INTERCUTTING

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List of Titles:


Intercutting Significance     Shedding National

Criminal Appeal       Gentle Obituary

Suit Origins       Seven Uncles

Anarchic Pesto         Entertaining Trouble

Leopard Number      Woollen Train

Chemical Speeding       Abused Column

High-Wire Punk-Reggae    Cross-Eyed Lantern

Heavy Thirteen        Something Song

Suggestion Hunt       Sea Exaggerated

Foetus Trust        Clay Green

Cabinet Light       Manifesting Room

Frippery Beads          Dog-less Venus 

Paint Marshmallow 

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INTERCUTTING SIGNIFICANCE

Living in the city, or simply in the modern world, we are almost

in films, an intercut happens when two different streams

always surrounded by myriads of stories: fiction and non-fiction

of narrative are spliced together, or perhaps sliced

beckoning us from advertising boards, snatches of mobile phone

apart, in order to produce a spark of creative contrast

conversations, news reports, books we’re reading, music we’re

in the space between their divergent images - this

listening to, even our thoughts: our memories and our fantasies - all

cinematic technique offers all sorts of possibilities if

these narratives competing for space, sometimes all at the same

reconceived to work in a written context. One of the most

time. Some people call it information overload. And yet most of

obvious, if surface, pleasures is the unexpected marriage

us have developed the curious talent of compartmentalising, so

of phrases or images that the conscious mind would have struggled

that we are able to jump from a story about a deadly famine to a

to produce, though this is necessarily elusive, based as it is

a review of a children’s film without thinking it odd. Intercutting,

on chance. Of deeper significance is the way in which

on the other hand, confronts this absurd world of alternate

the pair of narratives can work to undermine the

narratives, telling two stories at once, which are to be read as one.

complacency of each other by offering an oblique

It plays with juxtapositions, relying both on surrealist accident and

commentary or criticism, by approaching the same idea

deliberate contrast; the stories chosen to go together, but ordered

in a different tone or voice, by taking a repeated word

without reference to the manner in which they form a single story.

or image and spinning an alternative world – a partial truth.

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SHEDDING NATIONAL

 

It all started on the day that a former poster-girl-turned-

a case might cogently be made for equating modernity

serious-actress arrived to the premiere of her new film wearing

with nudity. Contiguous with the philosophical progress

nothing. From then on there were new converts to naturism every

of the last three or four hundred years has been a gradual

minute or so, until practically everyone walked around without

loosening of social morality whereby the shedding of clothes

so much as a pair of socks on. An exception was Richard, an

is parallel to a loss of moral absolutes and to a gain of self-

essentially prudish young man who saw the whole thing as

actualising personal moralities. Is it a coincidence that a

a ruse devised by artists which would ultimately result in the

cataclysmic event such as the second world war which

ruin of society. With his friends Sarah and Ben, Richard made

led to a questioning of faith in God and human perfectibility

a stand against the nudists, until arrested and imprisoned in

was followed in subsequent years by the mini-skirt and the

a windowless cell, where he was obliged to defecate in a red

bikini, culminating in the valorising of nudity at music festivals

potty. However, after an unknown number of days or weeks,

towards the end of the sixties and the amoral hedonism of that

Richard was released and, with Sarah, paraded as a national -

decade? Moreover, the subsequent decades have seen a

or even international - hero: a position he accepted with grace

reactionary backlash in the form of resurgent fundamentalist

(unlike Sarah). He rose to become as popular as he was respected,

Islam and US Christianity in which the censorship of exposed

sharing a high profile relationship with the original poster-girl.

female flesh can become an election issue – your privates are political.

