LLLLLLgjgjgjjj. Bugger smooshit grappling cockerel. I gots no words. I'm all out of words. Written them through. Spluttered them out. Sinking the lonesome traveller. Lost yearning crabapple spirals. Crenellated mornings. Ebony feathers. Gentle sways the filigreed blackness of the carburettor dusk.
Stood looking out of my window watching the twilit street. Fat moon yellow glooming through mists of evening, soft footslaps on pavement muffled tread. Car door drams, voices murmur, fading sighing into night. Go back two months and this hand would be holding a beer bottle; you can be lonesome yet sheltered with a beer bottle, a ship at anchor in forgotten cove. Sober you watch the storm lash and get a shiver down your spine that builds and builds.
Pavements tell no tales. These same streets stalked by Roman soldiers and Bronze Age smelters and guttural brontosaurs craning loudly down the hill. Cement, that archetypal symbol of human endeavour, is just old rock and stone and chalk and clay.
How many eyes gone loose and peered achingly in this spot towards distant starlight? Sadness of all beings, lagoonal grief of plaintive hearts. Sadness sensed beneath the knowing, ancient tender wailing world. Sitting in our bodies gazing beyond we are joined in mourning; when we know the least is when we see the best.
Tomorrow it will be 30 days since I last had a drink. One foot in front of the other feels like a futile march of drowsy limbs, yet move only like this to travel round the world. Don't stop. Keep going. Keep tramping doggedly into the curving Earth.
I hope you do manage to keep going Rob. Lots of love, xx
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