detournement junkyard

One morning I woke up in a park somewhere in Barcelona and went jogging and stretching myself to get warm, and then I saw this man playing a flute. He wasn't trying to get any attention; actually he was just practising some scales. But the brass of his instrument shone in the exact same gold as the autumn leaves all aroud, gilded by the rising sun. I was just drifting back then, guided by whims of fate, on a sea of events that sometimes broke into storms full of danger. For a long time after that encounter however I felt I was as safe as I ever could be, sailing the berries he had played.


Since I hit the ground, stopped roaming and since I've worn a ring round my left ringfinger I've been doing a lot of cleaning. Literally it means I've tried to make my room comfortable by throwing out all useless junk - including my suitcase. Symbolically it means I try to stay clean of all that other junk, drugs - as represented by the mushroom.
All of this is necessary for me to resist the temptation to follow that flock of ever-moving-birds. I'll keep the curtains closed, and if a rat should enter to whisper of the pleasures outside, I'll claw him 'til he's quiet. This shall be the year of the unseen and unheard rat, meow!
I'll keep the candle burning for the sake of constancy and curl myself up to a ball in the warmth that I've found inside, on the lap of my beloved.