 

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CRIMINAL APPEAL

 

‘Nice shirt you got there.’ ‘Thanks.’ ‘Expensive?’ ‘No. I was

he paused, pen hovering over the page, uncertain whether

paid. It’s one of those advert shirts.’ ‘Oh yeah? What’s it

to answer the advert. He re-read the personal requirements

advertising?’ ‘Some car.’ ‘Right. Um… not very obvious is it?’

the person advertising was after: ‘Aged between 25-40?’ At 32, he

‘The logo’s on the back.’ ‘But you’re wearing a jacket.’ ‘Uh

was dead in the middle. ‘Able to produce undetectable copies of

huh.’ ‘Aren’t you paid to show the back of the shirt as well as the

old master paintings?’ Well, he had a reputation in the criminal

front?’ ‘Well, you see, I was paid a lower fee.’ ‘But you can’t

underworld of which he was justifiably proud. ‘Prepared to

tell what the car is at all.’ ‘I know. Suckers.’ ‘What d’you get

work for an anonymous boss for undisclosed sums?’ Well, it was

paid if you’re wearing the shirt under a jumper or something?’

this anonymity which bothered him – it could be a trap by the

‘Well, it depends. Sometimes you’ll pay like normal, other times

police, or worse still he could end up churning out reproductions

you’ll manage a small fee. But like I said, it depends.’ ‘Depends

for some megalomaniac millionaire recluse – he’d read about those

on what?’ ‘Well, your sex appeal – stuff like that. Basically they’re

nutters. Still, the undisclosed sum of money would be good -

looking at the chances you have of regularly taking your jumper

he’d had an unfortunate fraudulent insurance claim that had

off. All sorts of factors come into play. You gotta go and

led to legal costs leaving him one step from penury.

fill in a load of forms.’ ‘Complicated business.’ ‘It sure is. But

He knew he had to make a decision fast, as forgers were all

it saves buying clothes. I’ve saved enough for a new car.’

the rage. Either way, he thought, someone’ll have the shirt off my back

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GENTLE OBITUARY

There’s me, there’s Mark and there’s the gorgeous girl

it began as an English Language exercise; a piece of homework

with the long brown hair and strangely alluring eyelashes,

devised by Mr Kenjins to teach the pupils a little something

all three of us sitting at the bottom of a hill – a small,

about journalistic methods. He suggested they all write

gentle English hill, with long grass and daises, maybe even

a newspaper-style report on some trivial thing that was

the odd rogue buttercup or dandelion. And there’s me

going on at the school: a sports match, for instance, or an

challenging Mark to a race up the hill, with the winner

election for class representative – something like that.

to take the gorgeous girl’s hand in marriage (or something

A relatively mundane exercise, by any measure, yet one which

more exciting in the long grass.) Challenge duly accepted

produced rather frightening results. Take Robin’s revealing

and there’s Mark getting a good start, me catching up

report into the apparently ‘coincidental’ death of four tropical

and us reaching the top at exactly the same time and deciding

fish in the biology labs or Saka’s damning review of the

to continue racing down. Then there’s me taking a

school’s approach to the twenty-first century feminist issues,

spectacular lead, leaving Mark floundering. What a

not to mention Michelle’s obituary of the Head-Master.

fantastic burst of speed! What a resounding victory!

Mr Kenjins was shocked, both by the industrious response to

There’s me reaching the bottom of the hill, ready to seize my

the task and by the revelation that his close friend Miss

prize. And there she is, halfway up the hill, kissing Mark.

House – the head of chemistry – might be a serial fish killer.

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SUIT ORIGINS

 

