I'm going to Leeds to a juggling convention and a party to meet with friends and get wasted and juggle all day and have fun and NOT WORK and think and dream and relax and run and visit all the places I used to go to and buy things in the shops and have coffee in the arcades and sleep in a sleeping bag and show off my sunglasses and listen to the river under the train station bridge and walk like I'm seven feet tall and stand in city square looking at the sky and wander through the university thinking about wind and sitting in the students union watching the girls and boys and throwing fire torches in the park as the sun tips over the horizon like a coin into a jukebox and the music starts
breakbeats from the nightclub on the corner and voices from the parties in the rented houses with cardboard and plastic bags in the garden outside and smokey furniture burning in the side alley while the kids from the bad places throw sticks and earth into the flames
and feeling like flying in the deep sofa with my eyes closed and my hands warm and running up the stairs screaming for the joy of it and humming cantatas in the bathrom pissing on the seat and mouthing sweet love words to the girl asleep in the corner to make her think she is being visited by an incubus and opening the back door for the air and the sight of the fat moon being whiter than stars in the red and blue fruit sky
talking about consciousness to open faces and hearts in the kitchen full of pizza boxes and books and remembering the face of a girl who haunts my dreams and remembering the nights I would be walking alone along the Liffey wondering how the ripples know to travel together when the wind is high and remembering all the days of being alive and the days of being in love and remembering all the souls, the shattered lights of home, and remembering that I am only who I am and where I am and remembering I never asked for more than this