About a nice cool shower on a muggy day.
I'm sitting here with The Beatles gently plucking their way through Blackbird, the sun is sinking low in the sky, shafts of sunlight are slicing their way through the clouds and making their way towards the ground like stairways to The Other Place. "Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly, all your life you were only waiting for this moment to arrive."
There's a joint in the ashtray, the blue smoke dancing in the slight breeze coming from the open window and an inner peace settles over me. I look to the picture I took of Abbey Road on my mantelpiece and drift into the song. All is calm in the Kingdom of the Grand Whazoo.
The music changes to Snow Patrol's lament How to be Dead. "Baby let me explain something, it's all down to drugs. At least I remember taking them and not a lot else." The thought strikes me that this line could describe me. Then the paranoid thoughts begin. "Perhaps all matter is a singular consciousness..." A strange voice in my head whispers. "It's just a song. It doesn't hold any significance to your life per se, it's just something that your drug induced mind has created." Another voice says.
"Fuck off." I say aloud, awaiting a reply of some kind. None is forthcoming.
2 comments:
That's the thing about dope you can end up with all the voices having an argument in your head and you still can't get a word in edgewise...
Graham is onto something there! More fiah!
L
x
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