It’s been a year and a half, more or less, since I glimpsed him and his guitar case under the Christmas tree at Gatwick departures, hastily threw my bag over my shoulder and, underestimating its weight, promptly fell over backward. Life since then has pretty much followed that pattern – stumbling into the great unknown, overwhelmed, but together.
I am a whimsical poet, a metal singer, an aerial artist. I live in Prague and work as a writer for an online resource. I can see the castle from my office window – some days it’s a dream rising out of the mist, and some days it’s an oppressive presence hanging on the horizon. I share my flat and my fantasies with a dark-eyed composer and his growing menagerie of instruments. We are in essence restless spirits – no idea where we’re going next or when, but happy so long as there are words and music there.
It’s a little late in the adventure to write about it in the conventional sense. This city is mercurial as I am, and my view of it changes from day to day. Instead, I’ll do what I do best – cryptic allusions and Gothic-arched windows through which you can just about make out the marks I leave on the places I pass through, and the marks they leave on me.