i come down hard

i crash through into next day and it burns

a fugitive from reality i tried to escape

but reality tracked me down

its parked outside my house in a big black car

its bugging my muse

it tries to bribe me in subtle ways to adhere to it

but i came unstuck as a child in the hive

and some clueless anger ate me alive

and a sense of dread gnawed on my days

and i read what some dead magnificent poet once wrote

and i heard what some magnificent dead singer once sang

and as i plotted and planned my escape

in terms of reality my thinking was becoming outside of it

and using all the same tricks of other would be escapees

but probably more and probably more often

i ascended descended and went sideways in a flash

i communicated with nature

i was absolutely cut off and frozen

i sat in satori at the edge of a rippling lake

i tramped up and down the aisles of purgatory

i wanted a vision

i wanted a dream so vivid that i could park it in a garden like a caravan

a door into another world a door like music or sex or drugs

a door like having a fever a door like almost losing your life

the doors are all there but who wants to go through them

and them that do what do they bring back?

so few of them tell me what i am so anxious to know…..

almost everything seems like its not meant for me

some impossible boredom numbs me at the very first word

i cannot concentrate on a simple instruction

but my reveries are peopled and filled with rich detail

i feel like i belong somewhere else

but i cant tell if everyone feels like that

1967 was an exciting year

it seemed to me that reality might in fact be ruptured or cracked

something was afoot i guess but i was only a kid

i knew that before that someone somewhere had turned off the good times

i knew theres gotta be more than i was getting

nobody i knew could understand me

it seemed there was a revolution coming

the summer of love? oh i wanted to be there

in london hanging out in a club in soho

smoking hashish and a threesome with some german girls

their long blonde hair hung down their white backs

man we were eating strange mushrooms and having a groovy scene

it seemed so obvious to me a twelve year old uber-virgin

that had never been fucked or fought in a war

that we could just replace combat with incredible orgies

like in those old greek days in groves and in glades

bring on those voluptuous nymphs

and get rid of all the generals and tanks

i imagined myself cavorting in the moonlight

(probably with my undies on i was really still quite shy)

the summer of love

a love-in in this time of love moves me

playing guitar and flushed with cash

combining young heroes from film and fiction

dressed in the vogue and fashionably thin

but i was a freckly boy in his first year of high school

stupid in most things except for greek myths

and the lives of popstars who were rising and falling

the myths and the stardoms  seemed intertwined

they all seemed like extraordinary people

beautiful brilliant and tragically doomed

yeah thats the world i wanted to be in

theres been some mistake this isnt me

inside i’m sure i’m somebody else somebody more

i’m always disappointed to see that its only still me

i ran from myself but i always caught up

i avoided myself but we always collided

i hated myself so i loved myself more

i was so awfully real such an ordinary boy

not one girl had never looked at me ever

i was a poet yet to write a word

i was yet to take shape in my cocoon of childhood

i was unable the breakthrough to a deep sublime well

anyway now

what seems like a million days later

and my play probably nearing the end of its run

half in and half out of this current version of  life

saner than ever and mad as any raving hatter or march hare

i sit and i write whatever comes into my head

i walk round this world a bull in a china shop

a teacup in a storm, a babe in the woods

averting disaster only by luck

the bravado of fools who dont know any better

still i yearn and i burn and i yearn some more

for this other dimension of meaning and pleasure

ive stumbled in and out of it from time to time

doesnt matter what the zeitgeist says

it is possible to get out of this world

and still come back a bit unscathed

course the price you pay is in time and in money

course the price you pay is in madness and in turmoil

or you can do yoga and the price is still high

in dedication and in discipline and in determination

sometimes madness and turmoil seem quicker i guess

the search for a groovy enlightenment sure takes it toll

in your body and face and worse in your soul

you meet lots of devils and poor martyred angels

how can this not affect the 12 year old boy within?

that boy is my connection to my muse

i must not blow his mind tho i have once or twice

that childlike wonder must not be extinguished

in tv in society in nights at the pub

its lonely being a lunatic its lonely being an ugly duckling

almost certain that you’d never be a swan

but every creature on earth has its burdens

mine seem so trivial

the luxury of these times

actually i dont remember what i came in for

i guess i’ll catch ya later

when i have more to say