Moonlighting

He sees her at the same time every night
At the mexican discotheque
She gives him french kisses
He gives her french cigarettes
They sit at the same table every time
The lights are lowBut their eyes shine
Just digging the music from those sweet soul bands

This morning, as I left Flagstaff station and walked into the still, dark, moonlit air, I was suddenly struck with a vivid flash of memory. (My short term memory is not hacked to bits - do dreams count? I think so)

Last night, I had the most amazing experience. It involved driving, chocolate, clothes-washing, a remote retreat, an ET-esque intenstinal- looking structure attached to a penetentiary, a bright burning flame, a dead legend, and a fucking awesome, funny, delighful living legend.

Remote retreat - Augusten Burroughs' The Wolf at the Table audiobook. Haunting. The author had called his father one night. Both men were intoxicated. His father told him in a menacing horrific shattering way that he was sharpening his knife and on his way to come and kill his son. Son is instantly sober and fraught. Son calls the police. Police call son back and admonish him for being a nuisance. His dad was sober, lucid, pleasant, fine. (This is the melty, not so evocative of the essense of the story, tip of the iceburg.) If you can find this song, INGRID MICHAELSON'S 'Spare Change', which was written for the audiobook recording of The Wolf at the Table, listen to it. Haunting. (Fuck - I haven't even read the book. Tsk tsk and I already love it. It's next on my list.) This probably should have been a post unto itself. But I'm lazy ... and it's not.

I'll skip the clothes-washing and chocolate-eating dream sequences because they're really just plain simple 'need to do' and 'want to do'.

Hunter S Thompson was about to be released from prison (ET set). The atmosphere was palpable. There were members of the press, cigarettes. It was hard to get near him, hard to pin him down (not surprising) but he was there, familiar in had and glasses and filtered cigarette, familiar in his drawl (is it a drawl?). He was relaxed. He seemed to be above us all. Like he held some kind of knowledge that none of us would ever be privy to.

But, it was really the very wicked and delightful Keith Richards that stole my show last night. What a joy - playful, funny, charming. Mr Charisma. We were standing together at a bar (in the ET compound!) His face was so bright, deeply lined, and full of this extraordinary light. He was intoxicating.

Stephen was there, around the traps, too.

If it must be in dreams, then let it be.