Got To Be Good-looking ('cause he's so hard to see)

~31~

John

She isn't home and I wonder if she's ok. No car, she can't be far. No fire, no torch on the beach.

Smoking on the terrace, reading the newspaper and jotting in my notepad take over my thoughts of her.

It's healthy to write, very cathartic for the soul and mind, many don't realise even jottings, scribbles or doodles on a scrap piece of paper can help heal whatever is amiss.

I need to purge again and my purge needs to be good, cause it will form a song and millions will see my diary, my life.

It's all mind games, all in the head, the heart, the soul. Planting seeds to geminate and bloom, love through time, space to grow, flourish and be yourself.

I look over the words and try and feel them, the sound, the tempo slowly dawning like a new day, better.

Clearer, as the sun rises.

Taking a beer from the fridge I wish I had a phone for the first time in days, to call Paul, to get in the studio now, right now, but I'd have to go to Campbelltown or go straight to Paulies, and its too late. Past midnight now, with all their kids and animals, I bet he goes to bed at sunset if he hasn't got anything on.

Maybe I should piss him off like the old days turn up middle of the night drag his hairy butt outta bed down the stairs to the bathroom, shit yea the acoustics in the tub, that was so great.