Nescio (27)

NESCIO (27)

The sister disappeared underground.

Though her body appeared to walk the earth, her mind was forsaken; lost hell-bound.

Twenty-four/seven, over thousands of miles, she called for the man who'd made her life worth-while.

Twenty-four/seven, over thousands of miles, she searched for the boy who'd made her laugh and smile.

She stumbled through shadows, bruised black and blue.

Heart aching crushed and out of breath, she longed for reprieve amd willed her own death.

In the end, in misery, she made a pact with the gods: give my brother and lover back; I'll trade in my lot.

Nescio (26)

NESCIO (26)

And, then, suddenly inexplicably and without warning (no reason significance or valuable meaning) the sister's gentle man stopped breathing.

She fell to her knees. She hollered and howled and screamed and cried.

'When you're sick of all this repetition

Won't you come see me, Queen Jane?'

Those were the last words the gentle man uttered before he died.  (Or, would've done if he hadn't known he was dying alone.)

(after Bob Dylan Queen Jane, Approximately.)

Nescio (25)

NESCIO (25)

And, then, suddenly inexplicably and without warning (no reason significance or valuable meaning) the sister's brother stopped breathing.

She fell to her knees. She hollered and howled and screamed and cried.

(Quite a list.)

'But there's one thing you missed.
You missed my heart.'

Those were the last words the brother uttered before he died. (Or, would've if he'd been given to saying how he felt.)

(after Mark Kozelek and Jimmy Lavalle You Missed My Heart.)

Nescio (14)

NESCIO (14)

The priestess cracked open some more duty-free.

She washed it down with a super-sized tea: of penne and goats' cheese, some mushrooms and peas. (It has to be said the priestess was pleased with the combination of flavours and tastes. The woman hated good food to go to waste. It was pure serendipity that the ingredients necessary for the feast on her plate were still in the fridge after she returned home quite late.)

The priestess turned her attention to the mother. Things hadn't worked after she'd taken a lover. The man was a psychopath, an idiot brute. (They all gave a cheer when she gave him the boot.)

But, the mother was left feeling lonely and scared. She returned her affections to those for whom she cared most: the sister and brother (once so close to each other).

It broke her heart to see them so sad. (Indeed, it ultimately drove her mad.) And, though the mother was exemplary in terms of love and generosity, she was quite incapable - currently - of providing what was needed when her children learned that their father was dead.

Nescio (13)

NESCIO (13)

But, the priestess had not been idle while drinking good coffee. She'd spent time swotting up on Greek mythology. Trying to discern what underpinned those heroes' trajedy; avarice lust vengence and malady (at least, as far as she could see).

As she stuffed her face she considered her theory: the Greek gods oscillated, constantly contrarily. Incapable of adult emotion they were prone only to tease or appease, and with grotesque hilarity.

If she were to combat all that she would have to counter most of it with love loyalty and generosity.

It was a tough task - a lot to ask - but if she were to save the brother and sister (once so close to each other) she would have to act fast.

The brother still felt he was misunderstood. As a consequence, he scarce said a word. This sister felt depressed and dejected, so utterly sick of being rejected.

The death of the father would affect them both. A stab in the heart, even though they weren't close. (It would separate the sister and brother much further.)

The priestess muttered 'oh bugger' as she reached for another bottle of duty-free wine.

Nescio (11)

NESCIO (11)

The priestess woke up.
Her sight was still blurred.
Her kidneys were aching.
Her tongue yellow-furred.

She stared at the ceiling, all ridden with worm. She wondered, 'oh, my - what have I become?'

She crawled into the bathroom and stared in the mirror. Though partially-sighted, she stepped back in horror when she saw her reflection.

On closer inspection, she changed her mind (notwithstanding the fact she was partially blind).

On closer inspection she changed her mind:

'If I nurture myself, if I learn to be nice, if I practise compassion and take some advice; if I colour my hair and start to dress smart (dress classy, that is, and not like a tart). If I apply a foundation and then lose some weight, perhaps, my self-loathing will start to abate?

'Perhaps, after all, it's not all too late?'

The priestess decides to take some time out; time to be quiet, time to hang out. Quality 'me-time', to use the vernacular: nothing extravagant, nothing spectacular.

Just a couple of weeks without any contact.

Nescio (10)

NESCIO (10)

The daughter - all drama - was quick to dismiss.

It was his son, her brother, the father really missed.

In a far-away kingdom, increasingly bleak, he searched for the boy to whom he could not speak.

He cradled his cheek, full of misery and death. His eyes scanned the ceiling. He held onto his breath.

But, the brother continued to live in silence: a quiet albeit unintended kind of violence.

And the father, anyway, still had nothing to say. (He could no longer distinguish between night and day.)

The sister - all drama - just didn't get it. If you loved somebody, then, surely you said it?

The daughter - all drama - made a regular habit of it.

She had learned to accept it was rarely reciprocated.

Nescio (8)

NESCIO (8)

The sister was enraged.

