The Blue Books Restored: Fragments 1A to 70 (part 2 of 4)

a mythology pieced together from superhero comics

 

Behind me is the window to the garden. I looked out one day and saw Mum breaking a spider-web with a broom. There was a big white thing in the middle. It looked like it had a face.

 

I taste the last of her lip gloss
as each kiss tangles my tongue
in the cobweb of a candy floss machine

 

     But it really was summer and I still clearly remember being there. It was the last week of the school holidays and we were already getting bored. Jonathan, Steven, Diane and me. At the beginning of one of those long, hot afternoons that only seemed to happen in my childhood. Tanned a wild, celtic shade of brown – in the age before melanoma. When children could play safely all day out of sight of their parents. The brief glory of my time in Camelot.

 

The taste of blood, like copper coins upon my tongue,
is a sanguine sacrament from the Huntress God
who chases me down the silver pathways of the night.

 

Why doesn’t your shit smell like mine?
And hey – I’m not talking roses here.
We eat the same things and flush
that blue gunk down the bog,
but it could be London Zoo.
For all I know, you stuff
dead rats up your arse.
It takes all sorts; why should I judge?

 

Years later again, my uncle grown up, I used to stay in this room at weekends, as a treat. Spoiled rotten by my grandparents. Feeling cosy and secure with a big grown-up bed to myself. Perhaps, curled up there in the darkness, I was returning to the security of the womb.

 

One blistered finger
paints with ichor. Brush handles
do not touch canvas

 

The fifth card is what stands behind me. The past events that brought me here. The High Priestess is a robed and veiled woman sitting on a plain throne, reading a large tome. One of her bare feet is dipped in a running stream. The background is concealed by a large curtain. Her realm is one of secrets, of hidden wisdom and of intuition. As a  somewhat shy person, I do not reveal much about myself. Not many people know that I write and fewer still have been allowed to read my work. The anonymity of the internet suits me well. I reveal only to better conceal.

 

... and turns the key to unlock dreams. Although
I am a child no longer; when clicking
off the switch, I still feel the urge to race...

 

the angular, dour sound so prevalent

 

An old lady lives next door. Her name is Blind Nell. She wears sticking plasters on her glasses.

 

Her predatory owl face looms skull white, full bright,
with all the pallid glamour of the never young,
as she bends stars into an arrowhead shaped yod.

 

     Again, I experience a dimensional anomaly. At least eight people have disembarked from the train, but the carriage is still packed. I force myself into a space that is obviously too small for me... And then, the incredible happens: ten more people squeeze on behind me into the same space.

 

Following his heart attack,
Elvis cleaned up his act
and became President in ’89.

 

It was generally agreed that the aliens were huge, although virtually invisible. They could only be seen peripherally, as a disturbance in the air. Their movement was often compared to the undulation of a ‘slinkie’ flowing downstairs.

 

the conflicted urbanite made great crooning flesh

 

In the beginning, there was the Word. Though it was more of an Exclamation, as the Presence that would become known as God stubbed the metaphorical equivalent of His toe on something in the Darkness.

 

From her rooftop garden vantage,
Diane has a sniper’s
view of London. Like her old friend
Jerry, shot in the siege
of Derry and Toms. Guns seek out
each other, though gestures
of conflict cannot keep the peace
forever. Pigeons wheel
like poor men’s vultures, feathers grey
as armour plate: ‘copters
buzz suburban ‘Nam...

 

     It was Steven who found the sword, although he didn’t recognise its true worth at first. All he had in mind was to make the hole in the fence larger, so that we could more easily gain entrance to the derelict ground beyond. He pulled and twisted at the wooden stake, but it wouldn’t budge.

 

One day soon, my daughters will bury me
If there are plots left in the cemetery
Or failing that, my frail flesh will burn
And the clinker that’s left will half fill an urn.

 

Why do you smell like cheap deodorant?
Is that all you can afford -
supermarket home brand?
Why not invest in some soap?
I can assure you, I’m not fooled:
there is no bunch of flowers
blooming in your armpits,
just chemicals and sweat.

 

12 years old. This room was full with the stink of blood. My grandfather lay beneath the sheets. Dead at last, after three years of gradual fading. In many ways a relief. My grandmother crying. I had never seen tears in her eyes before. Something broke inside me. too.

 

Wake up and smell death
in coffee jars, where water
swirls dirty and cheap

 

The sixth card gives the first glimpse of what lies ahead of me. The future in general terms. As befits her rank, the Queen of Pentacles is opulently dressed in the finest robes and jewellery. She proffers a gold plate heaped with food, drink, coins and trinkets.  The presence of a Court card usually indicates the influence of an actual person. In this case, a mature, nouveau riche woman who wishes to be supportive or motherly, but can only express herself through material generosity, by buying love with well intentioned gifts. It indicates a possible upturn in my finances, particularly if I follow the Queen’s example and seek to be recognised for hard work combined with charity.

 

... against the dark, hide under my pillow
and cocoon myself in sheets, while kicking
blankets loose. Bedroom curtains form a face...

 

even on the television show, remember, we never made it

 

     Then, He created Light in order to See. Which implied the creation of all sorts of other Concepts: sensory perception, three dimensions of space, the existence of something Other than Himself, etc.

