german winters; pantha du prince beating the chill into you as the heat does nothing but sweat. sweat all over your blurred tan lines, blurred outlines of people on your skin, people, always there with you. tear-stained nights and cheesy songs are not all that far behind, and nothing is pulling you out of the cheap melody lines that shroud your eyes. dreams of suns and lizards, but the zen keeps you going, duct tape saves all days.

Bitterness, recriminations, advice, morality, sadness - everything was behind him, and ahead of him was the ragged and ecstatic joy of pure being.

stripped off lone cuddles in the pm are only reminders, but still the smiles creep along little phone screens and all is love, even the sun is still out there and you know that's home

what is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? - it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. but we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.


japan, may 2015.
only snaps of certain scenes, but most of our lives there went uncaptured. no camera to disturb the real presence, no photographs to document our kicks in the far eastern nights. swings and smoke, onwards and upwards, if not you and me then who

moments of inadequate, steak and wine and blood and booze and the crunchy squeezy rich beautiful sound of teeth grinding on repetitions and uncertainties. sometimes you wait under darker skies, so many people are happening but you don't know where you are, so you bury your face in cats and dance a little. saturday four am mornings, the fear of using all these strange devices and the realisation that beds are sacred and you should protect the jazz and yourself, especially yourself

i found some old photos