As the Sci-Fi Lullabies Start to Build

8am. Suede and I are walking down Little Lebanon. Brett Anderson is introducing the band and I am wishing I had enough money in my pocket to investigate the Lebanese sausages and scrambled eggs at Beirut Express.

The hard winter sun hits the freshly watered pavement, transforms it to a blinding strip of light all the way down to Marble Arch. The golden glare so strong that all the people walking towards me are no more than Hiroshima shadows. For the next few minutes the rumour becomes truth, London's streets are paved with gold. Little Lebanon transformed into a Hollywood special effect, Tinsel Town shorthand for heaven or the interior of a Spielberg mothership.

I walk on gilded concrete, dissolving in the light. It is like entering the lobby of Hotel MANDI. As the sci-fi lullabies start to build, superhero powers return. My mind crunches vectors, first one, then eight, then 30. As the numbers accelerate, I keep up with the fractal edge of the snowflake. Everything becomes data. In the information topology that is time, I touch past, present and future.