"You took my dreams from me
when I first found you.

I kept them with me, babe.
I packed them with my own.
Can't make it all alone;
I've built my dreams around you."

Kirsty MacColl died seven years ago yesterday. (I was reading an article about the controversy over the BBC's threat to fade out "slut" and "faggot". Then a tickling in the back of the brain reminded me that Kirsty died just before Christmas--as did Joe Strummer, who died five years ago this coming Saturday. Not are the two of them linked in their association with the Pogues but also "Fairy Tale of New York" & "Straight to Hell" (w/ the line beginning "When it's Christmas out in Ho Chi Minh City...") are two of the songs I use to help me through the season.

Peace to Kirsty.
Health to you all.

I couldn't help but notice that the roof was caving in.
It wasn't a dream.
It was neither here nor there and it was here and there.
Ashes were in the air.
The cows were in the meadow lying fast asleep
in another century.
A tissue, a tissue we all get up again before flying
into less than ourselves.
& you call this a community? Of what, solipsists &
blind men? Or worse?