Here I go
The Talking Dead: Syd Barrett
Syd, what it is being schizophrenic?
Tell me!
It’s all over town, slightly decent of course.
Suiting me fine?
Your bod’s up in some wonderland, remoted, made listen to voices, watching the wheels — some might say hallucinating day for night.
Guess, it’s a matter of one single trip of LSD — or anything like that. Long gone.
That’s what the press tells.
To my knowledge. But not the yellow one, I hope. To God it’s wrong!
Therefore in companion.
I wasn’t fine with — it’s been made to be destroyed.
The handsome tableau, this picture over there, right? What it is bothering you?
Indeed. My paintings depict all of these things wearing you, or anyone else.
Nothing is ever good enough to you, isn’t it?
Well, it’s my job — I’m selective.
Fussy, I’m used to say. Do you remember?
Betimes it hits you with some brick. You see one die, next to the guy you’ve promoted all your life — some trip on H. Your mentee’s still sleeping still, her bounced, made to perish. Do you knock her out, or do you still rely on?
Hard to tell. Alienated?
Guess, you wanna talk about my father, the pathologist. For short, it’s been recreance, made of concern, superior to envy.
Guitar to your hands, you write a few lines then?
I take a photograph instead of, or I paint some pic (chuckling). Granted, often old ideas jamming, often enough I find a different line to same old chords — or the other way ‘round.
Does it leave some hole, where your heart should be?
The crime aforesaid?
Yo!
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As you look all around the world in dismay, what do you think you might see?
Got it, I guess. Let’s talk ‘bout Pink Floyd instead. Written of? You’ve paved their way …
Some craving within, a trace of revenge? (ponders)
Not by any means.
Slightly sleazy. But seriously, they got into stride after leaving — me channeling the flow.
They sing some strange about you.
Anyhow, pretty well. My soul’s immortal, theirs sold somehow.
Shakesspeare lies within …
As you will know, Roger’s still the dearest friend of mine, from early childhood’s days. Long time no see. Anyhow, how to say. He convents world’s weariness in a way unabridged — me, some loss, part of. David, it’s decent. He’ll make my soul immortal in time, dare to take. Not to allege some, I appreciate his input — anyhow, it’s some instinct.
Nick and Rick?
Nick, he knows best, I guess. Rick’s never abused any, a completely different person, the tidy one, all along the solitary — made to hold the strings.
Dazed and dull about?
From behind the curtain? (lightens a cig) Instead of free choice I cut some break — thus, amused. Who am I to tell them what to do.
Dollars to doughnuts!
It’s the way I meant to say.
We move in circles — thus, back to the beginning, buzz schizophrenia. It’s assumed starting with some love unrequited. A heartthrob, a mistress casted off, a deceased. How ‘bout you?
Here I go!
Means?
A song ‘bout bots and their need to lodge in all of these mild-and-weaks, ‘bout girls and boys, kings and queens.
The grass’ been greener in time?
In the end, a two-edged it is, some duality. Reality fades — like shadows to the night. You’re used to think I wished I didn’t know what I didn’t know then, isn’t it?
Could it be …
Granted, high hopes first shorted a bit, then fully latched onto — aware of all of these audiovisuals in mind, and the unified of tide — it made me play this game.
How does it feel?
Don’t look back in anger. Your perception of mine means some reflection of yours. My reaction again, it’s just another imagination of yours — some snapshot in the family album.
No more, no less?
Almost unreal, only the night is unchanged.
