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Friday, June 24, 2005
Scroll (part four of nine)One day in 1996 in Glasgow I wrote on the back of a Michelob Beer poster. I decided to fill it up from top to bottom with spontanaeous writing.
Bah, Tiffin, and all that jolly old humbug. A spleen sandwich is too good for them I say. (Enraptured by the sights and sounds, an intrigue of nature's beauty qf Van the Man). Then this chap came over all queer don't you know, saying all sorts of odd chatter. He is manifestly quite mad. He said that he lives by the ticking of his watch and the high pitched drone of the mosquito. He said he follows the magic trails and pays respect to hidden stones and wells that only he knows of. I asked him how he knew where these things were. And he said that no map can ever be drawn to show them, you have to be there and allow yourself to be shown. Then it all went quiet. I didn't know quite what to say. So I walked close up to him and stared into his eyes. He didn't flinch. I struck a match and moved it closer and closer to his right eye. No tears were shed. Then he suddenly reached out as if to hug me, so I kneed him wham in the goolies. He bent over double. That got him I thought. Then came the shocker, he slowly straightened up. his hands clasped together as if he was holding something. Raised the up to my face and opened them up. Damned if his wedding tackle wasn't sitting in his palms. I broke out in a cold sweat; another deadly silence as his prick stared at me in a most accusatory manner. He closed his hands again, then quickly clapped and the illusion was gone. he started to laugh, and for the life of me I don't know why, I started to guffaw as well. After a couple of moments he bade me farewell and headed down the valley and into the woods. Queer fellow giving me a fright and all that, but I have heard of his sort before. Noone knows where they live. If you go looking for them there is no glimmer of a chance of finding them. Bloody darn shame that as well because it was only after I'd watched him disappear into the gloom, with a fair old spring in my spirits I admit, that I noticed that the blighter was away with my gold watch.
sketched by dweller at 8:04 am
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