She resented the brother for finding another life without her.

(She decided to get engaged.)

As the years went by she began to go spare; wherever she looked, the brother wasn't there.

She screamed inside and pulled out her hair.

(The wedding was a quiet affair. She wasn't prepared to change her name.)

She learned to believe that, when things went wrong, it was her who was to blame.

(The marriage didn't last that long.)

The priestess was too pissed to care.

Nescio (7)

NESCIO (7)

The priestess provided the sister with a lover

Drunk as a skunk she, then, turned to the brother.

Enthused by success, she was feeling inspired.

She forgot that a lover was not what the boy required.

(Of course, a lover wasn't something

The woman could just conjure.

The best she could do 

Was to provide an aperture

Of opportunity.

She knew 

He was savvy 

With computers and
New technology.)

She introduced him to internet dating then sat back and waited; smoke-breath abating.

The brother decided to pack up his bags. He left his car, his wife and the cat. 

The brother decided to go to America. (When they finally found him, he was living in Florida, with a car, a wife and a cat).

Nescio (5)

NESCIO (5)

The priestess - the oracle - woke in a rage. 

She'd abstained from the bottle for what seemed like an age.  (At least forty-eight hours since she'd cracked open a wine and, so long as she slept, she sort of felt fine.)

But, she ached when she stood and was now pissing blood. Her ankles and belly were swollen. She cursed those idiot gods, for it was they who had stolen her beauty and youth.

And, for what?

(Long time ago, she had struck a deal. Foresee the future, but, cease to feel. The deal she'd cut had long lost its appeal.)

And, so, the brother and sister - so close to each other - began to play on her mind. (She'd negotiated prescience in place of being kind but now, starkly horribly, she saw her mistake. It's clever to be able to speak the future, but you should never lose sight of what's at stake: the tragedy of living in the present.)

She began to devise a plan. She would dare to intervene. The gods were known to be vengeful (and the priestess was prone to being forgetful) but, if she could just keep her eye on the ball perhaps, then, she could still save them all . . .

She prised opened a can of alcohol-free beer with her teeth.

Nescio (4)

NESCIO (4)

Many years passed by; all in all, happily.

The brother, he married - quite successfully. He worked in the City and adopted a cat. He ran a good car and bought a nice flat. 

He was a gentle man, no question of that. No streak of violence except - perhaps - his hideous silence that chilled to the bone. He was happiest when he was left on his own. 

The daughter left home as soon as she could. Afraid of the prospect of womanhood, she developed a strategy. Call it a ploy. She starved her body and looked like a boy. She kept her black hair cut short. 

The daughter, however, desired to roam - the same boredom-gene that had made her leave home. Seduced by a longing for wanderlust. For years, she roamed forests and deserts of dust.

(The grass will be greener on the other side, she muttered as she walked.)

She climbed backwards up mountains. She swam against the tide. She hitch-hiked the world always riding beside lonely old men, who were weary and tired. 

She was happy to sit there and chatter. She'd learned young how to cajole and flatter.

In the meantime, the earth went on spinning on its axis and the priestess - for the record -  took to growing amaryllis. As each scarlet trumpet withered and died, she bit off the bloom and sentimentally sighed. In moments of clarity, sobered by sanity, she conquered her pride and her terrible vanity. 

She thought of the children, the sister and brother - the sister and brother so close to each other - who had risked an adventure and ventured to see her.

Despite her best intentions, they had made her feel maternal. Was her prophesy right; were they really damned eternal?

She liked herself better when she hoped this was not the case.

Nescio (3)

NESCIO (3)

Many years went passed: all in all, happily. The father was gone; he'd decided to flee from the family home, from his kids and his wife. He had married another and found a new life.

And, though, in their dreams they recalled the priestess - partially dressed, with her hair in a mess; with her hair all tied up in bracken and moss, the priestess who, frankly, could not give a toss - they began to forget what she said she could see, they began to lose faith in her bleak prophecy. For, how could the son commit patricide when the father himself had decided to hide?

And, then, the mother took a lover.

The sister and brother stay close to each other, they learn to depend on - rely on - each other.

But, the sun clouded over, the birds ceased their song. Earth turned to ash. The world had gone wrong.

Such was their fate.

It was the sister (the younger) who said to her brother: 'I must consult with the priestess'.

The brother (the older) agreed that was best.

They set off for the place where the priestess hung out. Where the wind rattled madly and trash blew about. Where rats ran unheeded dogs wailed their lament below brutalist towers of modernist cement.

They arrived there quite late.

The priestess regarded them, rose from her bed. (She'd downed a good white and uncorked a good red). 'You', she said.

'Yes.'

'And what, my sweet children, do you want to know now?' Her armpits were sweating, as well as her brow.

'Should we hope for much less or pray for much more? Please tell us, oh Priestess, just what is the score?'

The priestess began to pluck hairs from her chin. She drew kohl round her eyes and lipsticked a grin. She spotted her cheeks with a finger of pink. Then, pulled down her knickers and pissed in the sink.

