Zen Sick

Dear Diary,

Stay On the Flex Maxy, it's not that bad. I've reluctantly agreed to dog-sit some nightmare wolves for a friend of mine. In doing so I've also been roped into packing up the stall, and have reluctantly agreed to recommence guitar tuition.

I watched a fabulous movie with a keyboard player tonight: Ed Green. Marvellous picture, shot in black and white. The episode of Willow the Wisp we took in afterwards was equally if not more enjoyable.

In parts of the film I was laughing heartily but occasionaly I would lapse into a well of depression meditating too much on K. T'other, and all the tom-foolery. Snap out of it Maxy! Get Back On the Flex!

Right now, sat a room even untidier than mine, which is saying something, I float above the mess and drift along in a smokey bubble, dry of the dreaded drink, and almost content.

The ever elusive joy that escaped me on the road, a time where I thought a snug home might make me feel fulfillment. Alas, no, Maxy is maudlin, pining for Susie-Q, or someone new, nice, full of spicey racy tales to make of excitement. Nay. Methinks Maxy hath to be used to his own company to be truly happy. Happiness. What is it anyway? That first line, bar, music, guitar? Or something deeper. The nibanna whence all thoughts of earthly wants are fled. That early morning in the Orchard, wth mist rolling in off the sea, where Maxy was once, in-tune with the universe.

An elusive tranquility, n'er to be touched again, just a slim slice of which have I ever felt encore since then, when, being engulfed in golden petals of light, enlightening.

As it was, back in that place, so many moons ago now, but is only yesterday in souvenier.

By the way, the dog just thew up. Then ate it. Nice. Just to put this into perspective as to where I'm writing this from. Grim reality. I am staying I don't know why. Oh yes, I must finish my cup of tea.

Stay On the Flex,

Maxy Waxy xx