Another sleepless night

I'd almost forgotten that I had a blog. There certainly hasn't been much motorcycle action of late, well the last year really. Dark circumstance has overtaken my waking hours, no bikes to speak of just sedentary desolation.

I've always scribbled on a reasonably regular basis, mainly about bikes, mainly because they have been a constant throughout my working life.

When I had no bikes and the dredds gripped my soul and squeezed my heart, only wine, the keyboard and a whimsical semi autobiographical tale about a sentient statue I have been constructing in my head kept me alive.
I vowed to vanity publish this collection of vignettes one day. I've written fifteen, this will form the basis of the next one. It's incomplete as I have not yet weaved in the Statue or in fact much of it into the story/plot.

Friends are kind, they tell me my writing is good. (I have my doubts)but as I haven't put anything on this for practically a year, I thought I'd create some space and then fill it up with some dark vision or two.

I'm desperate to finish but can't concentrate at the moment, been looking for a filip for months to kick start the next page or two. This could be it. Amazing what pictures worry, anxiety, bitterness and loss can do for the mind.

It was just a dream, ('cept it was a powerful one.)

Psycoanalysts requiring patients sign up here. What does it all mean..... crumbs!!!!

Goths, EMO's and lost children of the night read on.


A dream whilst enduring another sleepless night.




Pushing through dense woodland, tightly packed, akin to mangrove. Broad trunked and saplings alike forming a formidable barrier to progress. It’s not that the progress is hard , though it isn’t effortless either, it’s just that progress is slow.

I can’t remember entering the woodland mangrove forest. It’s remarkable by its clean monochromatic aspect, all greys and blacks and silvers and smoke, no other colours to bleed chaos into the symmetry of shades in evidence before me.
I don’t know how long I have been walking. It could be days. I’m not tired or hungry, I am not apprehensive, I am just pushing steadily through the dense wood, Where to I don’t know. I rack my brains.

When I look up I see the leaveless upper boughs poking into the metallic graphite sky, all black, all crooked, skeletal. Should I see meaning in this?

I see the shadow of the great black bird. It shimmers fast but purposefully across a screen of trees ahead. I wonder how I have seen this, the trees are so tightly packed. Nevertheless I did see it and I saw it clearly.

I look up through the bony screen of upper boughs again. Those accusatory fingers, some pointing some imploring to the graphite sky. The smooth, unblemished, airbrushed sky, almost lit from behind in the absence of perhaps a chrome sun or silvern moonlight.

My only view of the sky is a narrow circle above and slightly to the front of me, I see no great black bird wheeling around. I look down and see the shadow once more.
I push forward again curious, should I follow the smoky silhouette as it shimmers in black against the black trees ahead?

Where to giant Corbett? Illusory Albatross?

There is no wind, not a breath, no leaves to sussurate. No wind, that cannot be! The wind is always somewhere.
There is no sound, not a twig cracked underfoot no protestation from the trees as I pass through. I can only hear myself breathing from inside, the tree’s are absorbing sound.
I and the shadow are alone

The only sign of life are the trees (I can’t tell if they are dead or alive, I surmise that they are dead as there is no foliage or fall from them).
The trees could be stone, smooth stone.
How could I push past stone? How could I push through a wood as dense as this with no snags, no briars. They cannot be stone. They are however ageless, they’ve always been like this, this place has always been here. How did I get here? Still following the Raven.

How much time has passed? I don’t recall. No sunset, no sunrise, no variation of temperature, still no wind, still walking, pushing through the mangrove.

I have no shadow, the bird has flown on ahead or dissipated between the trees.
Still walking with only the space inside to think. No real room outside of me.
Just me, the trees and the sky now. Still walking, wandering, wondering.

DT 30/09/09