Henry’s landlady is a small Japanese woman who has made

he reminds me of a freshly planted sapling standing in the

a living out of selling counterfeit teabags. Her popular market

centre of a group of well-established trees. The only conclusion you

stall offers fourteen types of exotic brews, all of which have

can come to is that he won’t last the winter. The world of the

their origins in a range of weeds she finds growing by the side

well-fed cannot accommodate the wiry, however wise. So what if

of inner-city railway tracks. The source of her best-selling

it’s about brains rather than brawn? In the final analysis, you can’t

‘Healing Hamamatsu’ is not the Japanese city of Hamamatsu (where

ignore the fact that he doesn’t fit in. He drives the wrong car, wears

they don’t grow tea anyway) but the dried leaves of the common

the wrong suit and uses the wrong buzzwords. His physical

buddleia instead. Nevertheless, from what Henry tells me, I

weaknesses tempt us all towards acts of violence (the new fountain

believe she does a roaring trade, having a fair proportion of

in the courtyard? it’s an attractive prospect, I grant you). Even our

regular customers, several of whom claim to have been

well-respected financial director – who never bullied at school –

spiritually cleansed by her remarkable infusions. The fact

admits an urge to flush this man’s head down the toilet. And yet,

that she has revealed this mighty secret to Henry (he has only

we aren’t at school anymore, nor are we in any position to abuse

been living there a month) along with countless others (she

a man who could have us sacked. And let’s be honest – he probably

is thinking of setting up a medicine stall on the side) gives

will last the winter and beyond. A man wouldn’t stick a sign on

us some hint, I fancy, of the manner of his relationship with her.

his door reading ‘The Weed Chokes All’ if he wasn’t self-confident.

 

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SEVEN UNCLES

 

We lost a rabbit in the flood, but I wasn’t allowed to mourn

Shirley doesn’t own a diary. She remembers the date by painting her

for him at first. Keiko came and told me that I wasn’t to ask for

nails instead. One finger deals with the days, another the months,

another one either. She said it was an unwritten rule. When a

the third the years and the rest for whims alone. Tuesday is a light

rabbit and a man die on the same day, you are to ignore the

blue, Wednesday grass green, Thursday blue/grey, Friday violet,

rabbit. I found this very difficult, especially since I had no idea

Saturday scarlet and Sunday a warm yellow that fades to lemon for

which man had died. Keiko came and told me that it was my uncle,

the start of the week on Monday. This month – which is April – is

but this didn’t make things any clearer. I had eight uncles. Still,

represented by a peachy orange and this year – 2005 – by a

said Keiko, you must be able to remember this one. So he was

desert ochre. All of these colours are chosen by Shirley and her

very quiet, sure, but he had lovely thin white hair and the kindest

friend Luis, who used to be a psychologist, but is now an art

smile you ever saw. He also had a very small nose. When Keiko

historian. The effect of this fingernail diary is a curious one, for

had finished I tried to conjure up an image of my dead uncle, but

each day there are usually seven nails unpainted. I suggested that

all that came to mind was the dead rabbit. According to her

the fingers should represent the days instead of the colours, but

description, they must’ve looked much the same as each other. Thus

she wasn’t the slightest bit interested. I argued also that she should

I considered the possibility that they had been one and the same.

work out a way of indicating appointments in her finger diary. And

Once my uncle became my rabbit, I found it much easier to mourn.

yet, what with all the nail painting, she has no appointments to mark.

 

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ANARCHIC PESTO

As Perkofsen has noted, the indefatigable advance of

It all started the day I noticed a particularly unusual

Italian culture in British middle class life at the

specimen of graffiti down by the disused canal

turn of the millennium can be glimpsed through the

on my way back from work. It wasn’t the style of the

talismanic significance of pesto, an Italianate pasta sauce

script that caught my attention – spiky-edged, six-foot

whose status almost exactly mirrors the resurgence of all

high letters weren’t exactly unusual. No, it was the tag itself

things Italian amongst the chattering classes. Indeed, its

which sparked my curiosity: why would anyone sign

ubiquity at the same time as the rise of Neo-Renaissance painting,

themselves ‘Pesto’? Fortunately, I had a few friends within

the glorification of Italian-American film-makers and the

the graffiti community to help me solve this little

adoption of pseudo-Machiavellian politics by all shades of

riddle – it turned out that there remained in the city

the political spectrum has led some commentators, Goph-

a remnant of the long-persecuted Italian community

Backbury in particular, to wonder whether there was not

who had begun to wage a subliminal assault on the dull

‘some kind of mind-altering opiate contained within its mixture

Puritanism of the New Order, trying to drag us away

of herbs and olive oil.’ Whilst an unintentional ingestion

from our regimented and law-abiding way of life, by reminding

of hallucinogenic substances by the moral guardians of our

us of past passions. Their anarchic spirit took fire in me, such

nation is not without a certain humour, the truth is more prosaic.

