… becoming prose. (but where to fit it in?)
Teaming the life schools and concepts thereof. Ahhh more nicely too the imagination and the way it retorts and reverts and succumbs, gawd some could say moulded upon this handheld scenario of his youth.
Now th’ grownups. Yeah. Yes. Yep… I’m just going ’bout my way working on being Jocko of the town and throwing out th’ smile and th’ smirk yes too. So, biding what he thinks to be time and still to be tasted while they keep tellin’ him off, they do.
“Pull yourself together Sunny Jim, and don’t think you’re anyone in particular. Don’t go getting a swollen head.”
Ahhh but no sir, (you turd) he thinks and smirks yet again. Not but no one told me a thing or two ’bout life yet, so just a little comfy-cozy lad is me.
(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 the 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