21 October 2010


Not long after contemplating the Case of the Missing Belgian Shoes I was summoned into main hall by a flurry of errant notions advancing on my consciousness like a locust swarm landing on Yemeni plain. Time to seek refuge. The play of deep-cosmic moonbeams and archaic forms on white walls signalled the approach of unnamed horrors, including a grinding dream-whirl sleep pattern experienced off-and-on since I was 16 that I was determined as ever to avoid. Cue the Malbec and Moët-coated codeine tablets. With ambiguous intent I secured the ground communications lines and stepped into astral mists. Submerged in melancholic condition my mind’s eye spied a celestial girl with sugar-tongue of crystal blue and hair of gold. She stood before me. I spoke to her. Do you remember me? We watched the Queen of a Thousand Years pass by your villa. We kissed on a bench under the double suns of Besberas, while bemused teleradio-technicians in platinum astro-suits strolled by. I loved you and wanted to marry you. Today I trek alone upon the path of fogey psycho-alpinists united in spirit if not in flesh. Do you read me?

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