Sunday Brixton Snapshot

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Can the sound of a road turn into a riverlike comfort? I fall asleep to it now, contemplating with my ears, the swooshing by of cars, waves, coming and going.

A guy cat called me today, the English way. I was walking back from yoga and a young guy in hoodie crossed the road to say “Excuse me, good morning! Do you have a boyfriend?”

My South African neighbour with the two kids hugs me when we meet on the stairs, then tells me to have some children of my own. Maybe I will.

The Merman takes me to central to meet his friend for icecream, we have vegan pistachios and black as night chocolates. Then wander around in dizzying crowds until we’re drained.

Back home is the sound of the river road, and a dear friend’s voice from far away, like small silver bells.

Liquid nights

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Some places are sweeter to

drink in

than others

Mont Martre

Paris, Lapa, Rio

always with no roof

so the stars can freely

dust you dreamy

while spirits melt the city

and turn you liquid too

to sway into the night

to transmute energies

of the Wonder who

rips apart

artists

and other

receptive souls