There was nothing else to do ; I braced myself against the blizzard and trudged out. The white-out of the snowstorm glared through me, accusing with cold. I felt ridiculous going out alone so late, nobody else would be out in this weather, and anyway it was sunday, again.I crossed the railway tracks again, freezing metal hidden under rapidly freezing snow.And then I knew where I was heading for.I watched for church spires, ducked through alleyways, almost impassable with wind driven drifts, slipping through archways in the old town narrow cobbled streets, turning confusing concentric circles and spirals, double backs and alleys and concealed back doors, an inscribed spinning mandala of deceit and self-delusion. Wheeling left into the broad spread at the crest of the hill, crowned by St. Vincent’s spire in semi-profile, gleaming big clock face hovering the hour over the arctic air, “Observe the time, my child…”I was blasted off the streets by the icy winter wind and buffeted through the heavy double swing doors, tumbling down the steps into a warm seedy cellar bar, a dive amongst dives, a hotbed of crime and confusion – The Bordello. “Sympathy For the Devil” was bouncing off the walls…more…

 The first I knew about it was a frantic message on the ansafone “The Spikes have split up. Ring me. Please”. But I’m afraid I ignored it. In semi-hibernation we lay low almost dreaming, in ice-cold caverns of bed clothes, where hands and feet froze into torture appliances of surgical steel. Bella and Jesus are spending the day in bed, again. It was sunday…more…

The eternity heavy slow movement of dark wood and brass rotating doors spin in soporific circles, the age-old cafe off the high street. where we can watch the junkies waiting on the corner. The tourists horse-driven in carriages smile inanely at us waiting. I gaze dumbfounded around the vast cavern inside. Aching and waiting, the dreadful madness of pernicious drugs. I don’t feel comfortable, dark globes of stolen light of night hang from the nicotine brown ceiling, their throb barely piercing the gloom, sipping on acrid coffee, thick like green mucus, coughed up from cancerous lungs, arrangements of leather chairs, hardwood circular coffee tables and the hacking cough of aging patrons desiccating in dark air. We are waiting…more…

 Of course it’s sunday, and we were trudging towards The Holy Shrine of the Bed of God’s Mother for some mass or other. For no other reason than it was the quickest way to check out who was still awake or alive on this awful slippery autumn sunday afternoon drag-out, hung over and weak, all over aching for something. Sky yellow, blue, even green shading like a bruise, festering snow and sleet. A slow stroll as far as the railway…more…

 “You’ll forgive me Gordon, If I raise an eyebrow” I said.”Of course!” He chuckled “Nowadays we all know the dangers of the Excessive Behaviour Program””How is she now ?” I asked”Oh, the old girl’s still bashing away on a broken typewriter in an empty attic somewhere. She calls herself a writer these days, And talking of the Excessive Behaviour Program, Do you remember …

Doc Gordon’s Acid Birthday Jaunt…more…

  In the summer heat the crowds spilled out up through the double swing doors, propped open, and spread across the tiny square. I elbowed and struggled my way down into the deep shady recesses of The Bordello. Dolly and the Marquessa were snuggled in the shadows, chatting and giggling, hugging each other and weeping with merriment. I was already turning on my heels. “Bella! Bella!” Dolly called after me. She was waving a xeroxed copy of something…more…

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Through groggy panes of god-knows-what yesterday I woke into one drug-knows-what after another. Slumped on a nylon leopard skin carpeted toilet and felt Dolly dressing me for the next round of Partying. As always it was sunday sunday.First she rolled me into silk seamed stocking bra suspender belt knicker corset, laced me into thigh boots, and strapped me into elbow and knee pads, a soft padded crash helmet and the black lace satanist party-frock completed the ensemble.

After jolting black coffee, something nice to take the chill off my semi-permeable bones. We began to talk.

“A duller spectacle this earth of ours has not to show than a rainy sunday in London” Dolly recalled.

“What day is it? Where are we?” I asked Dolly suddenly.

“Same as always. We’re in the wrong. For centuries they’ve tortured and murdered our kind, shot, gassed, hung, impaled and burned us at the stake. For being different, for resisting tyranny, for refusing to agree. They’ve called us terrorists, guerrillas, schizophrenics, psychopathics, heretics and witches. they think they’ve demonised us out of existence. But we’re still here, out on the margins, beyond the pale. Lifeless yet Undead.” Dolly paused for dramatic effect, the story was reaching a conclusion. “So why should we care if they’ve fucked up and the whole worlds going down the pan”

“I don’t give a fuck” I intoned religiously.

“Me neither” Flashed Dolly, “Let’s go and party.”…more…

 It is silent, there is no one where I am. All is white light silence and smears of colour merging into visions on journeys, then faces drift back into view. And the expensive spread of high class shopping mall, broad, pedestrianised. Tasteful christmas lights wink around objects I’ll never afford. Potted and be-ribboned christmas trees guard entrances to classy bars I’ll never enter. Swing out past the huge bronze statue of the walker, the wanderer, the man who walks the street. Standing fifteen feet high huge stride spanning the square, hard jaw defiantly forward, and loose shouldered swinging arms ending in angry curled fists. He glances shifty eyed behind him, and keeps his face fixed on the unending road ahead, at one and the same time. People scuttle past, without looking, or duck through his long legs late at night when they’ve had a few.From Dato Street to Station Road. We’re heading for the train station as cool as ice, collecting a strange parcel, waiting to check out the Madrid train, or just slipping across the tracks, scrambling over the rails to the far-side of town. Tonight we’re heading for The Cavern Of Dead Machines…more…