nor mixed up confusion.....
cos i just proved one simplest ever thing.... and thus can die. Now....
