God created the world, then created the devil to blame for his mistakes.
I closed the door of my hotel room behind me.
It was like closing a chapter in the book of life.
Outside, thirty floors below, I could hear the police using their sirens like wolf whistles, to pick up young girls.
On TV, Oliver North, his fifteen minutes of fame ticking steadily away, was being fuzzy about crucial events which had happened a year earlier.
What a flake.
But then who isn't?
That was Reagan's defense at least.
The worst thing is how politics begins to leak into your life.
Back in our innocence, we used to simply stick two fingers up, say fuck the Queen, that was about all you had to say anyway, and then go back to the more important business of making music.
So why was I sitting there feeling angry, about covert operations and illegal aid to the Contras?
I mean, I'm not even American.
But maybe we all are a little bit
And then I realized, it was just the thought that in this particular democracy and probably every other one in the world, there is somebody in power, who thinks he is more right, than all the people who put him there.
All the people who, for once in their lives, took an interest.
Outside, the wind was howling the who-whos from sympathy for the devil, round and round the concrete hotel walls and corners.
That was then.
This isn't.