Entangle

When I say “Garcon crept noiselessly across the landing to make better sense of what Inez was saying downstairs on the phone.” you probably understand what I am saying don’t you? But have you wondered why that understanding is? How do little black squiggles on a white background make the complex mosaic of ideas embodied by “He could tell it was her mother, she always effected a certain wry and weary tone talking to her that he recognized instantly.” It really is quite an amazing ability. I have taken complex neurochemistry or a soul or the wishes of alien overlords or something- something wholly subjective and deeply rooted within myself; cut off from you by miles of distance, social etiquette, my ability to defend myself, and more literally a solid inch of flesh skin and bone protecting those thoughts from any external prying. Yet, without a drop of blood spilled, I can convert these indecipherable thoughts into a shared “code” and you can then turn the squiggles shaped like “they were talking about me now” into some semblance of an understandable shape. Part of this involves the idea that a Sign like “the knife was tucked into my belt” is made up of the Signifier- the literal words on the page or the sounds in the air- and the Signified- the abstract idea to which they refer. But this does nothing to explain what was (what is(what will be(what will have been(what is… ) ) ) ) the most complicated question of all. Given that the words “she lay there sobbing, clutching her gory wounds in vain as the floors became steeped in her blood” are clearly unreal- why do you have any reaction except indifference.   

“David.”

______________________ “are you saying I can’t do it?”

_______I asked Jane, with a reserve that frankly astonished me. It must have…

really? Really? she think’s I can’t sort out the interview myself? It ju-

___________grrrrrrr… really is honey not the best way to suggest a flock of stock of rock of

____I was reservedly astonish-me-must have Jane Jane Jane Jane

____________________the first time Jane and I made love was in a little lift in the building where we both worked- separate from all civilisation in those inflamed minutes- the concrete crumbling anxiety of being fired- of her boyfriend upstairs- of rent- of the Russians- obliterated by those quiet fingers of a flocking rhododendron bush outside the holly garden’s sweet on my mother’s wedding to Greg swelling his cheeks with the flush that said “you can’t stop this David” and my hateful mother saying “really is honey not the best way to suggest

___________________SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP STOP SAYING IN STUPID

flocking of birds around careful trees and bees around flowers and along the quiet graduals of glowing glazed bowers flowers poppodum fairy a book with no pages resolute

the wall of the hotel room after the wedding had a dragon of spiralling mould growing and infesting every corner- serpents in the bush were a worthwhile substitute for rabbit on this exciting romp

childish without appendages I could control my father awoke to tell me really is son not the best way OR WAS THAT SOMEONE ELSE WHAT’S HAPPENINGSHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

RESOUNDING CRASHING AGAIN AND AGAIN THE DRUMS OF DROY AND RESOUNDING RESOLUTE THE END OF THE ABYSS- EUROPE IS AN ABYSS AM I SELFISH WHY DO I WANT TO TOUCH MYSELF?

AMIAPERVERT?AMIAPERVERT?AMIAPERVERT?AMIAPERVERT?AMIAPERVERT?AMIAPERVERT?AMIAPERVERT?AMIAPERVERT?AMIAPERVERT?AMIAPERVERT?AMIAPERVERT?AMIAPERVERT?AMIAPERVERT?AMIAPERVERT?

?????????????????????????????????????SOLID????????????????????????

____________????????????????????TOUCH??????????????????????????

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!MOTHERMOTHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

RESOUNDING DEEP DESIRES ASTOUNDING

_________________________________________gregwasneverquietfuckingher.

_____________________________________thefirsttimeijerkedoffmymothercaughtme.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………shantishantishanti………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….screech……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..tyretreads…………………………………………………………………………………………..theplanethatwentovermynurserylowandloud………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….dadhitme.

And with a heavenly clap which broke the wills of the wicked in two the voice of the LORD bellowed down from the sky into the heart of David the Mild. David asked the LORD what his message for humankind was and the LORD replieth thus:

“Child; I shall not convey my message in words for they are the feeble tools of men”

For the LORD was a misogynist

“Instead here is my message, mad and miraculous, transcendent and elusive, redemptive and unsurpassable by the ‘knowledge’ of humans (for that is mere shadows).”

And David the Mild felt a strange bodily transformation that had no visible sign but left him feeling a tingle of the LORD and an empty feeling after words. He looked down from the light bursting through the clouds for it was too blinding to discover that a bound Book had appeared in his hands with strange untranslatable symbols etched across its cover in elaborately woven patterns.

“Preserve this Tome for the generations to come, for it holds the ultimate message from I your GOD to all of Mankind and Wife-kind. Preserve it for the one-to-come to read in the Final Sermon at the end of time but do NOT, under any circumstances, allow anyone to read it before then. For, with all of my might I shall annihilate all denizens, man or beast, from the face of the Earth with a fury unparalleled if this decree is disobeyed and thou shalt know the insatiable hunger of destruction dwelling in the heart of your LORD God.”

