Sweet lips encrusted in sugar from the hot doughnuts at the steam fair.
Baked in the dusty sunshine of an August afternoon in North London.
I would roam these streets from childhood into adulthood,
Drinking £2,50 wine at bus stops only to get thrown out of the pub for illusionary bathroom shots
Our real crime? Being too young.

Since then, i have drunk Spanish manzanilla in an old tobacco store room
Transformed into a house where wafts of old book smell mingling with the scent of baked terra cotta and lemon trees sweeps down dark corridors revealing hidden gems of traveled souls.
Where there are streets that belong to Phoenician women , Arab traders , Christian crusaders and now the Spanish folk
All these names we go by , yet still human we stand

Up on roof tops, smoking sneaky roll ups to the elegance of storks
Building nests on church domes and castle walls
Monuments to remind the future
Graffiti on the natural landscape , the ruins read " we waz ere"

From shores of the Atlantic to shores of the Atlantic
Brooklyn rises
The night bus to eat pizza alarmed me
How were the buses so different ?
London's told you where you were
New York's Made you suss it out for yourself
In the company of a Father i hardly knew and the Mother of my new sibling
Child ,
Who will you become ?
Shaped by the contrast of your parents skin , your curled hair yet to emerge from fresh formed follicles
Rest easy ,
This world Ain't so harsh

I found God at the bottom of a bowl of noodles
Simply sitting there , lazing about as i licked my lips of the residual chillies and sugar
I deal in the order of paradoxes
Born by the sea only to grow up in the 'so called' luxury of the cities jungle
Although, resting now in the moon soaked mountain air ,
no city can compare, to the fragrance of flowers that bloom and scent only for those who brave the night

I used to be afraid of the dark ,
Now i make love with it.

don't let the transition become the permanent

can i use you?
just to transition to my permanent?
can you lead me to my future
be my present
just a hand to get me through

can i use you?
kiss me as i wait for my prince
distract me from this heartache i'm running from

You can use me too ya know
I'll give you tenderness
when the world is too rough on you
I'll give you erotica
when you've become bored

I just wanna use and be used.

that the world was ending
there were explosions in the sky and everyone was feantic
but me
very unlike me
to be afraid of death
was afraid.

for years
i have tempted death
whispered him sweet nothings
flirting
but in my dream
i seemed to want nothing to do with him.

in my dream
i was frustrated that the world was ending at a time i thought unsuitable
because i was happy,
fulfilled.
i find this funny because
for years
i have wished the world to implode around me
for everything to cease to exist
sixteen days.
a dream about the world ending
i’m told represents a major transition
or life changing event.
your life, as you currently know it, coming to an end.
maybe these years
of tempting death and cursing the world
are coming to an end.

I sit in an ocean of empty Budweiser bottles,
Upon an island of Johnnie Walker Blue,
Mind flittering  through topics,
Whilst Steve Martin rocks the banjo,
Pickin' those old folk tunes.

I'm in a happy spot,
Between buzzed and blitzed,
That place you can only get to on a summer evening,
Or perhaps a bachelor party or two.

But listen to me ramble,
Please,
Come and take a seat,
Your dogs must be barking,
Would you like a cig?
Or perhaps a drink?

If it's neither that's no matter,
It's the company that keeps,
Just ignore my rambling when it crops up,
Treat it like a bad **** on a spring breeze.

You remember old cartoons?
What care and expertise.
Every cell hand drawn,
Fufilling every child's entertainment needs.

But what of old television programming?
What the hell happened to MTV?
Just give me my music videos and rock music,
Even if you can only go as far back as 2003.

Oops,
I'm doing it again,
How embarrassing,
Just a tipsy old fool,
Remember,
A **** on the spring breeze.

But seriously,
What about Vault?
Saturday morning cartoons?
Products as seen on tv?
Cha-cha-cha-chia?
Myspace?
Zines?

Perhaps you don't know what all those are,
Too young to remember the scene,
Of ska, skateboards, roller derbies,
Of Cribs, **** my ride, skating videos, and terrible tv.

Remember it all,
Those strange years,
Young and transitionary.

I remember it all,
Those strange, strange years,
Back in 2003.