Are the vistas of my mind a twisted labyrinth of death valleys, dark caverns ruminated by brittle skulls phantasms and ruin? At times, it seems that way,and yet so incongruous today was the flash of the surface reality.
I guess I spend so much time in my head, that the palms and warm salt air of Pacific Beach seemed like some sort of Epsom salt to the congested warehouses of my mind. Whilst the rest of the world freezes beneath the third Ice Age, I spent my morning, killing time on the way to see a client, sketching through crinkled eyelids at the sun. The legion of honey skinned girls riding beach cruisers on the boardwalk, or walking rats on a leash. The old queens aging disgracefully on roller blades-it all seemed so reassuringly, superficially normal. I do not take enough time just to be.
Talking of brains that hurt like a warehouse, this geezer turned 63 today. For thirty years, he's been the soundtrack and aesthetic yardstick of my life, and although these days he's probably best known as that old bloke who stole 'the Man who sold the world' from Kurt Cobain, he also made some of the most influential and groundbreaking music that shifted the soundscape of contemporary rock forever. Mssrs Gaga & Lambert would not be a blip on the radar without this guy. Here's a little known nugget from the sixties, written whilst Ziggy was still in utero called 'Conversation Piece'