Tracks

Have you had it where you wake up like SNAP and it’s burning sunshine outside experienced from a curtain-less room, big solid window panes and you’re lying on a foreign floor.

Sunday.

Still a work day.

Get up to grovel to your brain “please don’t make this hangover worse than it has to be.” Take a slug of water from an empty cup, any empty mug will do. Put on your coat and check the pockets, pick up the book that you’ll be borrowing from the Writer and then leave through his front door. The latch makes a satisfying soft click when released and you turn to see one slice of another room where he sleeps, unconscious on a mattress, and you mouth a “thanks”.

Baking sun outside.

Still Winter. 

An epiphany strikes at the Underground station where you’ll be waiting for a tube. But it’s a bit early to release it into speech and sometimes you think, maybe if I say it out loud then that thing will be true, so for the time being one would rather not admit defeat by speaking a soft-boiled truth.

The sun makes it better. The sun makes everything better. From the colours to the forms to the petals on her dress, as she glides and steps from street corner to clock tower. The bells ring for an aeon in Mayfair on a Sunday. And once that’s all over and out of the way you wave good bye to the zoo of the rich and the cages of bags, re-enter the Underground realm where time elapses based on next trains and board one.

A cheese twist and a mug of hot tea. Already inside a recording studio and the tracks are wheeling on their spokes, one cigarette, one last look out on to better weather. Sick Day is a name of a song. What’s the EP for? To hang on a wall and never be heard. Rad.

The journey to moments of motherly nature blow you. Never mind. You feel a bit like - you know how the direction of the wind changes the course of a sail? “Off course”, of course, well the tracks and the trains do the same to me too. That’s life isn’t it? Some will sail heading straight for a known island, a destination, whilst others are happy to be floating, fuck the destination let’s just stay un-submerged.

*

It goes like this:

You know when you look up at a London Underground sign, and you’re waiting for a tube to come. It’ll say next one in 2 mins or 4 mins or 9 mins and if you’re not in a rush you can sort of see them as not too much of a wait. Not too far apart the next tube or the one after the next tube. You know. But if you live your life like that, holding off doing something important because you think if I miss this one there’ll soon be another one coming. Then what do you do when its the last train?

All those “next tubes” were giving you a way out. A way to “get on”. A way to make a move, to go somewhere you needed to be even if you didn’t think it urgent. (There’s something in noting the passage of time.) 

Don’t keep missing the train is all I’m saying.

*

And I go:

I am trapped inside the cocoon of this unmarked wanting.