Stop, wait a minute… put a little boom in it.

Wrote this while listening to this.

Vancouver is gorgeous, squished between the ocean and the mountains. The sunlight is brighter here and in the evening the clouds come down and surround you in this purple mist.
That’s how it feels anyway.
I usually take random walks down random neighborhoods or these small hiking paths that have made their way into the mountains. There’s a view from everywhere and it looks amazing every time I manage to climb someplace high.
Right now I’m looking for an apartment filled with my kind of bohemians. And a job, because I’ve been told that money is important.
Lots of poetry writing. There aren’t too many people like there were in London and usually you can find an empty bench next to the sea or a half-empty park filled with those high-reaching North American trees. Cute little Japanese girls running by or some angel-headed hipsters with beards to match.
The last 4 years I’ve been kind of a “sucker in the void”, gave way too much of myself away to someone who didn’t even notice and hence didn’t deserve it. So now, I’m feeling a sense of rejuvenation. Towards myself and my talents. And that’s great. And being here in Vancouver is a big part of it. There’s a sense of “new” here, that isn’t in London or Europe. The feeling that you can start something completely original and creative, a sense of beginnings that I never felt in Europe.

I think I’ll write good poetry here.

In fact, here’s one:

The moon

The thin wild mercury sound
silver light everlasting
the mooooooon
the moon
needing him as much as he needs you

the moon
night after night
eating endless nightmares
chained to the sky on an endless ride
smashed and battered for a millennia
I look at you from the bridge from somewhere
from the fire escape
yelling fire
towards your lonesome plain face
lonely and wished up and washed up
the smoky ideas of my own
weird, lonesome thoughts towards you
god I’m lonely
with a bottle of sweethearts in my hand
typing everything in my tiny little hands
pushing the tiny little typewriters
towards unemployment
the moon
your light shines on me
like sudden phosphorus
the moon
I’m burned by the shrieks of small
little suburban street kids
playing and singing
burned by the sudden flashing mouths
of dreams I’ve never had and the juxtaposition
of the moon like a madman
beating on me in a ghostly
weird jazz drumming beat
cry that shivers down to
the ultimate border of life
the moon
your love is power and fate
and cloudless
lights biting the sky
the endlessness of
all around me

I’m innocent
the moon
with a thousand convicts
mad and singing the revolution
without a single drop of blood shed
somewhere around me
the absence of blood and revolution
dripping of nothing in front of the
girls I’ve dripped off
and given up like a sad
sad tale of an angel
ink running up your wrist
writing the groan of a sad
inexcusable 50 something years
I have in front of me
the disappointment
that the moon shines upon
forgiveness I have not
for me
why would I?
it means nothing…
a spontaneous knowing of crying
for humans
that have walked the same
small gravel roads that you have
but sped away
an amnesia of icy vibrating
dual images of speechless
unknown times that you have been
butchered out like a wolf
forgotten outside the soul

I stand lonely
with craziness and soul and
the strange wide waking of my own mind
where am I?
I ask amidst a thousand doors
everywhere a thousand
the bars a thousand
the girls a thousand
years a thousand
I saw it all
I was waving to the stars
to the sound of sirens in the sky
There must be more than me
better than me
rowing towards the angels
of the night
the cities of whatever-eyes
popping like nuclear bombs
towards me in alleyways
what are you?
where are you going?
I’ve been to London
and the drowning platonic humans
that hang upon the reality like the
vomit on snow never to leave

find me the small-town angels
with twitching eyebrows
wondrous actors
swimming in the rain
working the water off
thinking the same thoughts
laying in their own room
with some crazy music
and gloom wonder of the world
and the light and the way the light
jumps off every time
I feel so twisted and turned around
The moooooon
the moon
high up in the sky
like insanity of
The moon
give me a way to look at you
without the icy vibration
of the images of you
I want you
You are me, surely
you are me
the moon
shivering towards me like
a poem of a chord
shivering towards me
like the standing endless
what am I
against you, the moon?

The moon
for a second
the moon
I am you
with lights everywhere
god, the moon, invincible
I want you the moon
where you, bright eyed, bang
on the insanity of my own mind
I am you
the grey of the heavens

I am you
every day
the moon
every day, the moon
I am the way you think
tears in towards the idea
of a moon

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