Brown Eyes and Lithium

Purple fills the room. Mustn't look, let's not make it too obvious.

Today's lesson was so boring that someone out on the street started screaming.

Cultural injection. Close my eyes and drift. Forgot where I was.  I was sold on Spain but Japan is calling me. I see myself walking through green mist on a blue morning. Water kisses. A golden temple looms on the left. Insence filters throughout cold marble. A monk sits motionless.

Back in the Ulster Hall the petite conductor whirls her stick like a harpy. A cacaphony of faces bubble under the river bed. It's like thinking you're just one pebble amongst millions and then realising you are the beach, and the sea as well. Where did that come from? Load of old shit.

Red faces browse shelves of books. Coffee floats.

Probably not the best idea, asking if he had gypsy connections. Note to self - think before speak. Banter got tiresome without the anti-depressants. Voices droned on in the background. Flower grew up her arm.

What to talk about though? "Pardon me, but I want you to ride me senseless in front of the slide robes."  Maybe I should take up smoking again.

Try not to look in that direction. What's underneath? Leg shakes frantically.

Wax-covered wine bottles on wooden tables. Faded programmes of long-forgotten acts hang off the wall. A labyrinth of dust, and books. Dream-like twenties swing vibrates out of the transistor.

Try to focus on words.

The old woman overseeing it all is pleasant but faded, peeling off the wall like one of the programmes. She goes out for a smoke and watches the traffic from a haze. Sadness settles like dust.

Ghostly jazz echoes.

The park is dismal, overcast and forgotten, apart from the pretend-punk couple, the beer and the radio.

I see myself in the middle of the grass. Frisbees hover under the sunshine. Summer of love. Pity he turned out to be such a cunt.

Nice to have a body beside you in the bed. Too caught up in my head now. No room. Brown eyes. Must stop harassing the Shaman. But what was the snake? Tired of it all.

Just close my eyes. Lose myself in the music. So detached right now. The movie unravels. Need some hard fucking. Lies. Need a body.

Eyes to get lost in

Hair to ruffle

Arms to spoon

Wake up with someone else. Remind you that the world doesn't exist in your head. Still, second chance. Motion propels ever onwards.

Billie Holiday sings sadly about the moon while Josh pontificates. Jesus Christ give that man some lithium, I think I'm picking up on a theme.