that I say these words with relish: la dolce vita, al fresco, vino, pesto

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ENTERTAINING TROUBLE

 

The King of Wansay finally closed yesterday, having served

her mother used the time to write a book; a work of non-

food for only three months. I saw its owner, his wife and their

fiction entitled ‘Famous Parties’ which did exactly what it

son in the park, but I was unable to gauge their mood. Possibly

said on the tin. Rich in anecdote, it served well as a bedside

they were slightly relieved that it was all over, though no doubt

table book. I especially enjoyed the second chapter, all about

they’d lost money over it. They would have been disappointed, of

guest lists: who’d been famously left off, either intentionally or

course, and I must say that I have every sympathy for them,

by mistake. It proved to be an entertaining subject, combining

but ultimately I wonder whether they ever had any chance of

humour and pathos. Many of the stories are ones of which you

success. There are many people in this community who will be

have probably encountered yourself, but the one that most amused

pleased to see them go – that’s the sort of place this is. It

me was one of the least well-known, concerning the occasion

didn’t matter to these people how tirelessly they worked, nor

when the beautiful Queen of Sie Wan neglected to invite her

were their heart strings pulled when it became obvious that the

husband to her coronation party. The event was held at

restaurant was having trouble. To most people it was just another

a private location and, for one reason or another, the King arrived

failure. Personally, I find this sort of attitude sickening. Who’s

alone, only to be rejected at the door and, after some resistance on

to say that this exotic restaurant didn’t deserve a little success?

his part, awarded a black eye by a bouncer. Elsewhere, the author

Not that I never visited it myself. Simply can’t stand foreign food.

surmises that 5% of suicides can be traced back to guest lists.

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LEOPARD NUMBER

 

In the heart of the city, half-way up the old town hall, below

amongst others, I met a man who collects droppings: an Excrement

the novelty clock, there’s an electronic counter. I don’t know

Cataloguer to give his full title (which I know he’d prefer) ‘An

what it is there for, but still it stays. The number it displays

animal’s droppings are unique to that animal’ he told me. ‘There

rises unsteadily – always going up, but never at a constant

are therefore as many different kinds of excrement as there are

speed. There is space for eight digits. When I first came here

animals.’ He then proceeded to show me some of the highlights

the counter read 00031142. Now it reads 00261718. I wonder

of his extensive collection. There was penguin poo, crocodile crap,

what will happen when it gets to 99999999, though I know

dung beetle dung and – his favourite – snow leopard shit. ‘I tracked

I shall be dead anyway. When I ask people what it means they

that leopard for four days’ he explained. ‘The silly idiot must’ve

only shrug their shoulders. One man says it’s just a number,

been constipated, so I stuffed a dead bird with laxatives, hid it

where another tells me it is nothing at all. And yet it continues

for him in the snow and, as you can see, managed to pick up a fair

to rise, even as I write this. It has been rising faster recently, but

load in the end.’ ‘Indeed’ I said. He went on into another room.

who knows, maybe it will slow down again. Most people are very

‘In here you’ll find human excrement’ he said. ‘Every country is

surprised when I remind them of its existence. ‘Oh. Is that still

represented and a lot of famous names as well. I’m especially

there?’ they say, proudly indifferent. I even wrote a letter to the

strong on heads of state. Care to take a look?’ By all means’

king, in case he knew something. ‘Don’t worry yourself’ he replied.

