Never Too Late!

Never Too Late!
any resemblance to anyone real or imaginary is mere bad luck
we are all lying in the gutter, but some of us are trying to get up


Mobile guerilla night-club

See my house through someone else's eyes: Paulette the psychedelic genius fascist bitch writes about Saturday's party on her new (English) blog voidwithme. By the grace of God, I avoided that one. My own party was on Thursday. Some went to sleep in hospital that night, others to bed with eyes swollen with tears and pain of loss - bodies still trapped under Kings Cross. Others wrapped in their very ordinary problems, perhaps stalking streets of East London at 5am in hellish insomnia, arriving home to find an unexpected party, new friends strangers, heaven-sent distraction, drugs that scare me.

midmorning the stupid disco is still jumping and I can hear the bulldozers over behind the high wall already starting to smash the block down and I am still bouncing like a happy idiot to all the silly pop tunes they didn't play on Saturday ... I knew things were going crazy in a bad malevolent way when it went to Wagner... almost everyone had left...
101st Air Cav: It scares the shit out of the gooks

Thank you for the waltz

Later bad thoughts come, images unbidden to mind.

The way she looked at me. The way some of them have started to look at me. Why certain doors and faces seem to have closed... And I can see so clearly certain ugly gossiping faces... "He's an alright guy and a real good friend but you know he's got problems..." - "Problems?" - "Heroin... We're so worried about him..." People recoil, whatever the real truth may be: the images are junk, syring, blood, HiV... Ugly, heavy images... This is a bad name to spread... something really evil to use against anyone, to influence with...

an encounter with disillusionment malevolence and betrayal... and a great night dancing...