A Radiohead in the Rainbows of Toy Town
“Because I know today has been, the most perfect day I’ve ever seen”
“Meanwhile, my room at the Seal Rock Inn is filling up with people who seem on the verge of hysteria at the sight of me still sitting here wasting time on a rambling introduction, with the final chapter still unwritten and the presses scheduled to start rolling in twenty-four hours…but unless somebody shows up pretty soon with extremely powerful speed, there might not be any final Chapter. About four fingers of King Hell Crank would do the trick, but I am not optimistic. There is a definite scarcity of genuine, high voltage Crank on the market these days — and according to recent statements by official spokesmen for the Justice Department in Washington, that’s solid evidence of progress in Our War Against Dangerous Drugs.
Well…thank Jesus for that. I was beginning to think we were never going to put the arm on that crowd. But the people in Washington say we’re finally making progress. And if anybody should know, it’s them. So maybe this country’s about to get back on the Right Track”.
HST
Sunday, January 28th 1973
San Francisco, Seal Rock Inn
(from the introduction to “Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail 72” by Hunter S Thompson)
“Looks like we’re about to burst your bubble of peace and quiet mate!” and he, or rather they, did, eventually. It took 45 minutes for the gaggle of families and now my nearest neighbours in the public park to enjoy their picnic breakfast before if not central, I was certainly now on the near side periphery of two games of football (one English, the other American) and though I was still giggling away at the writing of Hunter S Thompson and being a trifle stoned, the screams of rampaging children not playing football brought an eventual end to my late morning shenanigans as I chased the sun in vain, and all day long too.
None of which really mattered as I sat upon “Beth’s Bench” for the majority of an afternoon filled with so many smiles and so much laughter, all within a tiny piece of the River Severn overflowing with ducks and two swans (named Fred and Mary), a host of dogs throwing themselves like lunatics into the river and children of all ages revelling in the simple beauty of feeding some noisily hungry ducks. The bench itself is a few feet above ground or even river level, affording you a grandstand view of the beauty of the human family before you. The naming of the bench may or may not be in deference to an Irish/English firebrand who loved me deeply for all the wrong reasons and of our drunken nights sat upon this bench as the moon dipped behind the trees across the river and on those special, special nights, you could hear the owl song emanating sweetly all night long. But we don’t have time for the question of whether owls sing or indeed for a tale of heartbreak or even evenings in the harbours of the rich and semi-famous of Marbella or the seafood restaurant on the harbour side and the shoals of fish merrily snaking their way between multi million pound yachts or being in charge of polishing the moulded creations of Salvador Dali in an art gallery beside the canal in England’s “Second City”.
We don’t have the time for that story.
Not today.
I broke my own fourth wall on reality today by posting some rambling musings on Twitter that amused me if no-one else. I rarely plug into The Matrix when I’m enjoying that strange concept we all agree upon called “Real Life” but I soon tired of my own jokes and observations and fell back upon the writing breast of the best, giggling like a fool on the hill as the sun refused to shine and the eyes in my head, saw the world spinning round.
Thanks for reading. For more well meaning if inane gibberish, here’s one I prepared in late March of this year:
Thanks for reading. I hope this message in a bottle in The Matrix finds you well, prospering, and the right way up in an upside down world.