THE

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The dusk is approaching somewhere out there is a pier on the right hand side of the gallery about half a mile South West. Well at least that's where it was the last time I looked about 4 weeks ago.  The last evening and the challenge has been a tough one.  The agitation, with calm all thrown in together.  The seafront view in the confines of a green house which adopted the name Super Sonic Shed, due to some initial cross breed B & Q confusion. 

The road has been long, well more of a microscopic living room to be clear.  The mind journey has been a tightly packed sardine tin that has a sprocket of freshness, that every now and then puts in an obvious appearance.  The sprocket of freshness was the public giving, was always a genuine one and the feeling of receiving was always a genuine one, even when some jumbo sausages arrived, but being a veggie I still willingly accepted.  The bringing of a tin of soup was equally appreciated, I stared at that tin for over a week, wondering what the hell to do with it.  The mind distraction always a good thing.  The skipping rope chain of liquorice made a great washing line.  The organic wine whaaaoo !! what can I say budder bing !!  The Bhadagivita book never opened but always there.  The inability to move one thing without 3 other things falling in its path, the clonking cymbals, the cursed bird cage.  The small thick leg stocking, Chinese lady, that would chat for five minutes with her bull dog on a lead.  The Hollywood actor Patrick Burgen who would magically turn up as a hobo beach bum artist, with a collection of beaching combing items, found that day off the East Sussex coast from Rottingdean to Brighton.  The stressful tension of knowing that each day, the chemical toilet might need emptying and yet the musicological block of not getting round to doing anything about it.
The prospective arrival of a moon pie from the States that never materialised, well at least if it did I didn't get to hear about it.  The Hmmm don't remember any of the artists, licking their lips with deep satisfaction LOL.  The dismantling of the Super Sonic Shed and the slow realisation that I need not feel any sense of guilt for walking any amount of distance.  The weird part of making a move towards a new location and feeling like somewhere inside me, I am doing something wrong, why am I not in the SSS, the inner sanctum of loosing the plot, on an astro turf, cosmic plain, that facilitates Gnomey the night-time dancing Gnome and a Doberman toy dog, that slots into the gap of the SSS door perfectly. 
The exit !! oh the exit !!.  This was bigger than any Stones concert, bigger than any Beatles sell out tour.  The Matt Whistler with 15 people in down town seafront Brighton, wearing a perforated hockey come Prime-Evil Knievel outfit, with huge fear and loathing sunglasses, from the fancy dress shop in Brighton.  The crash helmet, ready for action.  The bouncing basket ball into the cymbals. The listening to an American work out video AND STRETCH AND BEND AND STRETCH AND BEND ... TO THE SIDE AND TO THE SIDE !!  The volume reached the end of the gallery space outside of the Super Sonic Shed and every now and then I would throw objects out to the audience who turned up to witness my departure .  The new arrival ! smoke machine was getting out of hand, as I kept the button pressed and the smoke bellowed out, I realised that it was escaping from the Super Sonic Shed and had created a huge thick cloud like layer of smoke on the entire ceiling of the gallery.  The Pagan god had rolled out his inverted red carpet, for Matt Whistler was about to leave the building.
The Tracy Jane Sulivan live song and the crowd that relaxed into a baroque style beta existence.  The serenade from Tracy Jane Sulivan, dipped, I punched the top panel of the Super Sonic Shed and the crowd reacted with a shocked gasp.  The first handwritten sign produced
MAKE SOME NOISE
The second sign produced
LOUDER
The cheering was electric.The Super Sonic Shed door was flung  open and the smoke came pouring out from behind me.  The taste of freedom, I quickly glanced over to Toby who was perhaps thinking whilst sat at his easel,
 Get on with it, I'm trying to paint my new sheep.
The was elation in the air. The duck under the CAUTION WET PAINT tape. The last parting comment, before veering off to one side past the audience and at the entrance to the gallery.
Right we all of to the pub then ?
The sentence game that had me in stitches everyday on my facebook wall FB friends would add their little sentence onto the next sentence from a previous comment and for the person making the 100th sentence I would invite them down to the Super Sonic Shed to collect a prize.  The  one  game where one guy put in 4 sentences, one after the other in order to make sure he was the 100th person on my FB wall and then claim his prize.  The putting of the foot down and the telling of the creative, sneaky, spammer, that only one sentence was permitted until someone else has gone after you.  The arrival  when he came down to the Seafront Supersonic Shed, with back up from Essex and demanded his prize and wouldn't leave, until I bunged him a glow stick and plucked feather from Miss Poly Ester the parrot.  The familiar Baltimore chat that created a sense of two parallel worlds somehow running down the same track and every now and then checking in, for an ether handshake and update, that created an equal measure of myself thinking I wonder what;s going down with my Baltimore buddy today
matched with equal interest in the SSS from the other side of the Atlantic. 
THE Was it all worth it ? THE I wouldn't change it for the potting shed.  The SSS was a confession box, a seafront tourist attraction a place where plants could interact and a clever way to save a few quid on a holiday home.  The most important thing for me was it was all dictated by YOU the story evolved, I was simply the lost broomstick in the jungle of strife, that kept his bristles together on the strength of YOU
The good times the bad times, but all times made possible by YOU
THE YOU
THE THANK YOU X 

Comments

[susan]

miss the stream of consciousness connection, my friend. The wonders of the internet--revolutionize North Africa and the Mid-East,as well as bring together a talented comic actor and an American aspiring to become a Brightonian! BTW, Snoop of the Wire was arrested a few days ago for heroin distribution.