Jasper Rice sent me this poem. It sums up late 2008 and early 2009 very nicely:
The second last summer of a decade/ lying in sunbleached cemetary grass/ high with the brothers Treffry/ Oh the summer of 2009/ I drift through lectures like a wafting breeze/ pedalling coastal roads to ease my wanderlust/ and drinking ten dollar wine /
it's summer-in Summer Hill/ And I'm beneath the railway lines/ high with the brothers Treffry.
Will is my name and I write and record music as Paneye and draw illustrations.
I once dreamed of a community of people, deep in a forest, that were all made of butter. These people only survived until spring, when they would melt into a creamy pond. Autumn hardened the pond and new butter people would stir and crawl out of the cream to start a new life.