Antonio the Longboard Rider.

Antonio the brave longboard rider who carved angels out of marble and concrete, spoke of his seven-foot-one Greek father whose cock he envied, wanted to touch and understood its power, was one of the ancient messengers from the realm where the Nightbird heralds from.

He spoke of the Mafia in Calabria, Hell’s Angels and the delights of sex and art with a twinkle in his eye that spoke of the universe he carried inside of him. He hated his mother but, yes, there is a but, she was not his real mother. I talked with Antonio about my felt exile and he recognised it immediately; to be awake in what is seemingly a sleeping world. The proof of this, was that in all the chatter in the crowded Vietnamese restaurant where we shared some dishes together, the conversation I had with this shamanic smiling devil/angel was more beautifully alive and real than anything else around us.

We, well Antonio, spoke of corrupt policemen and gangsters. He derided the corrupt policemen with their enforcement of the rules they secretly break and I felt Antonio speak to the shadow within myself. I was or had been a corrupt policeman until I understood that I was telling the biggest lie. The one that proclaimed that I was what I appeared to be instead of a stark raving mad artist and visionary, just like Antonio, the Shamanic longboard champion.

Antonio knew that I had lied and instead of persecuting me, recognised the sadness this deep shadow had cast. I’m not really a gangster though, I love it all too much- definitely a writer though and somewhat mad. We are fragments of a whole, this is what I feel; the world, us, everything experiencing itself according to its own perception, wavelengths of light and sound experiencing itself at our chosen frequency.

This is what I meant when I asked Antonio who he thought might have authored all of the stories we’ve ever lived and read. Antonio’s answer seemed rather perfect: Nobody, we’re all just making it up as we go along. I suppose the question then is, what story do you want to write out of the ruins? Because here we are in this thing called life and you have is the you, you want to be, and the choices are so varied. Mine is to continue to believe in art, magic, freedom, love beauty, kindness, forgiveness and grace. Our shadows as hollow or as ugly as they may seem, ask us all to love ourselves and be compassionate, otherwise how will we ever love one another?

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