Life is a tapestry
Pull upon a thread, and who knows where that
thread may lead
But be sure; something, somewhere will begin to unravel…
an apple cor neither
factuality punctuality nor punctuation is found
just truth and lies as innocence dies
and many homiletic homonyms abound
so wheres she oh over there whats that at side er
serpent begone foul fiend smack suck that
slippery snake following fortunes miss rule
and the slithering serpent up the licentious
ladder to the forbidden fruit theres milt
on this apple oh I see the serpents
sly scheme to miss see the
misery that is inherent
and thus inherit of mans
free will a foul foul litany of
purpose by a foul foul serpent
upon this fine fine person that is
she the consternation of impregnation brings repudiation of
our Elysian Olympian Utopian Zion of
excoriation to reveal our innermost selves to live
be thought my God and Evil be thou my Good
which as aeons pass and truth crumbles to a handful of sand to fable from controversial so the fruits of our loins of our desires turn
commercial but no matter how tempting a lucrative deal you thrash out with
Adam he just wants to feel you wrapped
around his finger watching you writhe and squirm
tries to force feed you but beware that fruits
the Devils worm so dont swallow
that poison down or it will be your
turn to don the scaly gown
1. Writer's block
Reader I murdered him. Yes, I did. But he deserved it. Boy, did he deserve it. That boy
was a liar. A damned liar. As fake as Lucian. As unreal as Chariton. He couldn’t have told the truth if his life had depended on it. But yes, it was I - I did it. With a device. An explosive device, a hermeneutic device, anachronistic and from beyond its time. As they all were. Performers to the last, every last damn one of them. Born from conflict and born to conflict, the eternal battle ate them all, heart and soul. From crash of steel to crush of despair, they were born to die under a gloomy, pregnant-clouded sky. Paranoia is bred and fed under crimson skies and tides of fear and death in waiting. Waiting, waiting, just to
trap and ensnare the unwary and drag them to their deserved premature demise.
And to see the desecration that turns to desiccation of soft tissue, organs, brains and potentiality into Gaia, the Mother that is Earth and earth; to see that youthful vigour become loam and compost for maggoty predators of succulent nutrients. Oh how prime becomes prey. And lost and forgotten fragments of time in what could have been. What could have been…
And all because that Lady loves…and harshly. And coldly. And wantonly. And without
Yes reader; I murdered him. But that boy never left a trace. Not a fragment. I don’t
believe he even wrote a single word. Not one. But, wow! Could he spin a tale.
What a storyteller he was. One of the best. One of the first. An original if ever I heard one. And what whoppers he told! I swear that they grew with every retelling. Boy, did those stories ever grow. And yet…and yet, so many believed him. And you want to know something…I believed him as well, for a while.
Lummee, I can hear you say. Weeeeeell, why not. Everyone has to believe something don’t they, eh? After all mate, what’s the point if you ain’t got something to believe in. Might as well not bother, eh? Know what I mean? After all, it’s a hell of a thing if you ain’t got faith in something, innit? Course, one man’s meat is another man’s murder, as they say. Which is ironic, but not in an Alanis kind of way, you know. But that’s not why I murdered him. No. And besides, the crowd; they wanted it, desired it, demanded it. Oh yeah, they wanted blood, and they got it. It weren’t natural and it weren’t pretty, but boy did they want it.They definitely got it. And more. Much more.
And you wanna know something, reader? Do ya? Of course you do. After all, that’s why you’re reading this. Knowledge. To know. And does it tear you? Do you feel guilty for your interest in the gory details? Well, do you? Is it like a car crash, or those images of The Towers, where you were horrified, but you watched, didn’t you? Couldn’t tear yourself away, could you? Every single second of it. Tragedy and drama unfolding before your very eyes. Fascinated. The poor souls involved weren’t fascinated though. Running, running, trying to escape every second, whilst you hung on to every scrap, every image, ingrained and engraved onto your eyeballs, seeping into your cultural consciousness to stay there forever, dulling with every passing year, every anniversary remembered.
Just like the Great War. Which one you say? When was any war ever great? Good
call. All this death and destruction made capable and possible by the advancement of science. Those irrepressible seekers of knowledge we shun in the childhood classrooms that make our modern lives possible. Dark heroes of the future who live so much in nostalgia. Yet, isn’t it just a thing of the past? After all, as science and man advances, what with the climate as it is, doesn’t the human race fall apart as payday comes. Or should that be repayment day? Because, in the end, we all have a final payment to make. And on this occasion, I collected. Shame the boy couldn’t fulfill his obligations in full. Poor boy. Born so, died so. But then, if you sell your soul to the devil for an advance, you ain’t ever gonna pay the bill. I guess that’s the price of unrequited love. Burns you, so it does, that ol’ devil called love.
He should have seen it coming, really, but then, they never do, do they? Blinds you
with smoke and mirrors, so they say. Funny though, the way I murdered him. The
crowd loved it, and laughed. I think. Well, they at least appreciated it, I think. Appreciated the drama anyway. Just like the old days, the old ways. Catharsis turned to comedy. Catharsis of errors. Comedy of the tragic. Whatever. Anyway, they loved it, as he loved her and she loved someone else and…oh, where was I? Evolution? Cross-genres? God knows, and he won’t tell. He don’t play poker, or something…Anyway, reader, I had to do it, for his own good, and yours. That boy had ideas above his station, his ability, his experience, his class you know. Tut-tut. But shouldn’t everyone know their place; in evolution, in society, in history, in time, in the tale?
Or am I just being snobbish? That’s what he said, just before I pulled the literary
trigger. Of course, he swore his revenge on me. My, reader, how I laughed at his
fake bravery, his false mettle, his hubris. But then…perhaps he will have the last laugh, from beyond the grave. For once invented, once written, how can I annihilate him, obliterate him so totally as for him not to be? Surely it is the author who dies upon publication, and the character is born…
My God, what have I done?
Surely I have the freedom to express myself however I wish? And if a character suffers, then so what? From the moment of conception the character is my child; it was not
aborted before birth, but springs forth from the imaginative womb, to grow and be nurtured by its single parent to fruition and future use. Surely I retain the right to dispose of it when and where and however…surely? A marriage of love and effort embodied in the creative gesture of its survival of synopsis. And yet, there must be a final meeting, a confrontation between master and servant, creator and creation, visionary and vision…surely there must? Surely?
For all the input of exuberance, scandal, energy, invention, outrage, diction, meditation, nostalgia, vanity, values and humility, and time, reader, my God the time.
I cannot believe the time and effort involved in this boy. And for what? To murder him, reader. To murder him. A child of mine. A child in my time. And boy, did I love him so.
Too much. He was the monster that I created, the contrivance and creation that I had to return to the earth. You see, reader, I had no choice. Really.
But it was a beautiful ending, reader, I promise you. It was. The boy deserved it.
Oh yes, he had it coming. Glorious, it was.
Of course, as life is and as life does, it all started out so well. Sunny skies and
bluebirds, happiness and hope. How quickly the sun falls away. And then some.
But, you shall see reader. Oh yes, you shall see. So let me tell you about…