"There was something extraordinary about last Saturday. There was something spiritual and ritualistic about taking the book back to the street where it was written, the street that it was written about. Taking Springfield Road to Springfield Road in spring time. I guess it was a gig and a party, it was a ceremony, it also felt a bit like visiting a place of birth, all of this and more, all at the same time, together we were returning to the scene of the crime, it was a christening, a reunion, an exorcism, a crowd gathered and we drank and we laughed, and some cried, we squared a circle, marked the spot, like pirates and a treasure map. The book and the content, the blood and the ink, the black and the white, the dark and the light, the compass and the clock, the page turning and the time passing, the salt water against the rocks and sand, the salt water in our eyes, the drum and the heart beat, the history and the future, the past and the present, my ghosts and all the ghosts, all our collected memories with the making of new memories, old and new, all dancing about the room at once and with so much love, sea air and old moonlight...."
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