.
i’d walk a camel mile for a cup of chamomile, but not for chamomile chameleon.
it’s been a Blue Magdalena day. shopped for scarf towel, olives, almonds, cheese, bread, water. went to beach. the beach lead to the motorcycle. the motorcycle lead to the police. the police lead to coffee. the coffee lead to beer – or so i hear… Lady and i left Magda with Blue on bikes enroute to beer with young men in their flat out in mad max land.
Blue is bike bit. has ridden motorcycles on at least 3 continents. he saw 6 guys pushing 2 bikes on the shore, and he charmed them into letting him ride one up and down the beach. police came. took boys and bikes away. we followed. blue paid their fine. we all drank coffee at outdoor cafe. now Blue and his Magdalena are off with them.
Blue7 is the leader-singer-guitarist-songwriter of the Urban-Jellen Test avant-garde cabaret art rock n roll garage band in Krakow Poland. Lady and i had the pleasure of being part of his Cabaret Dada opening act at 3 of their concerts. it’s cool to recite poetry to a rock audience – they’re not sure what’s going on… largest group i’ve ever read to. once i got up there on stage and started reciting “December of 68 I was lying on LSD on my bed downtown Baltimore,” they were all on my side. they all wondered who the old dude with the young poet wife was. Lady K enhances my street cred – not to mention my heart.
Lady and i have been in our own flow so long, it’s odd to be in the flow of others. as Duchamp said through Blue, “my chance is different than your chance.”
what careless hosts we are – finally find our guests at 10 last night, lose them 7 tonight. we’re going to have to find more friends to practice on.
nExT dAy
shadow of sky flows over earth as we watch from ramparts the boisterous sea bounding against pitted stone beach. slug fish snail creatures litter the tide pools – blackened skinned fillets of fish, their manta-rayed sides flashing above the surface in sun black wet alien undulation.
waiting for our food, i watch the flies and ants crawl over our table top. when the food comes, the flies disappear. it worries me – what does it mean when the flies aren’t interested in your food?
ate a bit of goat. ate a piece of pigeon pie. now i can go to other cities, talk to their pigeons, tell them they’d best behave because i know what they taste like.
we’re only a pawn in the vampiric piranha prawn game. this is prawn pawn 1 crawling pawn prawn 2… oeuvre & out.