With those words clouds grew dim once more and David the Mild was left in the soft dirt of the desert clutching the grubby book in both hands. Suddenly he heard the rumble of thousands of soldiers on horseback coming his way to slay him and ran for his life.

David grew old and died without so much as opening the first page of the Book as the LORD had forbade him and imparted the story of the Book to his seventeen sons who together took upon the task of protecting the book until the end of time. Some of the brothers, notably Killmere the Younger, attempted to steal the book and read it but were stopped and violently castrated and killed.

Centuries passed, wars were fought, brother fought brother and the daylight of civilized man was alternately extinguished and rekindled in contrast to the constant abyssal darkness of chaos. Eventually, in all the chaotic sexual madness and passion of history dusty old stories were forgotten and curiosity overcame apprehension and fear of divine justice.

As the storms and tsunamis and earthquakes and resurrected zombie dinosaurs and nuclear fireballs laid utter waste the Earth and their sound in turn was overwhelmed by the throaty orchestral begging for mercy of all human and animal kind one curious young woman examined the innards of the decaying Manuscript.

Every page was completely blank.

Children’s Stories- Vol I

Down in the twisted tubers of a grim and melancholy hollow the Prince of Beasts, Finest Emperor of all Virulent Deterministic Savagery, Enemy of “Civilized Man”- was hunched over the body of a dead fox. The night was a death shroud that hung like a curse over the silent winter spinneys that burst lopsided from the frozen dead earth. Scarce thrushes made stumbling blind way through the errant overlapping brambles and all about the Owls in stiff and stodgy parliaments flocked on their respective branch-seats and boo-boo-booooo-ed the proceedings.

The Prince twitched his little white nose at the air and suddenly scurried into the depths of his palatial warren- its shabby entrance obscuring noble under-ings: itself obscured by bushes packed close in steely-leafed regiments. Many minutes and some agonizingly obvious stumbling later the foot soldiers of the human race, sniffing the ground and letting out soft little growls, came crashing through the undergrowth in his pursuit. They had no way of knowing about his tiny little eyes that glimmered from deep in a path that led five eight feet below the chilling earth. He, in his earthy tidings, was far below the frozen bodies of unwary travellers, below the roots of uncompromising oaks(eyestapedopen), below the ongoing chaos and drama and suffering of the surface world.

Eventually, finally, men themselves arrived on muscle strapped twitching atrocities of domestication.

The Prince lurked in hunkered down depressive tunnels for days as the hapless men searched for him. His food supplies were low, his temperature dropping. He bid his time.

After a few days of no joy the men’s morale started to lessen. Without enough food for the dogs they let them loose into the wild and had to eventually abandon their horses when they grew to knackered and slowed by the barren ice/soil. A few of the horses died from the cold- soon their riders had to eat them too to survive.

Two men fled after another night- driven half mad by the fear of wolves and the hunger. The next morning the others woke to find the man on watch had frozen to death in the night. One by one the party grew smaller and wearier. The wolves and bears were growing closer every evening. Each fire grew progressively shorter lived as the supplies of available wood not buried in the snow grew more thin on the ground. After more desertions, deaths, and a suicide the party gave up- forced to leave their dead friends to be buried in the still snow.

The Prince emerged and ate meagre tufts of grass from amongst the fallen bodies- feeling nothing.

Whispers.

(It was with some hesitation that I accepted the Paris

job offer: many others had declined. However I needed money

more than I feared death and my child would soon

be born in a spurt of blood and that put

obligatory arms and hands of steel upon my meagre shoulders.

Quietly, fingers tapping in skittish sprints back and forth across

my grubby overalls, I stood against the back wall weary

with the days travelling. I was anxious to leave a

good impression but also with no option but to stand

and wait- perching in the corner of the room- I…)

Such was a face etched with sad remembering that lay silently squealing in the pit of discarded broken bodies- his legs snapped sharp behind himself in a crumpled heap. I looked on (crying) unmotivated. (for miles the same- bodies piling up in mounds) and the irradiated earth splashed down in random geo-tides of shaping and reshaping. Pulled back into that wild abyss, the womb of nature and perhaps her grave (shanti shanti shanti)

These a wastrel whispers of the dead on these plump forbidden fields.

Lonely wandering (I) interrupted to kick down wooden planks to access ghostly bombed houses- window-eyes dark with a mirror sheen of the apocalypse. Inside lay pitiful wraiths- alien entities in their rubbery non-ness

(I moved to Las Angeles in the Summer- and that’s when I met a boy with two older brothers, two dogs, and no a…)

Their names are lost now- just the dejected eyes of lives obliterated- shot through again and again and again with a familiar disappointment.  

