We who are not touched by craziness,

madness , strangeness, down and out in St. Kilda & Prahran

Who drink to forget , who drink with desire , who drink to feel, who drink to numb , who drink for visions,

Always on the move , see beauty in the slow motion violence of the Wild Bunch and a visceral cry jumps out of your throat at the surreal beauty of all that death

Or to watch a sunset after Vespers with a solitary monk staring at the sun descending into Orpheus and you feel your soul stir, with an urge to sing your guts out

We who dance in frenzy at some music by Coltrane or get gobsmacked

Over that sentence written by Henry Miller and you know this is what it’s all about

We who can’t communicate except by this communication to feel the edge of darkness in light

Or at night watch fireflies around your mosquito net in the middle of a sacred forest

My uncle was the shaman of Williamstown who danced with wolf spiders , a life time member of the crazy club at a psychiatric centre, you see it’s in my genes.