sunlight: first light through the shuttered window. open a crack. watch the winding dirt road unwind through the valley that falls down and away. vineyards. dolcetto. cabernet. barbera. piemontese sunlight feeding piemontese varietals. a light breeze carries fragrant red dust. this is the dry season. every breath takes in some of the clay that makes up the terroir. mornings are bright. afternoons brutal, evenings sublime in the colour the sun imparts to the sky.

all this sunlight, captured in the grapes, transformed by bacteria to alcohol. this is what we do here. alchemy. the cantina stinks of the stuff. we work & the tannins crack the calluses on our fingers & turn our nailbeds red.

the dog got drunk last night on spilt wine and tore about the house on wobbly legs. he loves the stuff. afterwards he slept it off, snoring like an old man. silly puppy.

This is what we do here. transformation of sunlight into rocket fuel. taste bombs. alchemy.

siren: doppler echoes off project high rises. bushwick, 5 stops into Brooklyn on the L. a broken down studio where nobody cared how hard i'd bang on the drums. landlord was a balding jamaican rasta-man with bloodshot eyes and a beautiful white smile. he cooked jerked fish & rice over an illegal electric stove. smells of ginger & weed soaked through the space & got into everything... EVERYTHING. cheap beer in the corner Puerto Rican 24 hour mart. dead pidgeons on the street but the rats under (and above) ground were very much alive.

every day the sirens come tearing through the neighborhood like from another planet. local emergencies. foreign aid. buildings here act like the hood on a gramophone - all sounds amplified & reverbed like they've been let out of some wet stalactite / mite riddled cave. we go to the roof to smoke a joint & listen to them. there. someone's dying. burning. murdering. raping.

we're surviving. and we put our life energy into our music. and it brings life to this god-forsaken hellhole. and makes us happy. so we're blessed. yessshhhh. we're surviving. just.

knee: she fell off the bike. by the time i got to her she was crouched over the side of the road. large patches of skin missing on her right knee, left hand & chin. we sat by the edge together till we both were calm. june on martha's vineyard. not quite hot yet. smell of seaweed, asphalt and sand. blue sky with high feathery clouds. indirect sunlight. we walked to the nearest pharmacy & i cleaned her up. she was very brave about it. she still has scars on her knee.

shoes: new shoes. leather, with sheepskin on the inside. like walking on clouds. or maybe newly mown grass. no weather will reach me inside these shoes. yes. now i'm truly bulletproof.

the pavement frozen this morning. 5:30 on Dumbarton road, looking out for a taxi to queen street. The first cab stiffed me. said it was too icy. but the roads were clear, just the sidewalk tricksy with the first ice of the season. clouds of steam burst out of holes in the ground, buildings and people. a yellow light. i love these british cabbies. so cheerful. not a surly face among em.

Streets of glasgow empty apart from the occasional taxi. First train to Edinburgh at 6AM. dawn caught the frost on the fields and set them aglitter -- rays of pure northern light refracted and magnified through angles. Sheep crowd together to stay warm. The faint tang of woodsmoke.

tea? coffee? yes please. wrap chapped hands about the paper cup and experience thaw. burns the tongue. tastes like the brown water it is. i remind myself not to drink coffee unless i'm in italy.