06:30 in the evening. Four cups of coffee down. Reports sent. It is dark outside and my clothes smell of incense. I brought this pack in Kalk Bay – why haven’t I been back there for so long? I can imagine sitting at the Brass Bell right now…the waves angry and frantic – it must be freezing and dramatically gloomy that side of the world – I must go back soon. The incense promises happiness…I am avoiding the red wine with its guaranteed delivery of joy and numbness – because I know the upward climb in the morning will be filled with sad and frustrated demons, clawing their way through resolve and good intentions.
Fine line between love and hate they say. What the hell is that actually supposed to mean? Is it because they are equally as powerful in the emotions they evoke? Because I feel that way about the weather – love how it makes me feel, the thoughts, the wistfulness, the provocation and seduction of nostalgia. Yet I also know that there will come a time when my head is too full. That I may retreat and no amount of incense and red wine will be able to serve as an antidote.
There is a great amount of chatter around me, to drown out the sounds – I have Nick Cave in my ears – Red Right Hand. It’s all good. Meaningless.
He’ll rekindle all the dreams
it took you a lifetime to destroy
He’ll reach deep into the hole,
heal your shrinking soul
But there won’t be a single thing
That you can do.
He’s a god, he’s a man,
he’s a ghost, he’s a guru
They’re whispering his name
through this disappearing land
But hidden in his coat
is a red right hand