Jak

Wednesday, 6 September 2017

The Bloomsday Girl


This song is kind of a spoken thing, not certain it makes sense in print but here it is.

The Bloomsday Girl.

When I asked if you liked Miles Davis,
You said yes.
Have you read J.D. Salinger?
You said all nine short stories, For Esme With Love and Squalor and all the rest, yes.
Will you join me for coffee?
You said you don't get out of bed for a day that doesn't promise good coffee, yes.
Japanese food?
You asked if tuna sashimi makes me horny too, we both laughed yes yes yes.

And you said yes,
Every time I posed a question.
And you said yes,
And it opened up my eyes,
To the possibilities.

When I asked, do you like it that way?
You said yes yes yes, halleluljah you said yes.
Will you come walkabout with me?
You said hand in hand we'll wander 'round this planet together, yes.
Can I pick you up, when you're down, can I carry you, will you let me be your man?
You said yes please.
When I got down on one knee, when I got down on one knee,
You said yes, glory be you said yes.

And you said yes,
Every time I posed a question.
Yeah you said yes,
And it opened up my eyes,
To the possibilities.

If I gave up playing music, if I had a day job, would you still love me?
You said yes.
That's never going to happen, I'm doomed to being a drifting bum forever,
You still said yes.
When it gets too hard, will you hold me?
Of course yes.
Every day, when I look into your eyes i see just one word.

Cos' you said yes,
Every time I posed a question.
And you said yes,
And it opened up my eyes,
To the possibilities.






Parkstreet

Saturday, 2 September 2017

White Supremacy


It’s like the wallpaper
Calling the kettle
John Coltrane.




Parkstreet

Tuesday, 29 August 2017

Airport Airport


Airport, airport, airport.

They've got everything I need at the airport.

Coffee bar, sushi bar, cocktail bar, rent a car.

A place where time means everything and time means nothing in it's white flourescent arctic summer twenty four houredness.

Arrivals and departures, births and deaths, airport tears are practise for real life.

I feel secure at the airport. A reassuring adult voice tells me to guard the threat that is my luggage.

There is an information desk at the airport, for when I feel perplexed. At San Francisco International I ask the sage behind the desk,"do I lose faith in myself when I lose faith in love and art, or is it the other way 'round?" He hands me a map for the Bay Area Rail Transit system. I accept it gratefully. In these existential matters one guide is as good as any other.

I catch the train, which I notice can be driven from either end, and alight at the pallendromic Civic station. My question has been answered.

Airport, airport.

Don't forget, getting there is half the fun. When I land in Sydney, in fourteen hours, I'll have had half the fun I'm going to have. 

Airport, airport, airport. 

They have everything I need at the airport.

Coffee bar, sushi bar, cocktail bar, rent a car.

Some day everywhere will be like the airport.

In the future the whole world will be like an airport.






Parkstreet










Friday, 11 August 2017

Saxophone, A Definition #1


Saxophone, a complex, ornate brass sword used for the sole purpose of slaying demons.



Parkstreet





Wednesday, 9 August 2017

Worlds Within Oysters




From a photograph by Kris Reichl.



Energy in, energy out.

Love in, love out.

The universe is an infinite oyster colony, a bivalve reality, no conscious thought, just energy in, energy out, love in, love out.

Pearl planets are rare.

We share the sea but live in our own shells, pretending to think. We are nothing but energy in, energy out, love in, love out. Will I create a pearl before I am opened and eaten?

Am I a man dreaming I'm an oyster, or am I an oyster dreaming I'm a man?

Energy in, energy out. 

Love in, love out.



Parkstreet

Tramps Like Us


Go, traveller.

Here's to all the dharma bums, the makers of music, the dreamers of dreams, those who live on love and air, the joyously lost, the gloriously adrift, the seekers, the circus joiners, the exiled, the wanderers, the stumblers, the free, a green tea toast to you all.

May you all find a place to heal your loneliness, a person to call home, a vocation that finds you. 

May you never lose faith in redemption through travel, may your restlessness lead to peace.

Go, traveller.






Parkstreet