time for some free form, trickles of consciousness, flow from rivers, from oceans they came, the undisputed unbound truth in all it's glory and madness, sadness is a memory i can't forget to remember, projected on a canvass of time, vast and vibrant a lot like your life only it's not your life its mine. these streets and cities, the towns and houses are all empty, shells without ghosts, vessels without contents no longer have the same kind of purpose, we thought we were civilized and we thought we were cool, we really thought far to much about reaching for the stars when we should have been thinking about reaching inwards, there are wars to be won, and battles to fight, there are causes worth dying for and dreams to realise and goals to score and targets to be hit and when it's done, it won't be done becuase there's always more. forget yourself, those clouded fragments of self are just buildings ready to crumble becuase the foundation is like quicksand, weak and ever moving, limitless and unknowable. only the freaks can save us now, the wild ones the ones that burn brightly, the outcasts and mutations.
i wrap myself in scarves and coat, out onto the street, in the pouring rains, the cold winds from the south come in over the water, i wander down into the main street to score some memory, there's a resturant, it looks new and exciting, happy faces and young couples, ugly teenage millionare popstars and tv celebs, drinking wine and telling lies to their girlfriends, i gaze in at them eating dead animals and they avoid my eyes. Further up the road i do a deal with a dealer in dreams, a hit of memory and i am travelling back to another place.
you know i knew it was bad instinctivly when the kitten fell into the ocean at Tangiers, Interzone. There were crowds of people screaming and laughing as our ship docked and already my head began to hurt violently, i was travelling with the sexy lesbian, she couldn't help but draw attension to herself. its hard to be inconspicuious when you are drop dead georgous, a lamb amonst the wolves, already i could feel the stares cutting into us like knives, they were looking at me as if they didn't really give a damm about me, but they aknowledged i was problem that stood between whet they all really wanted. we wandered down the ramp onto the shore and up into the small office where an official stamped our passports and sneered at us, onwards we went into the city where already people were congregating around us like ants over honey, they spoke to me but their gaze was on her, fixed and penetrating.
'You want, woman, hashish, boy, heroin, you want something, you want guide, you want food, you want whiskey, you want want want...' so much want, we wanted peace, we wanted to be left alone and we very politley refused everything. the more we refused the more they crowded around us, from 7 or 8 to 16-20 and now suddenly 50, a huge crowd followed us as we walked along the street away from the ship. Some one spat at Mellissa. I spun around, 'Back away, we don't need anything.' But Mellissa had reacted badly, 'Fuck off you wanker. Leave me alone.'
Now the crowd changed, like a shadow, what was annoying now became dark and dangerous, we moved away as fast as we could, but they hounded us, calling us names, threatening us, we walked straight towards the bus that had stopped 100 yards up the street. Even children were shouting at us, you could see their hostility in their eyes, it was unnatural. I heard some one yelling, 'prostitute, prostitute, whore.' we climbed up on the bus and sat at the back, no one else got onboard save for an old religious man, he directly behind Mellissa. I paid the driver a few coins, the bus headed off into the mountains, we did not know where, only that it was taking us away. we travelled for an hour or two when Mellissa screamed. The old man had touched her breast. Mellissa yelled 'stop it,' and i gazed at the man and ran my finger across my neck, indicating he was a dead man. the look on his face ....
it was an uneventful journey after that, into the mountains. i scored a big block of hash and smoked it with some french guys, i thought a lot about william burroughs and figured Morocco is over rated, much better in books.
the memory wears off, fast, it's a strange night, to wet to be out on the streets, unpredictible, i notice the resturant is half empty now, a lot of satisfiyed consumers driving home in bmws, me i quicken my pace and see if i can catch a glimpse of the stars throught the clouds.