There’s
something purely magical in the wail of a siren screaming by an open
window in a bad neighbourhood, after
midnight, with a warm humid air blowing through with a light sheen of
sweat and an empty stomach…just an old thin white t-shirt sticking
to my bony frame…what is that hypnotic howl? Is it the near death
feeling of being on the verge of starvation and madness? Whatever it
is it produces a lucidity of earthy browns, fat refreshing drops of
rain, mud running between the toes…some people are addicted to
dreams…I can’t wait for tomorrow, that’s what’s wrong with my
today…