Yesterday evening I happened to look downtown in the sky South of the city and saw
bunches of black clouds, smoke blowing up from a brush fire in Staten Island and creating a stratus layer stretching across the bay and over into Brooklyn.
Went out to eat in the warm night ,
impossible not to overhear the stories coming from another table ,
how 'I got off alcohol in LA by coming back to junk in NYC'.
Checked into Simon Reynold book party @ Nublu early ,
waiting for the DJ's to start it up.
On the way home on Ave.C we admired the variety of trees with torn and dirty plastic hanging from their limbs.
Clumps of white yumpy chumpies crowd the sidewalks waiting to get into wherever it is they go (a fake German beerhall).
In front of the projects where the troublemaking kids come from
another lonely tree survives , seemingly growing plastic grocery bags instead of leaves while the sides of the towers have enough black cables hanging down their sides it reminds me of old Kowloon Walled City that used to exist in Hong Kong.
Deep dreams of being on a trip (a Tour ?) in London , running around the city , up and down Tubeway stairs trying not to lose members along the way give way to a shower scene where young woman has used some kind of soap that doesn't mix with water and has beaded up on the walls and tub , I splash some onto my arm to see what it does.
Turn to find another woman has joined us in the shower , she has taken her clothes off and smiling has slathered the liquid soap across her breasts and down her body.
Overnight the rain came to wash the white salt chem stuff off the walkways ,
and it's very quiet and dark peaceful Sunday.
Lying on the day bed in the living room I feel inspired thinking of collectives ,
new projects and a Sparks song I listened to last night before going out
(Thanks But No Thanks from Propaganda).
Lying still and regulating my breath getting into a near meditative state ,
closed eyes seeing red geometric shapes form and change ,
eventually something that looks like a little atomic bomb cloud centers in view and keeps morphing.
Another tangent begins and I see the Himalayas again briefly as white fluffy clouds part ...
Other thoughts turn into the beginning of the musik for the first song i will write for Dystopians , something i've been waiting to do, the song's called Din.
Soon my foot is tapping and i figure out 2 main parts of the song and go back to information noted from a History Channel show on Boudica the other night.
The chant of her followers rings through my brain
Boudica ! Boudica ! Boudica !
Songs for sentient beings trapped in a setting -sun world