king meets prince

There’s a pixie taking a piss. He turns up on the heavenly stage ten minutes later, saying he’s just seen a ghost, knowing his audience should glean what he’s on about. He looks his listeners in the eye. Close enough to match the wrinkles that flirt with his eyes when we smile. In the background some fools hubbub. In the foreground, a few dozen are invited, if they wish, to dwell on his every word. At one point he sings come on Eileen. At another he suddenly slips into the Prince’s tune, beyond compare. Only a King, bold and celtic, his guitar simmering below the boil, could get away with the barely audible intensity. He’s a troubadour, singing bittersweet songs of love, jumping at the cats with nothing on, barking at the moon, not one bit ashamed. His eyes twinkle and then hide. 2001,A Space Odyssey long gone, keeps time with its regal pace. An obelisk glistens in a regency salon. Read between the lines and you’ll see persistence in the face of untold mistakes, ephemeral love, the virtue of knowing that if you stick at it, you might just get by.