23/10/07: Havana, Cuba.
Making sense of the half awake in half sleep, the sub rosa the mundane drive-by Havana morning. More relative this latin barrio than absolute, a sanctuary for chrome Chevrolets, for cheroots and mojito excess. We breathe our own smell, stagger among the revolutionary bars. The taxi driver singing to radio, cornering dusty intersections as an act of defiance, demanding a criminal fee…... deep tropical abrasions, the shades of angel light - these are the flavours of sex, from rent sky a melancholy grace in its tear. A long time since love reached into these pockets, thumbing the dog-eared Book of Revelations - a timesheet for what has been lost, the forgotten and the ever wished for.