Constant presence, that beautiful menace dark clear skies, along the motorway. Lights peter out as we turn off at the roundabout, twist and bend, deep canopy made of trees overhead - mystery hangs, full of potent myth ~ potential ~ sensations through those lanes and streets take a trip after dark, a hazardous situation, smashed crystalline shards, longer branches in this spiral process of not being of this land tugged at my soul well before then. A gentle wind, a gentle word, a gentle touch stay quiet about it won’t you? The most natural thing on earth a culture of harsh, of crass, of the worst, culture and process caught and snared in traps not understood. We storm and tumble through, throwing stretched shapes at the world outside - it’s an English rose, thorns beneath soft petals we, tumbleweed must belong, so imagine a history of stasis, a lineage, decide to ignore the light mess the wind will blow we tumbleweed to stillness hum vibration, imagine claiming our place in that shouting dynamic, as if removing a layer in this pattern could Change, right? As if claiming could be an appropriate track, instead of the worst possible, tired rerun catastrophe... That space no longer exists, but internalised awareness to be close to the stillness, expanse of open thunder. Nowhere, heartbeat. Travelling fast I can delve in and down and back into memories, ra ta ta ra ta ta young barefoot boy plants a sparkler in the desert, wide open vision of empty abundance, the colour; red, the texture of earth sings will I discover that your love will bring me home? I / are / and / sit / is / I / most / shy, / But / love / this / there / of / in / grow, / a / tale / could / and / but / vegetables / sunshine, / you / is / on / farm / Home / your / there / 18 / land. / the / in / here / why.”“Of / my / I / CD / of / and / player, / and / in / “That / your / could / and / the / you’ve / in / carpeted / you’ll / sit / “I / fruits / but / and / yearns / are / shy, / are / I / most and / happy. / of / weave / feel / I’ve / Home / rough, / you / it.” / on / always / / like / institutional / saying / go / can’t, / your / it. / 2001. / the / Bob / player, This / the / beautiful... / CD / a / it. / Marley’s / as / we / on / Love’ / and / / I / ‘Is / this / a / Love’ / can’t / floor, / But / or…. / day, / blue, / home. / as / you’ll / the / You / in / here / spark / there / are / but / a / leaps / yourself / can’t / course / It’s / so / weave / can! / one / desert!” / Jamaica. / you / You / visualise / day, / vegetables / like / Jamaica. / vision / It’s / own / never / aches: / floor, / listen / yearns / small / You’ll / seen / describe / home. / heart / land. / I / a / tale / way / wish / Bob / my / only / blue, / so / 18 / one / fruits / the / farm / ‘Is / but / I / You’ll / simple / it’s / there’s / are / you / carpeted / beautiful. / mad. / you / this / go / sunshine, / you / while / about / shy, / institutional / You / be / your / 2001. / a / known / sit / I / but / know there / too / and / You’ll / on / in / beautiful... / mad. / I’ve / “That / vision / “You / can.” own / feel / the / rough, / That’s / yardies / simple / you / of / are / the / too / it’s / you / complicated. / “I / why.” / can’t, / I / know / can’t / and describe / This / shy, / complicated. / you’ve / in / and / spark / you / grow, / you / Think / That’s / the / like / desert!” / saying / I / can! / cos / of / or…. / it.”“You / while / love / like / way / in / I / mad. / heart / know / can.” / Think / of / know / but / me / about / You’ll / happy. / beautiful. / the / be / small / only / visualise / there’s / it’s / something. / never / a / leaps / known / cos / and / we / listen / it’s / I / a / of / I / always / aches: yardies / “Of / me / course / can’t / something. / of

A steep sheer cliff, a hazardous situation, when angles lose.

Last night I drove, seven minutes before 1am, through cold, clear skies. Along a misty freeway, smelling of sweat and semen and skin lotion. Some of the street lights where more white, less yellow. They played with the air moisture differently...longer shards penetrating my weakening, tired eyes. Driving hurts my eyes, so does light, at night, through a dirty windscreen; so does wondering how much and why and if while I guiltily flick through all the artists on my phone, looking for an appropriate track to distract my stupid thoughts. I sense a deepening idea...a feeling...as I drive, the lights i pass switch off. As they extinguish, that space no longer exists. I erase my path, destroy the past...none of that happened, look! There is nothing behind me. I'm on my way somewhere ahead, i am not returning from anywhere or any place. i reach home...there was only a destination. Sleep comes once I decide to ignore the moon making light mess through my tiny bedroom windows. Throwing stretched shapes across my slanting, slatted white ceiling... Then fear. It's going to rain, the wind will blow - catastrophe? The wind always sounds malicious and violent to me...but what else should the wind sound like? no gentle whistling...not in this town. And I would not even know what to do with a gentle wind, a gentle word, a gentle touch...it's a culture of harsh, of crass, of the worst possible and all the denial and guilt.

A skip, dance, distance traces making gentle magic in the webs that entangle us, electric mycelium. Other side of the world, collaboration friend, down one curved axis, that space, that, always calling... Your dance, silence, held in hands, bows and shifts, spacious depths, quick jumps. A soft sad distance would seem inevitable at a time like this, your mother to the light. Occurrences that I am yet to learn. Our strange dances, to be sent by you, now, sound happenings. I do this work in a crooked, open living room on the coast of this amorphous Albion as summer is iccumn in, repetitions, gentle leaps, deep feeling goes unmentioned, I said too much before but oh, say it. You not here of course, holding space in autumnal Khoisanland, SA. We cannot share it, this work/play space, not yet, strange chasm, to trust the threads, and even in writing this expression snared in unknown, sure, that unfathomed unknown is just fine, but more so in interruptions, those sticky time webs, ghostly trails of long dead beings, still they walk the earth. Our lives. And this to hold them, in stillness and in movement, to allow process. Differently. Isn’t it? Unverified personal gnosis to give it some kind of name, that thing from one who knows you very well. Ideas that flow like water from deep in far out, that mountainside in Italy, need a careful hand to be their deep alchemy. And I need simple courage, humility. What is it reclaiming your deep time heritage? From brutal centuries only, plastic sticklebricks, systematic monsters. Our strange strands, woven. Deep secret, stories, skiffleboards... those pantheons of trickster beings, rituals, visitations. Grounding in place and taking off. Ties around the world, always surprises. New times. An ocean pull to share experience, and here we are: this world, this cosmos, wound on same path, maze, string, lint, desert trail, forest trail, labyrinth. Show us so we can understand. Dancing journey deeper, oceans and storms, open heart, home is (where the) heart (is), space, endless, dream, be, love. surrender.