There was nothing to do but sit and think,
Sit and think… so what’s wrong with that?
Inside the hut can smell the age of the stones
Telling the time as it passes slowly, the sun casting shadows
Which measure the hours as they crawl on the way towards the night,
The end of the day, a great vacuum, the plug hole
Down which we will all vanish.
I wonder if they know, if they can tell that I’ve been crying?
Everything around me moving, sounds spinning
I imagine it all, the whole thing made up
And simply for me alone, always alone
So far away nobody can ever touch me
So remote, I fear for my own sanity
And yet, without it - am I really so lost?
Is the breakdown unprompted, completely spontaneous?
Turning my face to the sun, I feel the soft breeze against my skinAnd this is the reality.
Often I lay awake in those long, empty early hours… and my mind drifts in a state of half waking, half sleeping. I wander through places where I once lived, past people who I once knew but now are dead… or perhaps just changed, moved on after all those years. There are no solid objects here. No rigid structures or geometrical designs, just marshmallow lands and everything is soft and cushioned… is that maybe where the expression the “soft life” comes from? I balance against the sides of my surroundings… there’s absolutely no room for Ziggy here, I can see, I can hear. I blink as the Light Fantastic touches the retinas of my eyes… although when I’m awake the darkness increases around me, closing in… here the light grows brighter and brighter, beckoning me onwards. Beckoning me onwards, enticing me. I’m not sure how many hours or just minutes have passed since I woke up - time has done absolutely no damage here in this space between. I keep my eyes firmly shut, not wishing to disturb the slumbering state which has taken me so long to catch hold of, and is even now slipping, slippery as a fish between my fingers. Falling down, falling down to the ground and through that, beyond, down into the abyss. Still bouncing against the sides, the soft cushion, rebounding all around me as I fall… and I’m not frightened, I have no fear. The light creeping around the edges of the curtains seems far brighter than the grey day it heralds in reality… in this state, this magical state the light has no bounds… only soft cushions, soft promises, a truly soft life.