posted on August 17, 2007 at 8:45 pm

in my dream
im touring nz again
i turn up somewhere
struggle to play my twisted music
my music thats stillborn as the 1st note hits the air
leaving the crowd puzzled and deadpan
my non guitar that warps and curls
my 12 no my 53 string guitar
the strings are all independently doing their own things
the frets are moving or like insurmountable train tracks
nothings in tune
nothings gonna stay that way
i exit the gig
my wifes with me
carrying something and looking concerned
fuck no! i scream n wail
outside in some frozen windy alaskan street scene
theyve stolen the fucking falcon!
my wife looks on sadly but saying nothing
in this bleak empty night street
an empty spot where the falcon once parked
it wasnt much
*but it was mine*
i’m wrestling some memory here
some memory of how my car was stolen
over n over again
in some parallel dream
and i angrily realise that they did it
always bloody them
those plotters n debtors n creditors
those olde enemies of the playground
and the scene
backstage backstabbers
mollified molls n oldstyle bodgies
the guys who worked with my father
who didnt understand me
the characters i’d met in books
who put my teeth on edge
a great conspiracy of ill wishing clowns
followin’ me around
now they stole my falcon in my dream
outside a long deserted gig
in the middle of the west island of nz
in this raining sleeting street
with my wife who says nothing
but looks on with deep pity
and concern
as i tear myself apart in anguish
a vision comes to me of them
stealing my falcon while i was inside playing
of course i scream wordlessly at my wife
they knew where i would be
she nods sadly like im just raving now
i see them stealing the car and laughing
swarming all over it like termites in a beam
the falcon starts up reluctantly for them
they force it to…..and it revs up angrily
as they all drive away in it
laughing themselves stupid
i can see them
i can hear them
i am in the car among them
as they speed away somewhere secret
where i’ll never see my falcon again
somewhere in nz or even further
but i understand their malice towards me
every little drop of wrath that each one sweats
in the freezing night of my dream
it all makes perfect sense to me
i never stop to say
hang on a minute
back outside the gig
the falcon is mostly gone
but shimmering tantalisingly like a mirage
returning briefly to fool me
each time this happens
my misery seems to redouble
and then
i open my eyes
in the grey light of early dawn
ive been struggling for aeons
im worn out by my anguish
i see wife and baby asleep
but feel as if i must have disturbed them
i feel now that i was mumbling and thrashing about
and they only just slept thru it by a micron
and the theft of the car is still hitting me
but the internal logic of the dream melts
as i wake more and more
yet in that dream
i had been so firmly convinced
that i was i
never thinking i was a man asleep in a bed
i was so sure it was me
and it was all happening
i never would have dreamed it was a dream
that is how this life will seem when its over i wager
you are so sure of the rock solid solidity of your world
but what do you really remember
how far back do your memories go
is it any wonder
we cannot recall
our other lives

58 Responses to “the solid book we wrote cannot be found today”

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