Sunday morning arrival1: Slip-laneAnimated snapshots of the night beforewhere detours were made in logic.The roads there, were un-governed by fearand ego notched up a ten.2 :ArrivalThe whole world is alive but someone's pressed muteas a cotton steamroller passes gently over me.The dry smoky taste of awarenessclocks in for its shift.3 ecisionA thousand yard gaze gets a fix on stability.Where time and rationality park.But there's gridlock here in sanitywhere all by-passes funnel into one.4 :EntranceGo through the motionsjust lock up and forget.Barely holding my own attentionI walk through automatic doors.
Julia's RoomHere.Here is her room.Here is where I first met her. Cold blue eyes above shining cheeks with a diamond cut smile.Here is where everyone who was anyone passed their day. Her Mothers house, a playground of laughing debauchery.Here is where her mother would stand. "Is she in?" Her head turned in silence in an open doorway, mine bowed in shameful respect as I enter.Here is where we used to sit for hours, guessing the lives of strangers as they passed by below. Grey slates covered in spit.Here is where bottles of sherry and tonic wine were swallowed....videogames, techno beats and the smell of sweet intoxicating smoke.Here is where her mother would stand; knocking politely, fearful of the room full of nicknames.Here is where she almost killed her mother. A blue strangled face in the bosom of her child. Don't call the police.... never call the police.Here is where we always were. Night and day colliding, merging into one. Your mind was never your own. Filled b