Monday, November 30, 2009

Monsieur Hellene

Remembering how to forget he forgot all the bad things in his life. Get out of the way you smarmy git! Auxilio sings doe-ray-me-la-so-tea. Stop that doe-raying can’t you see it’s los fin de siècle? By God and grace shut the door! He forgot to remember forgetting everything he’d remembered to regret. Bounding and leaping he skyrocketed into the great blue, leaving a trail of corn-fed piss in his wake. Presto Desejo fell from such a great height he fractured his collarbone and the hinge that keeps his jaw from falling open. Queretaro de Arteaga and his dog Rinconete are fond of the cool evening breeze blowing in off the bluffs, face and snout pushed into the evening scrimmage.

Decamping from the train he felt a tremor his legs; the elder wheelchair-bound rider spitting a glob of black chaw out the closed window. Enid Pollock and Mary Blyton fell from such a great height, far far above sea level, higher than the highest kite could ever hope to soar, falling into the Le Solidarność, a barge on its way to meet a ship carrying the likes of, and no other than the great tightrope walker and gastromancer Paweł Hellene who was on his way into town to celebrate the biannual Running of the Snakes. ‘so nice to see you monsieur Hellene’ said the Witness in welcome. ‘it has been some time, indeed a year has passed, and none to quickly since your last visit… if I may be so bold, and please correct me if I am mistaken, which I assure you I never am, but…’. Monsieur Hellene, feeling the cool evening breeze blowing in off the bluffs, hair tussled, tresses whipping wildly round his shoulders, cleared his travel weary throat and said ‘shut your git and get me a jug of your worst Sherry… and I don’t mean that dog piss you drink on Sundays!’ Taken aback, his teeth cutting into the back of his jaw, the Witness smiled and went in search of a jug of Sunday Sherry, his thoughts on how best to drowned Paweł Hellene without getting nabbed or upsetting God.

This is how it all began, one man’s search for nonsense in a practical world. Upside or right-side, never the twain shall meet. These are troubling times, tell say so he heard. Right-side or bottommost never shall the train meet. Decamping from the twain he watched a wheelbarrow-bound man throw caution out the window. ‘the next time I see that troublemaker Hellene I’ll give him a good thrashing by God’. The Witness witnessed himself standing cockeyed awaiting the lighting of the lamps, the lamplighter nowhere to be seen. ‘a fine cock of a lackey… leaving the lamps unlit on such a black dreary night’.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz

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