I said, following him in. ‘But spare the explanation this time'

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WOOLLEN TRAIN

 

She lost her first child in a train accident, from which she

I got stung on the tongue once, which wasn’t too pretty. I was

barely recovered herself. Though she gave birth to two children

talking with a lisp for at least three weeks. And yet it could

afterwards, she gave the impression that she did not enjoy

have been worse. I once knew this girl who got a hornet

motherhood and, to some extent, her friends and family took

sting on her left nipple which swelled to the size of a very

more of a role in the upbringing of the boys than their mother.

large grape. It happened in the summer, forcing her to wear a

This does not appear to have had too much effect on the

thick woollen jumper for quite some time. I don’t know why

children, which is testament both to their father and to the

she didn’t just tell people what the problem was – it would

many others who helped out in various ways. Meanwhile,

have been much easier that way. I guess it didn’t help that

her indifference to living continued, even with the constant

a friend of hers developed the sorry incident in a comic

assistance of psychiatry and undying love of her husband.

story he was writing, using the character of ‘Horny the

Though she had not died on that train, something had and that

Hornet’ as a broad parody of animals in children’s books.

something could neither be resurrected nor replaced. Such a

The joke was, of course, that ‘Horny the Hornet’ was the most

gloomy supposition was only confirmed by her suicide on the

perverse, foul-mouthed and amoral insect you’ll ever come

eve of her younger sons fifteenth birthday. We are left to

across. Stinging nipples was the least of his offences. I for one

contemplate a tragic life – and a cracking good story.

will never look at bees, wasps or hornets in the same way again.

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CHEMICAL SPEEDING

 

Thursday I meet this girl. I like meeting girls on Thursdays, for

Mr. Square lives on a roundabout; a miniature castle surrounded

various reasons. ‘Where d’you work?’ I ask her. ‘At the canine

by a mount of road and beyond that, in the distance, a Mecca

beauticians’ she replies. I think about this. ‘Could you make me look

of service stations, fast-food restaurants and vehicle graveyards.

beautiful? I question. ‘Depends,’ she says ‘are you a dog?’ ‘Well,’

He has built a narrow tunnel under the bracelet of road, which is

I reply, ‘I have my moments.’ ‘I see,’ she says, ‘and where do you

the only way of entering or leaving his abode, unless you have

work?’ ‘Mr. Luggage’ I answer: ‘It’s a suitcase shop.’ ‘I guessed

wings or a talent for running through speeding cars. The tunnel

that,’ she says, ‘is it good work?’ ‘It’s all right’ I say: ‘Bit of a

is one hundred metres long and takes him directly from his

carry on.’ ‘Yeah. I bet’ she says, not laughing. Then there’s silence

kitchen to the disabled toilets in a nearby garage, where he

for a while. We sip our drinks. ‘What’s your take on conversation?’

works weekends. Mostly he lives alone, yet he has been known to

I ask, finally. ‘Overrated’ she replies. ‘Huh’ I say. She says

invite friends and hold raucous parties. These friends are almost

‘Mmmnn.’ Another silence, during which I notice she is staring at

always impressed by his standard of living. ‘You’ve got it made!’ is

my eyes, like I was a sick dog. And at length she produces her

a typical sentiment, which Mr. Square accepts with a smile. And

diagnosis. ‘Shall we get drunk and sign a suicide pact?’ she

yet, sometimes he considers whether this really is the case. At night

asks. ‘Sounds good to me’ I say, and for the first time that evening

he sits in his bedroom watching the cars go round and round the

we both laugh. ‘My house is full of chemicals!’ she laughs.

roundabout. Round and round and round and round and round.

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ABUSED COLUMN

The name Matt Shepherd was, for a few weeks, synonymous

‘slow still like the river she / cried a sea of tears / bring

with lewd and distasteful perversion. The man’s face was

me to the water baby / let me drink your tears / oh bring me

splashed across the tabloids and the broadsheets, each side

to the water baby / I will drink your tears’ – inspiring stuff

describing his crime in relatively sensational prose, not without

from Dream Circuit – that was ‘Slow Still’, the second single

an obsessive interest in the details, which the gallery were

from the recent album ‘Ordnance Survey Love’, yet another

happy to give, benefiting as they were from the publicity. People

song – you may have noticed – to make use of the river

flooded in to see the abused statue, lowering their voices as

metaphor, a tradition in popular music that is as seminal to

they retold the story according to their will and surreptitiously

the medium as the Doric column is to classical architecture,

pointing to the stop where it was said that the mark of

with its most obvious roots being located in early blues, though

Shepherd’s amorous advances was most clearly evident. At

it makes regular appearances in songs of all cultures. Coming

the same time the man himself was trying hard to justify

up next though we have imagery of a slightly different sort

his bizarre behaviour. ‘I don’t see what everybody’s problem is’

