CIVILISATION
McDowell Colony New Hampshire
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Winter
The island of light shone in the distance like a mirage waiting for the lonely traveller to beat a path to its illuminated signs that seduced ones eyes far distant across the wasteland.
Strange sounds emitted from the monuments of colour and light, was this a sense of belonging to a city, or was it a cacophony that was a mask on the fact there was little there, a ghost city inhabited by shadows that were blown in the wind in various distorted shapes.
A city of the empty soul.
Inside the copy of the stone Swiss chapel, on the altar. stood a paper stonehenge that was hollow apart from fans blowing air through its body, to keep upright the empty sandwich bags.
Accompanied by the all consuming spider that munched its way through a landscape of waste
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Summer
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Collecting the plates and then washing up, on the night shift from nine in the evening, to five the next morning at Snicker Pelles cafe, through the long hot Swedish summer.
There was a cup left every night by the same woman, who imprinted her ruby lipstick on the rim.
It hardly went dark, and civilisation debunked from Stockholm, played all night long under the deep blue night sky, in the bars and clubs of the summer resort of Borgholm, Oland
Surviving on copious amounts of dark coffee, left me wired and with very little sleep, and when sleep would happen it was in a small wooden outhouse,
Arisen by eleven in the morning by the heat construction would commence on the strange summer civilisation in the wild garden.
