William Blake and Alan Moore go into a bar and don’t come out

I remember hallucinatory clarity
At dusk when the branches are black and wet
Like the ink of a Chinese painting
And my face looms at others
A dangerous zombie
Paler and further away
Than the dinosaur fish
Fossiled under the sea.

Since then, as a captive pig,
Shamefully comfortable
I’ve blinded wild eyes
Tamed atonal songs
The cracking voices
On a raw record player
Scratching the Aspidistra
All the old odd things
I have packed away
and I’m sat on the box
trying to remember
what was inside.

Cowboy Bebop...Firefly...could they possibly be related?

Are all groups of cowboy-designated thieves on a space ship - featuring an innocent girl who's good with machinery, a tart with a heart, a hulk of grumpy stupid manflesh and a hot lead who looks good in tight pants - necessarily related? Is everything that echoes linked, or am I linking them just because I'm looking for connections to things I know already, forming a comprehensible map of a crazy world?

See: The Regeneration of the Cool.

Recyling my own ideas is ok when it's a matter of perennial truth. Yup.

Today in Hatton Gardens I saw...

Christmas trees on the pavement
reclining like over-stuffed Romans
stripped for the bin men.

A Hassidic man pulling on his beard
tugging a thick handful
somehow obscene, the gesture (or am I five?)

A tall man in a smart coat
singing along to “don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?”
in a newsagent that sells mostly crisps.