Light Fountain

In the surreal landscape of the light gate -or should that be dreamscape - there's probably scope for a water feature.

How about this? If you're going to have gates of glass built on shafts of light - which I figure is my metaphor for the imprisonment of light/good/love and half a dozen positive things - then what about a fountain made of light. It would surely be a spectacular thing. Once you've opened the light gate, and the light opens up, it could be chanelled into something beautiful. A crystal fountain that spurts out light.

Hang on. I could be onto a genial metaphorical starting point for something rather poetically brilliant, which is simultaneously daft enough - for you cynics out there - to allow myself to keep the uncertain balance of 'have I hit a nail on the head, or am I just exceptionally deluded'.
Joking aside - water features??? to BBC-fucking-2 for me. Maybe I can slot these metaphors in together and come up with something of a new creative project. Or maybe I should dust off the lyrics to 'The Reverend Dave and the Unholy Rave' off, surely the greatest rock musical spectacular never to be completed since Spinal Tap's 'Lusty Jack'. Maybe Dave needs a water feature at his vicarage. I'd forgotten about Rev. Dave until I told a graceful moving girl about it at a rave on New Year's Eve in Stonebridge Park...can't remember quite how she moved so gracefully...she must have been taking superb drugs.

What an extraodinarily self-abusive blog that was that I wrote yesterday. Did I write that? And 'no'! I wasn't drunk when I wrote it. But I did feel like I was crashing, and to be honest, I'm not exactly grinning like a Cheshire Cat today either.

Still though...didn't I ask for some grace yesterday? Did I get any?

Yes, actually. I made a phonecall and had a chat with Ems and Stu. Ems is an old friend of mine from Uni, and Stuart is her fella. They seem to have a lot of faith in me, I won't go into the details about what they do with their lives, but . Things felt a lot brighter afterward. Despite that I'm still convinced that I'm a spiritually ungrateful bastard and a shocking underacheiver.
Anyway, after being told -without asking -that I am apparently destined for great things...I went home. Watched Empire of the Sun and cried my eyes out as young Jim Graham (aka Christian Bale aged 12) sees the atom bomb and finally gets reunited with his parents after the war. The screenplay was written by Tom Stoppard, who apparently, I look like without a beard and maybe one day will be if not as talented or famous, almost certainly richer.
Then I watched Julian Temple's Glastonbury movie, and started to choke again, when they put up those fucking fences and evil bastard looking security guards - I once was one of them - acted like the Stasi meets the S.A. In the words of a hippy at the Isle of Wight Festival 1970...with the fences up, it resembled 'a psychedelic concentration camp'.

So, there you have it. That's where I'm at. I'm struggling to find somewhere to live, and money to pay for it. I seem to be lacking clarity on lots of small issues, that are like pin pricks in my neck at the moment.

Right now, I am in two minds as how to best cope with it. One mind thinks find distractions, and the other, along the same lines, thinks drink a lot. Pretty fucking ineffective.
I seem to be holding a lot of people in contempt today.

I went to the Roundhouse yesterday, drank a pint, listened to Saucerful of Secrets and mourned Syd. What a star he was...in the true cosmic sense, and not some L.A/Hollywood bullshit.

I'm off now to be listless for a while, to try and forget some problems, and ignore my own mediocrity until someone tries to engage me in a discussion.

Tom.