dear ….
how are you today
me, im fine
its a sunny morning here in bondi
seagulls, azure sky, white fluffy clouds
backpackers, tourists, old men playing dominoes
young girls texting on their poisonous mobile phones
shiny cars disgorge bright passengers
half lives
skin deep
frail old lady meets my gaze
in another time n place
she was a stunner
somehow i convey this to her
she sends me an image
a warm night, a garden
two lovers have detached from the main party
in the light of the lanterns
in the light of love itself
they stand among the shadows
at the edge of the water
the moon reappears
in its rays we see the womans face
breathtakingly beautiful
the solemn planes and angles
her perfect nose almost leonine
her closed eyes
translucent thru the lids

that was me she says
i break off contact
in a another second
i might have seen
that the man was me

bondi markets hauls itself together
an uneasy truce at the waterhole
hippies selling plants n incense n “eastern” stuff
the chinese massage guys
doin a hard sell on ya
then givin ya a good olde pull n push around
fer yer moneys werf
theres people selling hammocks
theres a great lookin asian dude
he gotta be my age
his hair all teased up in some kinda keith richard 1973
he sells military shirts n stuff
with patches stuck on
i got 2 shirts off him
my 8 ball shirt on ultc
n my super service as worn on all white tour
he buys these real cheap shirts
bungs on a lil patch (iron on type deals)
he charges like 65 bux
what does it matter
its the idea ya pay for
he had that fucking idea
and ya happy to pay
cos hes taken all the guess work out of it for ya

in the interior part of the market
people are seeing how THEIR idea is goin
some are cleanin up
others sit forlornly
their macrame pot boilers
and their impressionistic photos
unloved by the hoi polloi
i hate it when ya stop in front of a stall
maybe cos the crowd has almost come to halt
in the narrow spaces
and ya stop and they tell ya the price
of every trinket or second hand book end
on the stall
i was once the sorta junior partner
in a little clothing/market venture once
we werent doin so great
until one day my partner had the idea
of buyin all these scraps of material
that noone really wanted
all different colours
we got loads cheap
then i silk screened stuff onto the bitsnpieces
each one was an original bit
then she sewed all the bits n pieces
each individually silkscreened with
all kindsa stuff
rockstars faces
little slogans like
mandrax made me do it
or
let me take you to the empty place
etc
(insert own early sk ism here)
then she sewed that into this big sloppy kinda
sweater/jumper/pullover/turnover/pushover
these things, my sweet fiendss
sold like hotcakes
and soon we would getting 1000s a week from em
till the bubble burst a few months later
(by then everybody in sydney musta had one
each one was totally unique
i’d be walkin along in paddington
and id see all these snooty modelly types
walkin along with my fuckin logo across their chests
i even screened pictures of myself, a spider
and the words the church
this was in 78/79
so you can see i was doin some forward thinkin
mind manipulation marketing tekkneeks
even back then….)
people
i have rambled away my allotted time
i have other flocks to attend
and i aint even had brekky yet
just 3 gumballs and a bottle
of fiji water
yessaday i had an excellent nepalese veg
at paddoteen market (as evie calls it)
the scene of my brief fashion bonanza back in 1979
full circle now
sitting in the pleasant autumnal sunshine
with b. bouncer bouncing on mah knee
selling tat at the markets was never really my kinda thing
(mind you, there was loads of pot n stuff back there
in those days
so i m sorry to say i spent mosta the time
stoned behind a rack of clothes
freezing my ass off
and plotting how one day
in the far distant future
there would be a world wide web of computers
and that i would write my kinda memoirs
on a machine
instantly effortlessly
transmitted all round the world
in an instaneous flash
really
i was!
sk