Big City Amor - extract from Night Time Cool follow-up; House/Disco Mix - sunsmooched days; Poem - always right: Tales From The UniversE 70 - newsletter from paused time
An arcadia of imagination
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1. Kid Paradise’s Summer Beach Bar is here and is TAME and TAME and TAME. And, VAIT a minute: TAME-ER than 30 seconds ago!!! And is hitting middish-July like The Paradise Kid is born a trillion times each decade while exulting in a perma-mid-life non-crisis
VUNDERBAR mid-JULY is here and
what else
to do
than listen
LOUD
to Kid P’s tuuuuunnnnnnnneS???
‘sunsmooched days’
Kid Paradise In The Mix Is Handing It Out!!!
2. It is all art, baby
The Paradise Kid has the best fields
3. Poem: always right
when you forget about having to be right all the time
you
always
are
4. Big City Amor
Extract from the follow-up to Night Time Cool and the 3rd in my Dreams Of Sun quartet
‘The world was see-through
The world held secrets
Frederick packed the world’
He killed his shake and fired up the Harley D and scooted around the corner to Ku. Privilege Ibiza. It had been Ku Club. Owned by a dude called Jose Antonio Santamaria Mikel Vaqueriza who played for Real Sociedad FC in Basque country, opened the first Ku in San Sebastien, the late 1970s, expanded to the white isle. Jose Antonio Santamaria Mikel Vaqueriza’s San Rafael palace of jig became the place. Jose Antonio lasted until ‘93 when he was smoked by ETA, the leftist Basque para-military gang.
A dude. RIP.
Floyd pulled up outside Privilege. The joint glossy, hyped.
Floyd dropped off the chopper, heard his phone ping.
A Frederick whatsapp. “The terrace.”
It’s on.
Floyd up to the terrace. There’s Frederick; he hadn't seen him a long time. He put on weight, still looked good. Loose chinos rolled above the ankle, lowkey boaters, a pastelblue polo. Shades, a rock encrusted ring.
His garb a touch OTT; he pulled it off seamless sat at the bar crocodile grinning.
Frederick pointed his phone at the speakers.
Now - flooding the bar area: house music playing low. Life-affirming/rare-is-cool shit. A bag of blow on the bar. The Fredster fucking Fredster-ING: slurping a pale ale; devil’s wine vibe intoxicating.
He said, “Looking fine, though not as fine as El Frederico. Lord Frederick of Fucking Fredster. Of fucking course.”
Floyd grinned, got waved to a stool.
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