in the Maiming Turtles 1989 anthem ‘I don’t want to kill

he said. ‘Had I raped a real woman there wouldn’t have been

you bitch’. Listen out for the dramatic irony at the beginning

half of this fuss. It’s not like I was even doing it in public. The

of the second verse and stay tuned for a psychic-analytic response

room was empty. And who’s to say I didn’t have her consent?’

to this neo-punk classic, coming right up after the news.

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HIGH-WIRE PUNK-REGGAE

‘The boy could already juggle by the age of four

I’m fed up juggling all the nonsense of our lives, Mark,

so he was always destined for greatness in avant-

I’m fed up of having to compete for your time with

garde clown circles.’ The old lady clears her throat

your work commitments, your Saturdays at the football and

noisily before taking a long draw on her ivory pipe and

your disastrously awful punk-reggae group. Sometimes

giving the camera a hard stare. ‘But nothing could

I feel you wouldn’t notice if I ran off with another

have prepared us for the shocking things he did in his

man, unless it was one of the other partners you were

twenties.’ Though I have watched this clip countless times

competing against, one of those spoilt, stupid footballers

it is still impossible to read her tone: is it anger or

you are so obsessed with or an absurd amalgam of

admiration? ‘Who else but him would have contemplated

Bob Marley and Sid Vicious. I could have been a dancing

juggling with white rabbits and black hats on the high-wire

bear in a circus and I still doubt you would have noticed me

or escapology on the trapeze? He was wildly successful

these past few months. Well I’m not going to dance to

of course, but I have to say there was something

your excruciatingly awful tunes any longer – in fact

inevitable about his untimely death.’ This was her last

you could say I am smashing your guitar as well as

interview before her death. Am I wrong to see some sort

puncturing your football: as of today I am leaving you,

of confession in the flicker of her eyes to the left of the camera?

Mark, and the hitman’s bullet should be ending your grief about now.

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CROSS-EYED LANTERN
 

Clumsiness is much misunderstood. The word invokes a

on one of those cold foggy mornings we happened upon a

kind of good natured stupidity. Your mind conjures up images

Chinese lantern hanging from the bare branch of a tree in

of careless clowns, cross-eyed toddlers and dogs with no

the fields behind our house. We took it back home to show

control of their wagging tails. The oaf in the farce, a comedy

father (I had climbed the tree to remove it) but he ordered us

sketch in a china shop: in such ways is clumsiness mis-

to return it immediately. We went out to do so, yet when

interpreted; its dark side rarely - if ever - explored. You

we reached the tree again there was another lantern there, so

see, clumsiness is more of a de-habilitating disease, a

we hung the one which we had stolen on a different branch,

cruel curse which blights many lives and benefits none.

a lower one, which we could reach without having to climb

Consider the case of the man who ‘clumsily’ set the revolving

the tree. Having returned home for the second time father

doors at a gallery entrance spinning a little faster than they

asked us whether we had returned the lantern to exactly

should. The result: an elderly lady with a badly sprained

the place from which we had taken it. We three lied in

ankle – all of this happening but a day after the same

unison. ‘Of course Daddy’ we said. That night, however,

man mistakenly (and unbelievably) managed to put his hand

we all suffered from bad dreams. I was pursued by a dark red

right through the glass of a taxi window. On both occasions

dragon with two heads, one of which was fathers. I wondered,

he found himself liberally doused in guilt. What an oaf.

for which thing were we being punished? Stealing or lying?

