From deep inside the spaces between the words. Phrases warped, strung out, some unseen event horizon redefining latitude in its own frenetic image.
There are ungainly capitals strafed across my notebook, words written in far-off places. I managed a plush, evocative sentence on a bus near the outskirts of Rome, and an entire paragraph whilst the acting head of a rough-boy Marseilles street gang.
And as well as words, I very much recommend the record shops of continental Europe; partly because they still exist, and also because they’re full of weird and wonderful people perusing weird and wonderful records – and not all of them covers of “Enjoy The Silence” by vulnerable Sarajevo goths as terrified by melody as they are by sunlight.
Par exemple: ce disque a été acheté de Doctor Vinyl, Rue de la Grande Ile, Bruxelles: