i) write to be free. Berlin. 1995.

This was the tidied up version. Performed with live techno DJ who chose music to follow the emotion of the piece. Accompanied also by images of Berlin, projected onto the performer. ME! Wish there had been some film made of this….

“Techno poetry.

Put to me by a friend in a cold place.

Inspiration with a new face.



A whistle in a junk yard.

A laugh when its so hard.

Standing together, but alone.

As in the towers around.

Living in our boxes, but creating an ‘om’ of sound.

Like the rich milk of the cow,

Life pushes out, and up, a cream,

Which gets thicker if its whisked

Whisk us now…..

Whisk us now….

(music intensifies and gets faster)

Is it a girl or is it a boy?

Is it good or bad?

Is it black or white?

Is it sane or mad?

Is it fun or work?

Is it cold or hot?

Is it red or green?

Is it hidden or is it seen?

Is it clear or vague?

Is it up or down?

Is it slow or fast?

Is it a smile or is it a frown?

Is it out or in?

Out. In. Out. In. Out. In….

Left. Right. Left. Right…..

Black. White. Black. White…..

How I long for shades of grey.
In this eye that is opening.

This great eye that is opening.

I aim to be a bit of coal dust, grit or sand,


To keep the tears flowing…and

Bring some water to this dry.

Tears to the eye.

Washing over cleansing, flowing

Going, going, going to the sea.

Joining the ‘see-more’clearly-now’ army.
I am sitting at my window, where the others can’t see in.

The glass is cold as ice and thin.
The otherside is frozen dark, but here it begins to feel warm.

I pray the sun will win.

A flute plays in a tower block.

A sound signal, a flower in the rain.

And as I light my cigarette,

I pause,

To feel the flame.

It gives me joy.

Is it a girl or is it a boy?

Is it straight or round?

Is it alive or is it dead?

Is it silent or is there sound?

Is it full of energy or in need of a rest?

Is it sky or is it ground?

Is it East or is it West?

Is it dry or is it wet?

Isn’t it time these two sides met?

Isn’t it time these two sides met?

We meet in dance.

We meet in sound.

We meet in the unison of 1000 feet.

Here where black meets white,

And through our sweat

I see a rainbow.

A spectrum of colours

And I know it is right.

It gives me joy.

I write to be free.

To keep the water flowing to the sea.

Adding tears to mix this cold duality.

Our right to be free.



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