image My Space-Rock Tape I spent all last winter in some rat-hole B&B, playing my space-rock cassette I picked up somewhere in a boot-sale. Yvonne took off for New York, found a job at the Guggenheim, I used to stand at the end of the pier and pretend that she’d died. And eternity ached like a wound. Out by the boarded-up seafood-stands there’s a blind girl shivers in her 40s-style coat while her dog sits watching the gulls dive-bomb the surf. Someone sprayed a message high on the cliffs so I climbed up, it seemed important I see, but when I got real close all it said was LIMP BIZKIT RULE. That old sadist Time twists his knife again. Another day gone like piss down a drain. Hen-party girls dance a chorus-line, high-kicking past the curry-house; the one in the platinum bob’s skirt blows up in a breeze. There’s a live band playing at the Porcupine, I sip warm rattlesnake jizz from a greasy glass, watching the light trampoline off the stand-up bass. You use up your youth like it’s loose change you’re giving away. My midnight candle looks pathetic in the light of day. But I’ve been seeing this woman, she’s like a playing-card queen, she was a painter’s model for some hotshot whose name I forget. She says she loves me but then she’ll deny it, she wears 3D glasses, she’s strange but cute, we’ve got a propane pipe, tinfoil and cartoons on TV. We lie listening to the sounds of the building-site close by And yesterday she cried for hours ‘cos I killed a fly. She’s got more compassion than I’ve ever seen, My little black-eyed anorexic queen….. But lately she don’t talk Or she don’t come round for days. I play my space-rock tape, I play my space-rock tape….. [ Back ]