Shoe

Cerebral grafitti

Tagging a train of thought.

Jim Carroll

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/27/fashion/27Cover.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&hpw

Polanski, Orson Welles and cheese

So the Swiss have seen fit to arrest Roman Polanski on a 31 year old US warrant.

Would they be the same Swiss who have been protecting, and profiting from, Nazi war criminals as well as genocidal dictators for decades?

Orson gave me a swiss cuckoo clock when I helped him get over his vertigo for the big wheel scene in the Third Man. That bloody clock broke after three weeks.

Swiss cheese is tasteless drab and a waste of space.

Sums up the Swiss in general...

Bed bound with Ginsberg.

I am bed-bound.


My back, already twingeing for days, finally seized up in the night; it is too painful to move, or to cough, or to roll into another position.

Fortunately I have, beside the bed a bottle of Perrier water and a Kilo of dates. Unfortunately I have, beside the bed Allen Ginsberg's journals(1954-1958).

It is a perfect autumn day and the bed is perfectly still and I have all the time in the world to think of times past when the same bed would rock with laughter, with joy. Or would rock like a schooner at anchor in a long easy swell.

I have no muse here to nurse me or nurse here to bemuse me.

The perfect occasion to write an Haiku on stillness and calm.

I cannot reach pen and paper.

Under the westway carnival monday

Portobello Road...

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh417o3OGfe38cdXt0d4PoLus4BvYYGKUt1q91BZIT-qzUUGiD3sp6pfuJYoPC7TLP02BQ6NHF2sPgE22Ojbib1Yu5U3ezPkRAaOncvi7KUeE-Hz4OaNwu54rO7QwVXNTXvD9m4u7SvHc8/s1600-h/Picture+2.png

Lost shoes, Heads and penny loafers.

'Heads' writes:
Two shoes lost in the Herault, surely a pair!

Funnily enough one was a blue espadrille bought on impulse but much too large, the other a penny loafer, well polished, that I stole from a ships captain for the penny. In fact I didn'y lose the shoe, I threw it off the bridge to hide the evidence.

I gave the penny to a beggar with a bloodied and bandaged child... She had borrowed the child from an agency that specialised in that kind of thing.

She put the penny towards buying a shoe from her one legged husband.

I should have just given her the shoe.

I didn't Know.

Stalked

I am being stalked by the coolhunter
How cool is that

She is good
she frightens death
and chills out hell

She can stalk in high summer
without working up a sweat
she can stalk on the ice pack
invisibly
while casually clubbing seal cubs

She can stalk you at truck stops
at Soho house
she is just too cool to be noticed.

Except by Phil Spector

And she dealt with him.

Bridges I have lost shoes from. No.4

Angling

The muse has gone
Leaving me nothing but a tin opener
And a can of worms.

Opening the can
I take up the fattest, juiciest .
Snag it on my gaudy hook.

Trawl it.

Trawl it through the bars
Trawl it through the clubs
Trawl it through the pubs
Of Notting Hill
Trot it down Portobello road
Tesco disco
The Globe
Finches
Electric
Ravenous
Mau Mau
The Star
The Gold

Patiently angling for the muse.
　

Smoothie for a lost weekend.and its side effects.

Rusty came round for a beer. We skirted the subject of nurse.

With nothing else in common we got to talking about food. Rusty mentioned the smoothie for a lost weekend.
I asked about that.
He replied that it contained 15 kinds of fruit, a pint of yogurt, a pint of milk, some honey as well as concentrated multivitamin powder. It makes about half a gallon; difficult to get down but once you got it inside it was your 'five a day' for three days.
Enough time to get lost.
Lost in what? I said.
Oh heck anything; Fishing for that fabled carp, learning tap dancing, a sexual binge or even getting drunk in bars.

And what do you do during the lost weekend. I asked.

I stay pretty close to the lavatory. He said.

Rusty, I said, Rusty I am too old for exciting bowel movements.

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/30887/yogurt_smoothie_recipe.html