My head feels tight and I'm angry--cause unknown when in doubt--pass out. As you know, being a deep grownup guy with a sensitivity that envelops painfully the global trauma. It is, in those short moments before donning your twin dorsaled wet suit and adding your contribution to the shark infested waters, that offers of spare beds on the other side of the world evoke feelings similar to that of a lone maternal post apocalyptic historys major sifting through a newly rubbled city and finding a still functioning sperm bank with tubes labelled Einstein, Chaplin, Zappa. Apart from those of us who have to exist via subsistence grain handouts We all exist in a state of dreams, What we are and what the world is, is a collective hallucination brought on by an excess of nutrients. Having realised this I try to sleep as much as possible. Giving meat to the metaphor, sacrificing nothing but the dreams of others.
Spiralling Down
The fabric of life
The fabric of life
The fabric of life
The fabric of life © MARTIN EWEN 1998 |