Hidden

Living within the hidden forms and raised walls is a recipe for disaster. These hidden layers often reach up in unexpected ways, curling around feet and loose clothing before yanking hard, pulling you to the ground. Navigating between the forms was my life’s work, navigating my way towards the centre, slipping between walls and beneath falling fronds dripping with a temporal dew to find the place psyche.

I found myself often trapped in ways unknown to myself, locked between reality, one wall forming a house, another an overgrown garden hedge. Despite being locked in place, the tightness left me feeling safe, secure in my inability, unability, to move a single muscle. And now the walls closed in.

The sky above was a deep flickering orange broken only by the purple hole of the sun. I stare into it as it grows slowly smaller, like someone slowly drawing curtains across an open doorway, and smile. The ground under me flickers with the same staccato orange hue and seems to fall endlessly down beneath the soles of my feet.

Looking back along the closing gap I saw a new set of in-between spaces, hidden world spaces that held the psychology of the city. With the last of my will I squeezed and slithered, wiggling my way through the closing hole and into new pathways, fresh under the moonlight.

Song Whilst Writing

·         Live 1977-1979 – Teenage Jesus and the Jerks