Epiphany

It happened and things changed. Don't they always?

You look around you and so many things appear clear but when you delve further you notice the elements in each object or person. Everything is subjective and pays tribute to our interpretations, without which nothing would exist.

Whether you are depressed or joyful, you sometimes get a moment of self-realisation. An epiphany. Why didn't I think of that before?

It's been a long time coming but I'm back. Joy caused it, not depression.

I had an epiphany - a self realisation moment that it was time again to engage.

A lot had changed but I going back again to revisit the past and catch up with the future.

I love semiotics. I love literature even more. What is love? Do we have love juice like link juice that we can share? Can you give too much love, so that you die?

Back then I had no idea the vehicle I'm using now would begin to shape my life as much as it has.

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Tokyo - The Walls are Creaping In - Will I see Her?

Infinite Spring Falls

Where is my Love?

I know you don’t dwell in the obsidian tower;

I know you don’t dwell among the doves.

I know you don’t dwell among the flowers;

But in the gardens of the Angels of Grace.

Where I am now, I imagine your face,

Carved of marble and lace.

Eyes of green sapphire breathe of passion.

Our spirits of ascension,

Rise to the occasion.

These are the dreams that I desire.

They sing and dance and feast with exquisite fruits.

I will always be there with magical wings on my feet.

I will fly over the walls of the elegant garden,

Of infinite spring falls.

Where the nymphs and elves gather round.

Expostulation and Reply

"Why, William, on that old grey stone,

Thus for the length of half a day,

Why William, sit you thus alone,

And dream your time away?"

William Wordsworth 1798

That's what we were doing, not quite in the Lake District but trapped in the towns, suffocating and choking from the degredation and loss, dreaming was part of the survival; and our literary pretentions were part of that dreaming. It was our escape to reach Windemere and Coniston before the Spring's end and reach it we did, in a clapped out car, carrying a tent with holes, and pitched it exactly where we wanted. It was some small fortune to be so lucky for a change.

The air was fresh and minds were cleansed - sounds odd to say that now but it was true, in spite of the amount of cigarettes smoked and beer drank. But everybody knew that our paths may not cross again and indeed they didn't. All that was important was the literature and the symbols around us, the signs in the trees and rivers, the postures and expressions of the campers and locals in the pubs. All the signs gave us were more questions.

The Tables Turned

Up! Up! my Friend, and quit your books;

Or surely you'll grow double:

Up! Up! my Friend, and clear your looks;

Why all this toil and trouble?

William Wordsworth 1798

It is a dull and endless strife thinking of the return but the feeling of release while climbing the hills was unique and not felt again for a long time. It was probably the sense of freedom, leaving that well trodden path to Trough of Bowland at the weekends... this was different and the company was important. And what was very funny was inadvertantly seeing and meeting symbols you recognised that moved in the same circles and spoke with humour. That surely can't be matched again? The Tables had turned and what was left were the summer weeks to enjoy by the metaphorical fire, drinking mulled wine and cherry brandy, smoking in the garden and thinking of those simple pleasures lost, and a fear rose up in our breasts that the change would be calamitous.

The Symbiosis of Eros

Named after a house belonging to one Robert Baker, a tailor famous for selling Piccadills, a collar for suits.

But used for Capital Punishment centuries ago although we didn't know it when we sat there smoking cigarettes after our jaunts down Shaftesbury Av. The abbreviation DM is connected with a club at the bottom of the street called the LimeLight, probably not there anymore. It was neon green like the famous TDK ad board. This jaunt was long in the planning and how we got there with virtually no money was an odd achievement for Giro-jockies.
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He felt lost and silly.

The underground was full of staring faces.

Did he have wanker written on his forehead?

Or better still ‘here is a provincial lad’.

He felt in that moment, weak and exposed.

His lack of education and life was evident,

In his composure and witless conversation.

So what did he have, sat there, desperate

In Picadilly Circus?

Not Much.

Looking round at happy middle class students,

They seemed to enjoy life and pleasure.

He understood only isolation and suffering.

But still had hope.