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HEAVY THIRTEEN

 

The clouds were heavy with snow, but polite enough to wait until

having then been divorced a total of six times it occurred to me

we’d got back home before unloading their icy waste. It was Sunday

that if I took the first number from each of my ex-wives phone

afternoon and we were taking a walk, because god knows there

numbers, put them in a random order, and then rang that number,

was nothing else to do. On the way we passed a lone crow who

I might discover a woman who possessed all the best qualities

looked to be enjoying the merciless weather. At least that’s what I

of my former partners. Putting this plan to the test, the number I

thought. T, moreover, quite passionately protested. ‘This whole

arrived at was 443719. Then one night, shortly after twelve o’

menacing crow business drives me up the wall’ he said. ‘Why do

clock, I made the important call. I counted thirteen rings before

people blindly suppose that crows are evil? Where, I ask, is the

someone answered. ‘Unlucky’ I said, aloud. ‘What was that?’ replied

evidence? Outside of a film or a book, have you ever come across

the woman. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘what I meant to say was actually –

a truly malevolent crow? This pathetic prejudice is based on

will you marry me?’ She ignored this. ‘But what did you say at first?’

fairy tales: the crude association between the colour black and

she insisted on asking. ‘I said “unlucky”,’ I explained, ‘but it was

cruelty’. He stopped for breath and was just about to continue when

nothing to do with you’. ‘Mmm’ she said. Her voice reminded me

interrupted by a chilling scream coming from the tree behind us,

of eating clotted cream fudge. ‘’Spose you reckon I’m your perfect

where our crow-friend appeared to be pecking the brains out of

woman?’ she said. ‘Right’. ‘Been divorced six times?’ ‘Right again.’

a small white bird. ‘But I bet the white bird started it’ said T.

‘Weird’ she said. ‘Why do they always come up with my number?’

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SOMETHING SONG

 

Her husband still calls himself an occasional smoker. He knows

one by one they sit upon the steps, each taking their place as if

he isn’t and he knows she knows, but he says it all the same, like

the process was a random one, though god knows its been very

the way he refuses to tell people he’s unemployed. All those lies are

carefully planned. With the morning sun bouncing off their

justified, he thinks, by the unsatisfactory nature of the classification

white faces, it’s difficult to gage their exact expressions, though you

system. If people will continue to classify other people according to

expect them to be straight-faced and serious. They sit so still, after

one or two facts, then people ought to have the right to make up

all, resisting the temptation to talk to one another. You wonder

those facts. Something like that, anyway. She thinks he’s just being

how they communicate at all. It is now time that the last few are

difficult, which is true – but that was always his point. And it’s

finding their places and you know that they sense this, even those

not as if she doesn’t bend the truth every now and again. She

on the first step - who cannot see those assembled behind - or

denies illness with frightening fervour. I’m never ill, she tells people,

those at the edges, who heads never turn – not once. And yet they

when the truth is that she always is. But it’d be gloomy to go on

know when to start. They are very well-trained. There is no need for

about it, wouldn’t it? She remembers making a pledge to herself at

a conductor -  though maybe this is where the sun comes in. Is

the age of sixteen never to give stock replies. Hey there, how are

that what it is? A song to the sun? I wish I might never know

you? I’m fine thanks, how are you? Yeah, I’m good. She tried to be

for sure. Their jaunty hums please me all the more for not knowing

sickened by the routine, but in the end she was comforted by it.

what their purpose is, though the tune is too bouncy to be beguiling.

