Vital
Ship of Fools
Sci-Finance
Door
Urban
The captain's in a coma, the lieutenant's on a drunk, the owner's in his cabin with his special friend, the monk, the midget's on the bridge, dispensing platitudes and junk.... Those wild and special places, those strange and dangerous places, those sad, sweet faces, it's a Ship of Fools. The nurse in black seamed stockings, she's already on patrol for fake fur starlets panicked by the watering-hole; everybody's waiting for the drama to unfold in those cold and treasured places, those old and degenerate places... those posed, posed, empty faces it's a Ship of Fools. Run, rabbit, run, you're the only one that can do it; turn, baby, turn, there's a ring of fire and you've got to go through it. Fun, baby, fun, when the sands have run to the limit turn, baby, turn, there's a ring of fire and you're in it. Looking for logic and adventure down the dark end of the street, open city, open season, open lips that gleam so sweet offer kisses like piranhas to the soft flesh of your feet and any man's poison is every man's meat in those mad and special places, those sad and desparate places, those sad, sweet soul embraces, it's a Ship of Fools. Those strange and special places those wild and dangerous places, those dead, dead, dead faces... it's a Ship of Fools; no rules.
You got some shares in a speculative venture, you got some stock in a gilt-edged bond, you stretched out tight by the terms of debenture, the game is on.... You chase the bulls in eternal corrida, the thought of loss is more than you can bear, you scan the index for a market leader, a tip and a prayer. You better see daylight: night comes on the City so soon. You say you are a christian capitalist, but you dance to a different tune. Jobs for the boys and dole for the shop-floor; rationalize, strip the assets and run. If the contract stalls, then you've just got to cop more, ain't Monopoly fun? You made some pretty deals along the way, Judas and Faust are in accord. When the revolution comes you may be blown away, but I bet you'll end up on the board.... Only the money. Only the money. Sometime in the future you may realise that the day you made your decision to follow money as a goal was you darkest dawn and that, since then, you have venerated figures as deities and, for you, people are just pawns. But that deal includes you: you're just an asset like the rest and you, too, stripped naked, beg the Money-God not to put you to the test. He's got no further use for you. Now, there is silence on the floor. Clever money-computers chatter privately. No people any more. Only the money.
He's a blind man, crouching by the pavement, only seeing with his third eye and clutching at the astral shadow of every passer-by. He's a wise man, trumping all the answers; she's a wild girl, trying to keep his feet on the floor in whispered physical litanies: "Stay away from the door." "Oh, but we're all in this together," he says, "three-legged race across the floor; if only you'd loosen the handkerchief then I'd forget about the door." "Ooh, that feels so much better," he says, "now you forget everything that I've said before and sit there all by yourself while I walk through the door." They're a blind man crouching by the pavement, only seeing with his third eye, and clutching at the astral shadow of the door of a room called 'I'.
Sometimes living for the moment, sometimes going with the flow, sometimes professing to be an exponent of the quiet life while night life surrounds me I sit and go crazy alone. Too many people and too little action too much exterior acting, too little inside... yet I still feel that manic attraction. I've lived in the city for most of my life and suppose I'll be there when I die, still going through the same old motions still qualifying everything I say, responding urbanely to every emotion. The city life freaks me, the city life feeds me, the city life blows me away.