She said:

'You can run but you can't hide. You know you're obliged to follow the tide. The brother will yield and take his bride. The sister will marry though she chokes on her pride.

'The alternative: loneliness. Only you can decide.'

Nescio (2)

NESCIO (2)

We sat at the feet of princes and kings and begged that they tell of the world, and its things. But, their eyes soon grew dim and their words quick grew faint; the woodfire flickered and spat in its grate. Sentimental, nostalgic: it was getting too late. We turned out the lights as we left.

But, there was one: an old queen. He had nothing to say except, 'talk to the priestess. She'll show you the way. Though her sight is nocturnal (she's blind to the day) she'll foretell what the fates have decreed you'.

We found her asleep; her bed was a mess. The mattess was straw. She was partially dressed. Her hair was all tangled with bracken and moss. She opened one eye, said: 'I don't give a toss why you're here but, given you're wasting my time. just pass me that bottle. I'll pour me some wine'.

The wine worked its wonders; she soon came to life. She said, 'I fancy some cheese. Pass the butter-knife please. I fancy some gherkins, some mayo and bread. While you're at it, you couldn't just uncork a red?'

The priestess then added (her mouth full of food), 'now, ask me your question. I'm in a good mood'. 

We glance at each other - so close to each other - there is nothing so special as sister and brother. We glance at each other. He takes hold of my hand. And, though he is older, I soon understand. It is me who must speak with the witch.

'Please tell me, oh priestess, just what is in store? Should we pray for much less, or hope for much more? And, what of our parents; just what are they for?' My brother is silent, his eye on the door.

The priestess adjusts her breasts in her bra; repositions its strap on her shoulder. The sun has begun to rise in the East. She is looking decidedly older.

She said:

'The brother and father will kill one another, but, it ain't up to me to say how. Nor is it my job to advise in which order but please note these words about mother and daugher. The former will start to depend on the latter. She'll demand from her child things I'm not sure she oughta.

'Stay children as long as you can.'

Fractional Posts - An Atheist In A Bolt-Hole

AN ATHEIST IN A BOLT-HOLE

She rang me to tell me about the Vicar.
His sermon-words that so bewitched her.
He said, she said, apparently:
You'll never find an atheist in a fox-hole.

Indeed.

You'll find him in front of the firing squad.
You'll find him in front of the tanks.
You'll find him protesting,
Outraged and restless
Aimlessly firing blanks.

The humanist: him
With persuasive reason.

And, then.

You'll find him dying in a hospital bed
Waving the chaplain away.
Reduced to nothing
Skin and bone rotting
With little much left to say

Except: help me, please.

But, it's not God
He's talking to.

Fractional Posts - Writing Life (Partially)

WRITING LIFE (PARTIALLY)

The father fell out
Of love with the mother.
And, soon, declared
Marry another.

The mother broken.
Too much heart
Left her bitter.

Refused to get over
The fact.
He'd quit her.

A veritable show
Of power.

The Sub-Editor - Intervention (4) Austerlitz, Then

INTERVENTION (4) AUSTERLITZ, THEN

'You always have been rather remote, of course, I could tell that, but now it's as if you stood on a threshold and you dared not step over it. That evening in Marienbad, said Austerlitz, I could not admit to myself how right everything Marie said was, but today I know why I felt obliged to turn away when anyone came to close to me, I know that I thought this turning away made me safe. . .' (W G Sebald, 2001, Austerlitz, London: Penguin, 304)

Ok, let's play the pause game one more time. I'd stop time here, if I had the chance:

We had walked all day and talked the way we always did.  We had picnicked in the shelter of a dry-stone wall. Yorkshire in autumn: the sky stretched out blue and forgiving above us, and the beech trees were dressed in copper-red.

We walked for miles and, with you, I felt complete. As I always had and did with you. With you, I knew, I was safe.

We dropped down the hill.  We passed the Co-op on the left and the Inn on the Bridge on the right. We reached the station, and laughed about something I can no longer remember.

You said, 'I'll see you soon'. And I said, 'yes, please'.

I wanted to add, 'I love you. I don't like this life without you', but I didn't dare say it; say how I felt. I had learned to be wary.  Even of you. We had learned to be as bad as each other at not daring to ask for help.

You said, 'I'll see you soon', but, you never came back.

I'd stop time before you said, 'I'll see you soon' because, then, there would've been no promise to break. And I wouldn't have wasted so much time anticipating, desperately longing, for your return. 

The Golden Age Of Photogenic Style: How To Lob A Soft Ball When Dressed As A Snowball

Peter And Jane See Daddy Go Up And Down (An Apple Apples)

Note how, latterly, Jane adopts the same knee position as Daddy: possibly unconsciously, certainly posthumously.

But, unlike Daddy, Jane preferred not to come down.

This Is For You, Daddy, Jane Says (With Tea)

How To Sit Like A Good Wife And Mother