Quinten Surrepetitive

The gaze follows you, distractedly. At least you think so. The pinpricks in your neck tells you so. Sharing an unsaid understanding, limited by the bastards all around. Until the inevitable end. The moment before it falls apart. The seconds of doubt and trust. The will to survive. And then the gaze vaporizes, just as fleetingly. And there is nothing left. Nothing but a receding feeling, withdrawing inside, taillights glowing red until gone. The next awaits around the corner. No worry, the speed will not decrease, but, as time go by, a dull feeling rumbling. Sharing the moment but a bleak consolation, no longer as good.

He confused on a Tuesday. Wish I could say it was raining or something, to enhance the story. But it didn’t. It was another day at the job. We shall start to build utopia now. Please bring your working gloves. You can leave the glass jar by the door. We won't be needing that today. Now that the building has begun we are all busy anyway. The others are downstairs, Jan has a cold, but he came nevertheless. And when you are not looking he is sneezing. Gemma and Louie are depositing, I’m sure that’ll take them all day. I can’t imagine how it can drag out like that, or, actually, i can. It’s the whole see me thing all over again. Did you see the picture? They took it down now. With that flower in her hair she looked just like Billie Holiday in Cambodia, don’t you think? Course they had to take her down. The wall was all hollow. Not much to carry out. I saw it through to the end. Some tears fell, i don’t know if it was the dust setting, or sadness. I don’t know if it was me,

The entry ticket is not the key it used to be It is now a sign of trying to belong and a desperate move from someone trying to blend in. At Shinjaku station this will not work. Neither is it any more about being in the right place at the right time that one went out of fashion at the end of last century but it took some tome to catch on. No, i tell you, you must look elsewhere. but let me make it absolutely clear this is not some hookey pokey on caressing your inner self and open to the world this is just for the useful idiots to dote on the rest of us, we inhale calmly and get on with it.

Just go on, will you? All the nervous tics, they get to me. Do they get to you? Do you feel them? I will keep free your genocide. As long as the condescending tone goes. And lose those trousers while you’re at is. Just decide. and never look back.

The quick of a glance, pressure Of time, no cars in sight and all there is Beyond departure and belonging, shuffling feet The echo of sound, so deep the groove As day dissipates, Still the same joy, sparkling Committed to remember, enclosed With a point of departure the concentration needed, friends passed Ghost of nerveballs, in beat. Step after careful step. Building. Too simple. Fresh taste. Juicy bite. The Long Night.

T he smoke makes the air hazy, visible. Pickpocketing my attention. Just like that.

When Miles Davis made his Sketches of Spain he was high all the time.  I bet he didn’t think about the political situation in that country while he was sketching.  You could make the case his music transcends politics, and withers it away from the inside.  That the notes tear down the walls of isolation and evil grey. You could make this point.  You would be wrong.

Try to focus.  Look here.  No need. Lock the door.  It’s better with the lights off. Take it down.  Come here. Take it down.

It pisses me off. You know what I mean? The constant to-and-fro. The mimicking. The mediocrity. The shallow sages. Here they were, perfectly happy to waste it all. And you. What did YOU do about it? Me, I need to get it out. Me, I need to absorb it all. Please, don't keep me waiting. Let me know how you are dealing with it. You know the drill. Let it rip.