i'm up at 5am like a lonely raven hunting the house for my keys, a sad strange figure functioning on moonlight and weed, a strange enigmatic character from mervyn peake's unpublished lost novel, mission alone.
go through the motions and get myself out the door into the fading moonlight and into the xv and along the strange route that leads to my local nexus. i try to sleep on the train, but end up reading a big chunk of viv albertine's extrodiary book, 'music, clothes and boys.'
i try to catch some sleep but someones listening to headphones and the tinny sound of dance music. but it's five fucking thirty in the morning my brain screams silently. no one sits next to me, i project an aura that pushes people away, it's powerful in the early hours. 
in the city i get my fix of caffine and do what i need to, i find a few interesting books, one on the mimiesis and representation in the arts, i flick through it, seeing some damaged pages get a massive discount. 
the first page talks as mimiesis as sympathetic magick. 
so it's me with a book on art and hours to kill. no problem. 
later in the early evening i meet an old friend and we go grab some cocktails at the arthouse where i gaze upon my fave painting in the world. 
it's been a long fucking time since i have seen my friend, to long. she's amazing. she's so talented, clever and wise i always feel so inadequate in her company. the fact that she's drop dead gorgeous is very disconcerting. what's she doing with an idiot like me. 
i think i am slightly drunk, words are falling out my mouth i have no control over, nothing is considered just a gush of whatever pops in / out. i'm falling through the stars, what's going on, i was looking at my fave painting and now i'm hurdling through space and time. 
we peck away at olives, blue cheese and some salad. there's rain in the air and the small restaurant is squished full with people but as soon as i sit down people move away thus we have room to sprawl, the harbour looks amazing through watery glaze of rain and lights bouncing off it's surface. my perceptions altered, i'm not used to being out in the city late, so much happening, people noise colour, and this woman who is really a phoenix before me. an old battered raven and a phoenix, it's surreal. 
we go see the the at the opera house. i find the first few songs difficult as the vocals are distorted and the mix is not correct but after the fourth song things start cooking. we are right at the front. matt talks a lot, i've seen the the a few times and he never really speaks much to the audience but tonight he's chatting away in that soft voice, telling us about how leonard cohen took him for dinner and gave him some good advice. talking about growing up in london. the songs have not lost any power or relevance, they still have the passion. it's a simple show, live no trickery or complex lights, just a bunch of guys on stage. 'helpline operator' is amazing and i'm enjoying hearing the mind bomb songs but most of the numbers come from 'dusk' tonight as matt speaks of his brothers deaths and the way the songs from dusk revolve around these events. last time i saw the the was 30 years ago at selinas on the 'the the verses the world' tour. most of the audience get up for most of the songs, but i stay seated until uncertain smile. 
out into the sydney night i wonder what i have done to deserve this friendship, and i hope that maybe it will last and be stronger than love even.