Your shilling ran out years ago you know

A man told me once, that sometimes animals die upstream, and as they rot, poison flows downwards.
I replied: I am the animal and the stream; no water can harm me that comes from the soul.
Some poisons you can’t see though…
You are too worried; go take a nice hot bath, and throw in a couple of whatever you’ve got stashed and I’ll meet you in a moment later when we meet.

https://www.stage32.com/media/1919968469617486369?ref=search&autoplay=1

My eyes are going cross-eyed and I’m stumbling downwards towards doom here.
I could tell you something about that, but, right at this minute I would say: get the hell out of there.
You say you’ve been here before?
Cor blimey, it’s the British what done it.
Done what?
Well, glued me in the paste to the wall of course.
You’ve lost me.
Come by here late any night and I’ll tell you a story.
What, for: jazz all day, and my café at dawn?
It’s where we get to hear the story, that’s all.
Sure you can tell your story, if that’s what you really want.

Before we go any further into this, I just have to know: how much does it pay?
Well, a shilling for your troubles of course.
And who is it that I am talking to?
I’m working on that as we speak.
That’s weird.
You’re god damned right it is.
Are you by any chance religious?
I am of where I am made.
And that would be?
I can’t help thinking of Sardinia, but that might just be me thinking of somewhere nice.
I think we are being followed.
And who would follow us?
The ghosts.
What ghosts?
The ghosts of all we’ve forgotten.

Now listen to me, I’ve got something to say: your shilling ran out years ago when you didn’t put it in the meter.
What’s that got to do with it?
Everything, if you can’t see out of the window.
It’s a misty window.
That’s no excuse.
Say something helpful then.
I’d give you a clue, but I’m not sure it would work.
I’m feeling pressure here.
Ah, the build up into the isolated feelings; you know, if we all isolated our feelings I guess we’d be stuck somewhere not nice wherever we were.
Did I ever tell you about the owl I met one night, out in the storm as it blew crazy at me?
No, I think I missed that one.
It went like this: as the storm swirled around me I became the mist…
But I too am the mist.

And the wind blew.
I am the wind.
So you will blow around me then?
I blow where I want.
And what do you want?
I’ve forgotten what it is.
Do you have no clue at all?
I feel to float downstream, sometimes.
Well, there’s not that many left who want to go upstream; but they pull all the strings, it is feared.
Ultimately, there are no strings, only choice and that which makes you move from the heart.
So you are Buddha now?

I am going back to the roots where it is perfectly possible to be me again, without any shades of suffering learnt along the way; but first I must talk myself down through all the layers…
A sardine sandwich, anyone, while we wait?
I have a clue.
And what would that be then?
You are always trying to sell me something.
You become old when you can’t slip the lip anymore you know.
I didn’t know that.
Just keep breathing, you’ll be all right.
15 forgotten wine jars later:
I must come up for air soon, and I think my beard’s growing too fast.
Didn’t I tell you to breathe?
You tell me so many things; it’s hard to remember them all.
When your breath is on fire, you’ll remember.
There you go again.
What? What did I say?
You didn’t hear yourself?
Well, I was talking to you.
I guess it’s almost time for a story…

A CHANCE MEETING

My totem animal came to me one time, on some lonely mountain in another stormy night, lot of snow falling, around the time I went outside to die.
As I stood there about to jump off, along came this huge owl and landed above me, and stared down on me like a king of something.
It stared in my face, and saw me; and then I could not go anywhere, but back inside...
Later, when the planets converged, I became compulsive, and hoped on a plane that flew off around the world
(...and of course, I came back for the piano and the huge...)
Around about a quarter past eleven the next day a letter came in the post: it was a plain letter, rounded out by the rain and the dust that called my name.

Opening it I found all these words staring at me as if I was some kind of ghost to them, and that’s when I blinked, and blinking away I read them all, one by one…
Inside the back of my face where the mushrooms grew, was a place I’d barely found; it belonged to the dragons and the nameless demons from hell.
I of course wanted to kick them out, but what the hell, they paid the rent, and who was I to make waves?
This gave rise to other things that went on in my mind as an absolute truth I couldn’t deal with just then; so I went outside for a smoke.
6 feet into the smoke I came across a sign that said: is it question time yet?
I took out my trumpet and blew a sound that made a whimper, and made up my mind to do away with whatever it was that was bringing me down so far I can never see bottom.
After the smoke I went back inside and put on my raincoat, just in case some cloud came over and rained on me, and thought: whatever next?
This is not to say that there is no wisdom, and I really don’t want to be obtuse, but…
Oh please do shut up now.
Have I not made up this moment before then to bring the lights low?
So do it already.
Do you really want it like that?
However you please.
If only I could improve the plot a moment, to sharpen it up like.
Take all the time you need.
Sorry, but there’s not enough of me left to steal a cake this time of night.
Well then, go forth and fasten on to the first thing that takes your fancy.
Thank you, I will. Good night.
Good night.

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