Sitting in the fruitmarket in Glasgow in the echo and ebbtide of a migraine and an unexpected detour back towards the dreaming road: watching kerouac in drunken meander on an American talkshow, the dream an alcoholic ravish upon flesh as saint jack wears the wearied world bloated booze riddled shape occupational in tangents and sharpened conversational punctuation….visions of mortality layered expansions upon the decadence of fading flesh...another incarnation of jazz arrives on the stage weaving imaginary patterns upon thought as stanley jordan sits by the piano and weaves melodies between the keyboard and guitar, one hand on each switching hands as the notes demand and, reluctantly it seems, even occasionaly placing both hands on the same instrument...bung wonders how it's possible to play two instruments at once whilst retaining and expanding upon the mood, stanley drifts somewhere else under the gaze of a smiling transfixed drummer sitting silent behind his kit; is it possible that such playing ever becomes mundane, just another gig? 


outside again in the summer light, we trail through the merchant city towards queen street through the remnant sunday evening hipsters, preened combinations of beards and tattoos...and as the sounds fade on the rails back towards edinburgh again the echo of Kerouac...stood in a car park in falkirk aside the stationary bus and the waiting motorway which stretches slowly east...under the waxing moon the city wearing the wearier cloak of sunday night..once upon a time...