---

SUGGESTION HUNT

And so it was written that the shape of her frame pleased

MILLIONS WATCH AS FAT QUEEN KILLS CAMEL runs

both men in an aesthetic way, so much so that each of them

the headline. The story is as follows:  ‘To pay respect to her

radiated ardour for her anatomy. As she was alone in being

country’s new government, Queen Penelope of Lundy yesterday

herself, there was yet to be announced a burdensome trail, for

arranged a traditional royal camel ride, which was to be

to single out but one of the men. And so it was thus

witnessed by at least three million. Unfortunately, when selecting

determined that these men should perform in an aquatic race,

the lucky camel, organisers failed to cater for the fact that her

from their island shore to that of another – and back again. This

majesty is a whopping twenty-three stone in weight. This was to be

befell as it was so arranged, with *Man AE*  to receive the

quite literally a killer fact, when after only thirty two metres

female reward. This same day marked their marriage, also the

the handsome camel in question collapsed under the Queen’s weight

prologue to a violent war which did blossom grievously from a small

and promptly died. For many the incident was merely tragic;

misunderstanding brought about by this same aquatic race. The

others suspected strategies. As historians have noted, the tradition

island to which the men had travelled considered usage of their

of the royal camel ride was once incorporated into a camel

beach as a marking point to be an haughty challenge to their

hunt, before the liberals seized power, banning public cruelty to

honour as a conglomeration of personages, with its suggestion that

camels. By mistakenly – or more likely deliberately – killing this

the other island conceived more durable aquatic athletes.

camel, the Queen is harking back to an earlier, better age'

---

SEA EXAGGERATED

 

A dream, another bloody dream. Give us a minute and we’ll

Half a minute in the water was enough. My mind was all

get this over and done with, no questions asked. The important

set up to stay, but my body had different ideas. Even before we

thing to remember is that there was a double-bass player. I say

could get a debate going my legs were moving elsewhere. And

that – and yet I never saw him with a double-bass. Instead he

I was not the only one with renegade limbs. There were few

held a cardboard cut-out of himself: hips exaggerated and stomach

ankles able to withstand the perils of the icy sea; not whilst

underplayed. For practical reasons his innards were revealed, the

the choice was firmly in their feet. Arriving back on the sand,

strings of this irregular stand-in being his vocal chords, which

however, we were all surprised to see that a komodo dragon had

duly released a small spray of blood with every tuneful twang: a

wandered onto the beach in our absence. Currently allowing its

two-part harmony of sound and vision. Accompanying him was a

long tongue to slither over the remains of a mint choc-ice, the

pianist without a piano. He played a naked woman instead:

animal gave the distinct impression that its hunger was by no

a veritable Venus of Urbino laid out on a mahogany table, soft

means satisfied. So we escaped, with relief, into the icy

to the touch and delicately tuned. Her range was limited, but

clutches of the sea, where we remained for a while. Later on

they played a simple piece, with the eyes’ banquet safely

we swam up to a rock. Finding it to be inhabited by another

absolving all limitations. The steady repetition of two notes

dragon, we soon left. We swam to another rock. Again we

turned out to be very soothing. I can’t remember the drummer.

left. We swam from rock to rock until the night fell upon us.

---

FOETUS TRUST

 

Carlos believed in positive thinking. He really did. He

if you had to make a choice between line and colour, he

believed in it so much that he thought he’d be able to

said, which would you choose? – Hells bells, I replied,

take cyanide and yet keep himself alive simply through

except that I didn’t, for I do not speak like so. – Hells

trusting that his heart could make it. He thought that he

bells, I said, what kind of a question is that? The simplicity

could never drown, so long as he truly believed he never

of my response sheltered the philosophical foetus that lay

would. The test of life, he thought, is a test of trust. That,

within. No, I withdraw foetus. How about hibernating bear? Or

in the end, is all that a man should need. It all comes

sausage in a roll, or the sweets at the centre of an Easter

down to trust. His girl Maria, however, did not believe

Egg? – Stuff the logic, he said. – Yes indeed, I replied,

in positive thinking. She thought nothing of it. She didn’t

stuff stuffing. The stuffing in a roast chicken. Of course! Why

trust it at all. At least, not until after Carlos’ funeral. It

hadn’t I thought of that before? – What? he said. – Hells

was then that she allowed herself to think about things a

bells, never mind that I replied. The logic is duly stuffed,

little more positively; to release her tired heart from

with parsley and with sage. For the dessert, I think I’ll be

the shackles of negativity. It was then that she thrilled the ghost

taking line. – Ah, he said,