Gurgling

OUT of the depths of the swamp, whose lapping dark water fed micro-streams that flowed in tense parsed flows across moss covered dirt clumps as wide as a man, a cool emaciating mist hung over everything. I was crouched in the bushes staring silently from my earthy burrow- clawed by my trembling fingernails to hide from the web toed wolves that paddled silently through the dark water for frail prey like me. Only my stammering eyes were set against the darkness of my rags sent pitch black like the mud and shadows by the water from last night’s desperate swim and even they were tiny specks in the depths of my makeshift warren. My skin was sent a deep blue by the bitter cold and I was so impulsively trembling just to stay alive that I’d developed an insatiable hunger just to replace the exuberant energy of mere existence in the wasteland. My beady white eyes stared around for food from the depths of my burrow when a sudden loud splash sent me ducking against the hard icy dirt and going totally still.

All I had seen was a dark green shape rising shuddering from the water a way away. Tentative eyes as if on stalks peered over the lip of the warren and through the throttling ferns to see a human figure in a cowl and cloak rising to its unseen feet and wading slowly out of the water in my general direction. As it came closer I could see it was covered from head to toe in a sea-weed-type-plant. Its face was a shadowy void- it’s silent movements betrayed a cold mechanistic intelligence.

It stepped out of the water and, without the splashing, became eerily silent for a being so monstrous. It stepped over my burrow and disappeared out of sight. A few moments later I heard it wading through more water. In the distance a wolf growled and my stomach regained the sliver of dread that the whole had lost.

Drowned Boy

I watched those pale lips leaping and slapping in the visual quiet of the little room. The boy was crouched in the shadows- his dark cloak causing him to become almost one with the gloom.

Bobby and I were making our way across the Scar… this sort of long thin field hemmed in by hills on either side whose trees concealed unseen machine gun emplacements and snipers. The Scar was thinner than a modest highway but stretched so far the treeline on the opposite side was only barely visible through the smoke and mist that permanently stained the air from so many recent bullets and explosions.

Now Bobby had promised, before we both died, he’d tell me how he’d known the Turnip would spare his life.

The ‘Turnip’ was apparently this strange ghostly enemy Officer who’d stalked the battlefield after a particularly devastating rout when the rest of his stony army had marched on and had caught Bobby. Bobby had apparently, supernaturally according to our (very superstitious) narrator, known the Officer would not shoot him and thus the Officer moved on and the two young boys turned to rank and file young men escaped with their lives.

We scampered across the churned earth and immediately had to scramble from the lead rain whose source we could not pinpoint. There was this sort of ditch and we dived into it and hid but every time one of us tried to pop our head up to search for the enemy we had to immediately duck again to avoid having it shot off.

“Alright Bobby” I said “We’re clearly about to die- tell me how you knew the Turnip wouldn’t crass* you eh?”

Bobby seemed to spot something on the hill on the opposite. I looked up dumbly and, as Bobby dragged me invisibly out the way and a vast boom erupted beside me as a sniper shot fired in futility into the ditch side, I saw naught but a flicker of movement in the trees. We clambered out of the ditch and went charging for the next patch of cover and, furious fire raining down, Bobby was grazed in the shoulder and I felt the breeze of one flying just over me rapidly bobbing head.

A terrific explosion evaporated the earth ahead of us and we felt the cool patter of rubble and dirt showering on our gibbering faces. The cloud of smoke made the machine fire less focused on us and more of a general roar and fury with no direct danger. I grabbed Bobby’s arm and ran forward only for us to both trip and land face first in the crater the explosion had formed. More explosions went off elsewhere on the Scar and a feat of will prevented my shaken bowels from giving out completely. Bobby crouched purposeful under the craters rolling lip, popping off occasional shots into the indecipherable jungle either side. He turned to me and smirked. He’d said very little since the suicide mission began.

“You r’member I told you ‘bout the Summer before the War started- when Ma took me to that crusty beach with all the p’bles n’ shells and little shops?”

He had.

Well one of the people we saw was a fortune teller gypsy lady with honkers like the dogs I tell you even though she weren’t no young thing- says it’s cause she found the water of eternal beauty or something but boy lemme tell you…”

Bobby was a brute and a scoundrel- far below the basest standards of civilized man. I caught sight of something moving in the wood opposite and, without thinking, lurched forward without aiming and fired as many shots as my nerve would let me before ducking- I heard a yelp of death.

“She told me my fortune by first telling me a story about a man who wanders the earth searching for his missing wife only to discover he never married. After than she took out a big ol’ book full of strange symbols and told me that whatever I thought they meant was the truest meaning and direction in my life I would ever find. She showed me the strange pages and then she gave me one of them Tarot cards of a boy falling in a Lake and that boy had the Turnip’s likeness.”

The boy went silent.

“What?” I said.