playing some nice tunes around mission control, the groovy morning spills the beans, in strange explosions of sunlight and fragmented waves, i plug in to the signal. 

changes, turn and face the strange.

well i'm not nailed to the cross but i was, it didn't last long just a few hours. i was not bleeding badly and there were no cuts, although things happen around me fast. 

fast love, fast life, fast death now, i'm not on any track, path or road. i have no idea what's next, i'm a crazy jazz cat doing what i do, moving through love, moving through life. 

the book i am reading has me, it's 'threshold' by rob doyle, a first person narrative of the author as he travels, takes drugs and philosophise, its part confession but one any middle aged boho could relate to, and i do.

i kinda like the writers cynicism, his internment between youth and middle age, his lazy lifestyle and hedonistic impulse, i like his honesty and it's what missing from modern writing, it transgresses, it offends and it's original although influenced by a succession of great writers, hst, burroughs, sebold, dwyer. cracking open the head, spilling the bubbles, lets have a look at life amongst the humans.