This inscription bears no words, only
Spider-silk and aged lichen. Your name
Is music yet dust and a frail kiss goodbye
When all becomes forgotten: a tender touch
And inked resonance this Saturday gone.


Met up with Bella at that crazy old run-down manor on Dominion Road a few friends used to stay at. A bonfire to keep the spirits at bay, and people dressed up in various Halloween disguises. Simon dressed up as a vampire, albeit an albino one, and myself swinging his sword around like a would-be samurai.

Skip to the Domain down Lover's Lane at two in the morning. Stan from the Shift crew there with his girlfriend packing the last of a random and illegal outside rave into the boot of his car. I'm not sure how they managed to pull it off, what with a petrol-driven generator and the thump-thump of electronic music making the secret location not that secret, of course. The cops must have better things to do, and so they should.

Five in the morning. Bella drops me off at my house. My scooter's still in the centre of the city but I always figure it out. I offer to roll a big fat doobie. But of course, since I don't buy the stuff I have to traipse up to Murray and Hannah's room to ask for some. Murray is not impressed. But he acquiesces as soon as he realises that I'd never usually ask.

In my room. She tells me it's so relaxing. Serene. My various bric-a-brac, paintings, books and ornaments says everything there is about me. The two surfboards stacked in the corner. A chessboard. Two guitars. My bamboo and glass bookshelf with the ever-present Kuan Yin, goddess of compassion, looking down toward my bed.

The air is thick with pungent smoke. She asks if I would like to massage her. Only a blind fool would refuse. Serenity is found in the touch of fingertips to the supple flesh of her back. Sighs. And a form of escape for both of us a surprising conclusion to a surprising night...