I was born to be a dancer, i was born a white swan.

Feel my silky moves as I glide across the floor, see my white heat surround Diana's beautiful ebony as we make onlookers just say "oh my, there goes that man, don't they look pretty". Ya, that is me. Sometimes that feels like a million dazzling glittery miles away, sometimes it feels rude and harsh like yesterday's cocaine hangover. This was a time before I knew Critter, the joys of the wilderness , whole grain pancakes, family dinners and 8 hour sleeps. This was NYC, this was LA, this was the Concorde with Truman Capote and Bianca. This was Champagne and fondue, Swiss alps and apres ski.

Journey with me as I took a look at what I was and could never really be. A fancy dancer, a macho man, a swashing buckling bon vivant trotting across your globe. I had it all, the city, the women, lobster dinners and 4 day weekends. I traded all my tomorrows for these yesterdays but these tears are not of regret but an age I no longer hace.

woke up this morning with wild berries in my hair.

not every day will be full of the joy communicated in this tattoo. in fact, most won't. most will fall into dark well of a stacks of days gone by. piled high like faded dollar bills, the bottom promisary notes losing their value in your memory, falling victim to the inflation of growing old. falling apart with the damp mildew of time.

so when grey of of the monotony of everyday backs you into a wall, corners you like a red eyed possum, you have two choices. you look straight and back at the fanged animal of lethargy and boredom, it lips hungry, it's appetite never wavering as it looks to feast on the unsatisfied of the world. or you dream. you turn your back on the earthly monday and tuesdays of this world and drift into a world of hot summer saturday nights strung together like white and red lights down sunset blvd.

i woke up with my wild berries in my hair cos Critter came by again after way too long. he left them there to remind me my Monday was the real dream and I could wake up to him whenever i wanted.

hot tramp, i love you so.

We all grow old with our own personal mythology, the way we see the world, how we became who we are, why we do the shit we do. It's our history, it may be full of lies and fantasy but it doesn't fucking matter because it's ours. What we do know, in a way no one else can possibly imagine, are those moments where things felt amazing, the little bolts that strike us dead and hot, blow us over and raise us up. They may getting an A in math, seeing a girls boobs for the first time or doing something your parents don't know about. whatever. exhiliration. power. promise. hope. love. or just fucking feeling good. it might be something we do, or something that someone else does that opens the door to a new world of possibility.
for me, seeing david live in 1983 in Paris, the opening night of the let's dance tour, was just that. My guitar teacher had turned me on the ultimate Bowie starter, ChangesOne. and like many, my first response was to RebelRebel. Fuck Bob Dylan, The Monkees and Aerosmith. He twisted every convention I knew and with it began my own hero worship, my own myth, the Zeus of my twenty first century.
innocently i asked John, my teacher, "hey at the end there, what is a "fuel line and a handful of loose"??
he said "it's a few lines, and a handful of ludes."
i said, "and?'
and he said "oh, you will find out some day"
Amen motherfucker.
enjoy, i do every day.