in the foggy haze of communist smog appeared two stars that slowly revealed themselves to be the eyes of my memory keeper, she was sitting back in her high backed chair with that mona lisa look, part oriental beauty and part unsolved mystery.

we had run out of tea and the music had gone sub sonic, my bones vibrated with some deep throbbing bass line...

...so i returned before i was swallowed up, came back to london with an australian, she had warmth and a kind nature, and i clung to her until she turned cold. the vampyre inside me consumed it all. something like west berlin has a wall around it for a reason i thought, it's not to keep the people out but to keep the darkness in. i'd spent several afternoons and evenings in the east and i had always found it warmer, friendlier and richer despite the obvious lack of freedom people were genuine and unpretentious, down to earth. i never would have wanted to live in the east but it had a lot going for it. 

i guess i liked tension back then, now i despise it. if the wind chances direction it interferes with my serenity. but back then i liked the environment to have a little edge, some conflict and danger was good for my creative juices. cities like london in 1977 to 1979 were fantastic as punk exploded in the skools and suburbia, then new york before they cleaned it up, wow, there was a zoo station, man times square was indescribable and then west berlin, satellite of western civilisation, capitalism and freedom. i'd made temporary homes in the nexus of tension and i was soaking it up, when you are young you can do it but as i recall it youth was wasted on the young, but i always knew i was a writer so i soaked up everything i could through my young mind, what i didn't understand or comprehend i would later digest when i matured. i collected impressions, feelings, sounds and ones, colours, shapes and ideas. those albums the idiot, low, lust for life, heroes they do capture the berlin i lived in, the strange eccentric characters. the art of the place, the hopelessness the depression, the absurdity, the amazing singularity. fun baby baby we like your lips, the history and decadence, it's all in those albums so when people return to capture the berlin energy like u2 tried with 'achung baby' the energy had changed by then, it's safer and less volatile, more consumable, marketable and popular. when low came out no one knew just what it was, those moron journalists singing out now about how much bowie meant to them forget i was there, i read their reviews and low was slammed. the record company didn't want to promote it, it had no advertising potential, no hit single but mr jones pushed because he believed in himself and what he was doing and now those very idiots who slammed it put it on their lists as the most influential album of all time. i don't blame them really, it takes a lot of skill to listen to it. skill and context, side two captured something pop music had never done. it had moved into impressionistic painting, captured a new age of music, heralding many other bands and musicians who were experimental and willing to go just a little bit further than making a buck. lou reed had already done this but he didn't have what david bowie had to loose. 
that city, west berlin was something else. as soon as i stepped on the ground there i felt the energy surge, it was so powerful if you were attuned it could drive you insane, i saw this happen to people or channelled with the discipline few artists have would lead somewhere interesting. 
i'd been somewhere interesting and it had visited itself upon me. i owe that partly to david bowie and my ex wife who paid for my fare, and my friend martin von donaldson who i have lost contact with since he  surprised us all and became a rabbi. it's strange how the past comes back sometimes, i hope he does. we have some unfinished music to make but the chances are looking slim. when bowie died i thought he would contact me but he never did as much as i reached out to him. fortunately i'm in contact with some friends from that time, mr chris kibble whom plays a mean piano, tez the wonder kid on guitar who has been a great friend, teacher and true wise man. jean whom is also a sage and friend. they are my oldest friends and i remember them well but it was martin who brought us all together and we await his return like some leper messiah. ha!    

...the place was empty. 

i was alone. just me and my memories.