Dear ........
Thanks for your letter. Sounds like your living
life the way you
wanted. And that makes me smile. No I hadn't heard Bjorn Borg retired, thank
god one of us has a finger on a sporting
pulse. No records left to collect
you complain.Well,
Borg Brollin and an unknown tennis trainer released
something recently. No doubt your contacts
in the Stockholm underworld can
source that gem.
Got back the other day to find the pub
on the corner had been burnt down, a
dark London street story I won’t burden
you with now. Determined as I am to
write you some life affirming shit and not drag you on
a regular trawl
through the night seas to find what crawls. Yet
I know their casting their
lots to see who can get the old pubs lease
and turn it into more luxury
flats.Brick by brick the infiltration
has begun. I feel moved to take a
spray can to the boarding. But can’t think
of anything whitty or on point
enough to be up there.
The drunkards
still own the park,
D’s still there in your old flat making
beats and still owns the night. While this
street can still shape shift and
make you quicken your pace on a late night
return. So I suppose we still
have time. But make no mistake my friend I’m
sure some barricade somewhere
has started calling.
I’m so sorry we missed each other when you
last came to town. I heard from
Ndeye you sat with her telling stories
for three hour’s while she put some
extensions in a client’s hair. She told me about Cuba, cigars and sacred drum’s,
of arguments in bars,Dante, the color of christ and the only true poet. The
south China sea’s, remembered fa yung the
Buddhist master 'how can we obtain
truth through words’. When she quoted your
‘immature writer’s plagiarize
mature writers steal’ - I was back in a bar
in New York lower east side when
you shouted that at...........maybe it was yourself,
maybe I wasn't
there, maybe it’s slipped down between the years..
My memory isn't exactly all
that now. But my friend, you definitely have a
convert there, and if you ever
need your hair braiding( and I know that’s
a long shot) then she’s your girl.
As my man scratch or maybe Rakim or maybe
Monk. More probable all of them
at some stage said. ’You gotta check the new
style’. I’m assuming you are
still running an old testament blades to hair ratio,
and it hasn't fallen
rudely out on you. If that’s the senario....
then my sincerest apologies.
Saw Mr Brenan in the holloway
road yesterday. Walked past with a bag of
potatoes on his shoulders. I didn't stop him
he wouldn't of had a clue who I
was. He didn't back then when we’d spent
month’s sleeping on his sofa
explaining which one of his son’s friends we were. We’ll that’s the price you
pay for any more than six children in the Holloway
road area.
I think of you often,
and see each other again as soon as is possible. Until
such time may the wind’s be at your back, the dice
be kind, and the Gods turn
the occasional blind eye.
