LOST MY TOUCH

LOST MY TOUCH

I read Luries expose not too long ago and its funny you know how things hit you impressions really they are and btw when I say read I really mean skim because I was never one who reads for pleasure much it’s always something else can you dig? But it’s an intimate bit and how could I get sucked into its vortex right? And the man’s got a true determination that the best of us should be envious of and I mean that sincerely and I can’t don’t care about the rest. And truthfully how can I resist comparing Luries odd naked exposed obsession to my own I mean one just doesn’t randomly put a record on and think hey I’m going to really be into this and start showing up to gigs wandering around out of ones mind in this state of half-limbo half-nirvana bardo – because there’s something more opaque to this all. And its only when one recognizes this similarity in attempt to see through it, you’ve discovered it and certainly if your reading this you’ve seen it all before, right? So back to Laurie I keep skimming his book putting it down picking it up reading a few paragraphs… hmmm… hmmm… what about that… Marty said, what… geeze what a funny haircut… and out of all these impressions one is helpless to form opinions and observations and naturally there’s a few what the fucks but hey you gotta crush all your expectations to read something like this and keep crushing until the faintest your recollection has risen to the surface and drifts away… lets give credit where credit is due but for the rest there’s no accounting for taste is there especially when all these divergent opinions, alternate endings, parallel universes are a dime a dozen. And I keep reading and eventually disparity finds me (shuffle on an IPOD is a space-time continuum) all the while my higher-self prompting me to keep asking is all this inevitable as it is necessary? So while I am helpless to alter what’s been said before let me offer my own comparison. Wasn’t it Deborah Harry who actually first introduced this semi-iambic pentameter in her ballad RAPTURE (be pure) go out to the parking and get in your car and drive real far and drive all night until you see a light and the light comes down and lands on the ground and out comes the man from mars he’s got a gun you try to run but he shots you dead and eats your head and now your in the man from mars similar painted I thought by Kilbey was Lost My Touch the Baudelairian epic of SA playing like a sacred hymn of a secret Rosicrucian sect you laugh, you laugh (is this finally the irony of self delusion?) you can’t get the staff (the wand the symbol of personal effervescence that somehow remains out of reach, but why…what have I done to deserve this?) hold on to the raft (imagery of Dante and Virgule and the river Styx) It’s my craft (Indeed it is) It’s finished. Kuput. Fineto Beneto (but that as just another expectation waiting to be crush now isn’t it) gone for song like old Hong Kong (and it certainly was) its past time its meantime all over in between time its like Halloween time (and it certainly is…)

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