CONSTANCE is my lady’s name

So… you’re telling me those goals against… but what about the time I…. and hang on I have this Ballon d’Or to prove that I… you mean to say that none of that…

It all swirled around and took him nowhere. Leo sweated as he lay on the couch, staring up at the fan swirling round on the ceiling, still imagining he was signing a thousand autographs a day, his arm twitching, his hands twitching and his eyes gazing upwards beyond the ceiling where the fan was swirling, to a heaven where God was acknowledging his raised arms, his elbows bending towards the firmament of gratitude and something we mortals can barely comprehend.

The millions of headlines of achievements of magic of admiration of greatness of what am I doing here this can’t be…

Now I see I have this guitar in my hands and you want me to but you know I am not…

Untie me, let me go, back to what I am, the real me, not the false memory you want me to have, I am not Robert Fripp, I am not Robert Fripp.

His arm twitching, his fingers twitching, his eyes gazing onto the frets, his figure crouched onstage alongside Bill Bruford and the roar surged from his Gibson Les Paul echoed from the Camp Nou to Andromeda and then on to the white walls of this miserable clinic and his free kick crashed into the white wall… 

“What? Do you expect my genius to be flawless?” 



One response to this post.

  1. Posted by Stuyzaker on March 24, 2012 at 1:07 pm

    Bambino and Fripp in the same post! This has to be a first! (BTW, who is that Leo guy?)


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