wrapped up in a big berlin overcoat, looking like a dark knight in a darker night with out a horse with no name, in a strange game called if you see me walking down the street walk on by, talking hoops with the squares, poor little rich girls, sympathy for the demons, sanctity for me, serenity for the devil and severity for an angel on the head of the pin doing a pole dancing routine in a bar with blue lights, taking your clothes off to a false idol singing it's a nice day for a white wedding. i looked at you, you looked at me, but we both pretended not to see the obvious.
i'm driving underwater, in my blue submarine, listening to the radio, talking about a carbon tax, i jump through a hoop at the traffic light of surrealism, i smoke a quick jazz cigarette at the cross roads of convenience, i'll never pass that way again, don't wanna get lost in paradise of fools high upon the hill with a view, cutting edge stuff sold in white bags and bottles of dreams all under a key. ha!
life promises nothing, ain't that true little baby.


well here i am driving down floods, stopping off at my friends for tea and cake, here i am again, man about town, with pan the great dog, i love that god, we travel together, towards a raging fireplace and untold dinners that they saved for you. he's sprawls out in front of the fire place, as i play snuff music to a select committee of people.
it's a groovy little happening, spontaneous save for the carefully planned bits.
later i watch a french bike race and feel spent, exhausted, ready to enter nocturnal eternity, my phone rings. i take the freeway but the floods closed the road, we detour, we see the cities ripped backsides, we drive a little further and the destination is a frozen area of time and space where water penetrates until solid, where nothing but the ice maiden awaits in her white dress and shoes with her long hair all tied up and her glasses all horned and rimmed with her stern look and fixed glare and i race up those stairs to melt her with my moon powered zap gun.
and now i sit at my desk, writing my words, finishing of my herbs and seven spices, getting warmer and warmer, listening to the radio info byte sizes, as the euro crashes, as america goes under, as the mid east collapses, as the carbon is taxed as the amazon is flooded, as refugees protest, as media barons break, as cracks appear on the surface of things, foundation slips, slides away, walls fall, ceilings come down and all that's left of you is a pool of cold water which will turn to steam as i apply heat.