 

The hand that holds the plectrum holds
the audience in thrall. A pause
before bass and drum beats rival gold’s
power to call out to our deepest flaws.
A discord of raw silence: jungle hush
in awe of predators...

 

Dance with the Devil, play harp in the clouds
Looking up or down, I won’t expect crowds
Of mourners to weep or mockers to jeer
Just a few hangers-on to toast me with beer

 

     The doors close ponderously. It is easy to imagine that several heads and limbs are crushed or severed in the process. I find myself thrust up against a disarmingly attractive young woman. The oppressive heat rising from all the tightly packed human bodies serves to increase my libido. I can smell the musk of her mingled perfume and sweat. Her skin has an erotic sheen. Moisture glistens on her lips, her shoulders, in the partially glimpsed valley between her breasts...

 

A paraplegic Lennon
was wheeled on stage at Live Aid
for a sad duet with Costello

 

In the end, I found myself drawn back to the City. Where so much had turned out to mean so little. The ruined buildings had been gutted and cleaned and turned into designer homes. Nouveaux hovels. There was a museum of terrorist artefacts...

 

liberal ideals were transforming into armed struggle

 

     Until then, (Aha! He has just created the concept of Time, too) there had only been the Void: literally Nothing, but plenty of it. Rudely interrupted in the same way that your omniscient narrator has experienced, when nipping to the bathroom in the middle of the night for a wee and tripping over something left on the floor.

 

My face against the rock
and feet above the clouds,
it is a long way down
but further up. No matter
if the ground is lost
and gravity competes against the wind,
I will not fall...

 

     Egged on by the rest of us, he tugged harder, using his height to its full advantage. He leaned back at a forty-five degree angle, digging his heels into the ground and making the muscles on his long arms and legs stand out. He grunted with the effort and in frustration as it still refused to be uprooted.

 

Spite December rain,
it is forever Christmas
inside shopping malls.
I wish to buy the moment
Noddy Holder shouts about.

 

With the wind’s random rage, your hair flutters
the black standard of anarchy over
the crow-picked battlefield you call your life.

 

A holiday is a useful reminder that the acquisition of material possessions is not the key to happiness. For the past few days, I have been living in a caravan: a fairly basic unit, which is merely a place sleep and store my clothes. All I have with me is what I could fit in a small suitcase. But I have no need for anything else.

 

Paintings escape frames:
as dreams fade by morning, light
gleams on prison bars

 

The seventh card reveals the forces that are impelling me towards this future. The Three of Pentacles shows a team of artisans putting the finishing touches to building a church: installing decorative roundels in the windows. As intimated with the Queen, the suit of Pentacles is concerned with the material world of wealth and work. This card shows the need for sheer hard graft, that nothing worthwhile is achieved without effort. I have studied the history, theory and techniques of writing and experimented with style. Now is the time to knuckle down and actually put some effort into my chosen craft.

 

As sightings became more frequent, so did their influence on the world. Before all electronic networks failed, the internet degenerated into gibberish. Then, every computer record became corrupted. The financial markets collapsed as transactions failed and accounts were literally wiped out.

 

... out of folds in chintzy patterned flowers;
a shirt draped on a chair hovers ghostly
in the gloom; the wardrobe door seems to move...

 

playing with ideas of what white people and black people think of rhythm

 

     He picked up the offending Something with whatever God had in the way of fingers and examined it. Since Steven Hawking didn’t remotely exist yet, there was no-one to explain to Him the dangers of imparting Energy to a zero dimensional Singularity.

 

It is in the creeping of the mirror
and the quacking of the clock. No blue silk
sentiment ever portends the horror
of the plastic toy drowning in warm milk.
The sunrise is proud of its pyjamas...

 

Waiting for the bus,
I listen to my iPod
sing its own way home
with guitars in the background...

 

The second law of psycho-dynamics, also known as the law of conservation of poetry, states that the total amount of poetry in the universe is a constant; that poetry can neither be created nor destroyed.

 

With Charles in failing health,
his daughter stood as regent
by the side of Queen Camilla

 

the spotlight looks like the sun and the jacket looks like wings of wax

 

     God knew Everything, of course. But that was easy when there was only Nothing. Like some massively ill-judged practical joke, the Universe went off Bang! in His face and left Him standing amidst Chaos, with singed whiskers, like a cosmic precursor of Yosemite Sam.

 

     At last, he paused for breath and straightened up, brushing his lank blonde hair out of his eyes and running the back of his arm across his forehead to wipe away the sweat. There was a look of determination on his face as he adjusted his stance and prepared to try again.

 

You can walk a mile, but not in my shoes
You can walk a mile, then keep on walking
If you think you know me, then think again
If you want to know me, keep on wanting

 

What I would deem carnage, you declare as
the failed politics of love, the romance
of a raw deal rendered down to flesh.

 

     The TV just picks up the terrestrial channels, but I am not bothering to watch it. The news continues to be dominated by the riots. Since I live in Tottenham and work in Hackney, I am doubly glad to be away at the moment.

 

I woke on the last day, when the sea fell silent. My first thought was always of Diane. I remembered the look on her face, the wide-eyed incredulity that would almost have been funny in any other context, as her fingers turned into butterflies and flew away.

 

... when not being watched. Dread of these long hours,
in which demons lurk unheard and mostly
unseen...