Wouldn't You Miss Me?

Syd Barrett 11
Originally uploaded by neocaeczaristic.

Syd Barrett 08
Originally uploaded by neocaeczaristic.

he's got his bike
Originally uploaded by Janesdead.


"I don't think I'm easy to talk about. I've got a very irregular head. And I'm not anything that you think I am anyway." Rolling Stone, Dec 1971

"What exactly is a dream, and what exactly is a joke?" Jugaband Blues

You've been on my mind.
A vague grey-ish blue.
Now that you've crossed the gates
Can you come back and tell me,
Where do clouds go when they evaporate?

I think there are terrapins, faeries, & gnomes.

Were there little people to welcome you,
Or monsters and dwarfs and men?
Is it all strange and new,
Or is there a sense of deja vu?

Is life coming back to you?

Did you meet her there?
Did she recognise and greet you?
Stones in her wet pockets,
Lest she fly away.
Like a frail black cloud, on a rainy day.

Where you still stoned? You know, I was always frightened ...

Do you miss here? Its raining.
Is it nice there, or were you scared?
Or are you still laughing, Madcap?
Paint me a picture, frame it in a silver song,
And slide it down a rainbow

Or keep it by the Gates, above the Wall; guess you've broken through them now.

Wouldnt you miss me? I shall, so shall we all.

Not sure how to say it. Been feeling strange since I heard. Another one gone. We'll be running out of idols pretty soon. There'll be no more giants on the moon. The feeling's been humming somewhere at the back of my mind since then. Looking at every footstep, echo and reflection he left behind; and all the shrines. Something about the brevity of his role on stage, weighed against the impact, the rememberance, the worship, reminds me of Harper Lee. He was a Genius.

However, that is not why I loved him, or why I have been feeling strange. In some obscure way, he was one of Us; Like Us he must have suspected it inside him. The inversion; Of thought, love, dreams. Twisted. Ugly. Turned in. Obsessive, fearful introspection: like a child scared to step outside his room or like a child looking for monsters in the wardrobe, or like a god-prince, hypnotised by doom. Lay up nights in fear of it coming. Looked for it within endlessly. searching for its shadows & signs. Hiding it half fearfully, half lovingly, from Them, lest they lock Us away. That was the common thread; And it always wove out differently. Each fought or went down differently.

An old interview: http://pinkfloydhyperbase.dk/scraps/watts.htm