The Kind My Brother Would Tie

Told that classic McNab invasion story tonight to Dick tonight, to laughter.  He is headed to Young Island in St Vincent, a place you’ll have to cross in your day.  A great aborted Xmas party, the Top Gun theme, the memories of the ghosts of parties past, Stanhope, Domus saviour GMac, Victoria street, pregnancies, homeless, scotch and carpet, and last year’s white suit.  Time goes by.  Mueller night.  The early ferry home to a half-empty bottle of vino.  And dreams.  Always dreams.

Idea of the milk expiry as a measure of time.  There were other similar items that escaped me.  If they are good, they’ll return.  Trust in that.

And the frontier not yet arrived... confirmation there.  But time lining up okay.  Why the delay always inspires fear of something else is curious, but so be it.  Will now be able to sort for sure next week at this time.  Listening to Buzzcocks, and Velvet’s Sister Ray in the mean.  A world.  Mueller slowly dropping, fallout from SM continuing, and... and... getting old but the need to write emerges.  Maybe that was it, Shelley epitaph, you can listen to his youth in the very moment of his demise.  Something to aspire to?

Vegas, flash.  Must be done.

As Ellis, on his 3rd, exhales that huge surprised sigh sound, in response to the video.  Mink indeed.