More and More Elaborate Performances

More and More Elaborate Performances

He smoked a cig, with friends, sat on the school wall. Smoke signals, and Lou Reed poses. The chat  flowing aimlessly – Drum or Samson? Turkish men in the harbour, their dark tobaccos. Young Grecian, in the bathtub.

Walking down tree lined avenues, hand in hand, I still fret: the sun is so glorious, your white hand so soft, your smile ironic. I look up into soft green leaves.

Summer’s hot work conducted in small cafés. Sweating cake parcels for old women who know our names, forget our stories, demand each time more and more elaborate performances.
– Patrick and I love eating fish.
He drinks double espressos to combat despair. They’re mixed up from a child’s watercolour palette: Ochre, Burnt Sienna, Raw Umber. The child sleeps in a corner, not minding.

He makes speeches:

Two thirds must work so that the other
third may glut on beer and icecream…

The regulations relating to pronunciation
have recently been significantly relaxed…

 My heart, I adore you –
I spend my days sighing
at memories of last
time we met; my nights
I spend dreaming
of lovemaking…

He goes to see an old friend. He travels on the train [Midland, Lime Street to Norwich. Departing 10:04, Arriving 11:36]. He seems excited by the views of the countryside. He takes photos. He takes photos of his reflection – one large eye, focusing.

He put his hands on her breasts. The nipples made him curious.

It’s about creating situations – where – people – it’s hard sometimes to speak – like, take, for example, last week –
A woman is selling her wares between London and Newcastle. She says: “I’m just enjoying myself – I love my job”. We heckle.

How was your week? My week? My week was interesting. The customer had everything we had asked for in place, which makes a nice change. I took photographs on the promenade. The sun was at the end of the pier, was just slipping down, easing itself into the waters.

Comedians, actors and minor celebrities spilled out of the fire exits, smoking.

I’m just a little bit sick.

He sits on the wall and smokes a cigarette.

How was my week?
I went to the cinema with my friends.
Je suis allé au cinema avec mes amis.
On the train I fell over backwards – all of a sudden. Arms reached down to me, lifted me up.

Afterwards I wrote it down in my journal:

Religious Experience

On the train, I was lifted up by strangers. Afterwards I crossed over to the other side. It was a Sabbath.

I’m sick. A+

I used to wander around, lovestruck pup that I was. I used to stand in the rain. Still do [Tuesdays and Thursdays]. Used to stand before mirrors – carefully. Used to paint pictures. I tell you, honestly, I’m very sincere with women, girls…

 – “Oh, you poor poor man, you must have been traumatised!”

What? You’re sick?

Her skin, scented.

Sometimes I despair of it, I really do. [I make a speech:] Fucking bullshit. I just, I tell you, one day, I’m just going to light out for the territories. You know, like Huck Finn? I could sure be happy just with some time and space and a bit of raft and maybe, nah, well maybe a beer or three thrown in.

I sat there listening, getting it all down.
– And where was the pain, did you say?
I made notes, as the light returned. I wrote as fast as I could.

But it was a bic. – the nib rusted, or it broke in two – I forget. Ma cher. Please. Perhaps,  if you could just repeat that last bit, one more time. He sat on a wall doing what?

He sat on the wall, for a while. But then he left. He saw her. She was washing her hair in the river – the green river – in the river where we once used to swim – naked and beautiful. He turned and he fled.


~ by Wit on August 19, 2009.

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