… becoming prose. (but where to fit it in?)
you’re so much the size of what you see down there wandering your way between the now and the has-been. not yet the things to be though… any concept of this lost to the harsh nor ‘west wind withdrawing the ambition of family and the frightened souls of teachers trying to keep an even keel in the chaos of that small backwater world of the times. what had they created? no questions asked though. all part of the curriculum… and I promise to be good. I promise to help other people. I promise to obey the scout law. all coming down to pleasing the constructions you’ve made for yourself. so much so that the only yearning taking place was the yearn to be even better than their expectations.
(NOTE: indulge in streams of thought from those teachers. flow into wherever it may lead. a good indication or reflection of HIS times. Put words into their minds. Make concrete their role in playing the anchor)Carrying on into other tones
(iii) – from: A day in the acre of sin.
and oh hell, your pasty pictures of life demand a better explanation. and don’t. don’t just tell me it was done with your eyes closed and back to the wall – bitching like you do. because I thought my blade always to be sharp enough to trim the lumps appearing under your skin. Just under your skin. Seen it before. done with the cleaning and explaining. before swipe and swish into the muck. so don’t tell me you’ve more to add. more to pack into that bulging book of visions (or other cartoon characters you’ve invented all within your fine ideas about time. As if in the corner of the eye I stand at the ready. (but do words matter anyway?) so wicked I’ve become. Seeing the need through you to slash open the guts of our failings. to dance tappety-tap in your excretion. wishing your family a happy new year. waving my wand perfecto magic.
(a closing scene on the stage of what this has become. suitable music yet to be found)
her fingers on his face following the furrows he dug with deep love in mind. swaying with him downwards he felt her hand holding the last idea behind all that he thought.
and ahhhh here the music is found. background sound of trumpets. hymn-like
Copyright © Graeme Perrin 2023