Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Fix youse.

I read Mary Anne Reilly's post "Seizing the perimeter" 

and the nervous tension of the past few days got the better of me. 

I am reminded of Kevin Hodgson's concern that I would take his comic badly.

We can never be sure of how others will read us.

Life is neither neat nor tidy nor polite.

It leaves you weeping then laughing uncontrollably about total crap. 

"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold."

Yeats quoted by Mary Anne

Notes to self.

[Maybe this indicates that porous perimeter of "lesmauxdesmots" - a question suddely comes to mind. I note it there haphazardly for future reflection.]

I remembered the inappropriateness of our behaviour when confronted by the void left by my father. 

Things don't go to plan.

We were hopelessly ill-prepared for the seriousness of it all.

We convulsed into fits of giggles, tears and/or randomly accessed anecdote.

The beer didn't help.

The lemonade did the same.

The fucking walnut veneer, that brass handled drama freaked me out.

It was much too dressy for my dad.

It was all too much for me.

Hilarious really...

We were completely off the edge.

Moments of desolation were punctuated by moments of ridicule.

It was joyful really, us being together like that around that presence which was that void.

Others looked on at us sternly us laughing like that, black-tied and noisy.

It wasn't done.

Oh for Christ's sake it was our father..damn it.

"We'll do it better next time."

"We'll have had more practice."

ça crée du desordre...
en effet...

I felt I could no longer fathom nor give respect to the care with which Mary Anne had stretched out towards new horizons in her writing.

Or perhaps I didn't understand what I had understood.

Horizons are mirage.

Our ancestors live in their death beside us...

They laugh, or give stern looks when appropriate, when inappropriate.

A sort of rythm plays out free jazz-like between these lines.

There was no aforethought here.

"Right, this evening I'll knock off a blog post about how family funerals and Dreyer and Motherwell and Coldplay get all mixed up with Seizing perimeters. And then I'll not be sure if I have to apologise for it, and whether it hurts someone's feelings."

I was struck by a vision.

It made me laugh weakly.

I tried to make it go away.

It fucking wouldn't.

I felt confounded by the absurdity of what came to my mind from just a few of  Mary Anne's words. 

It was a crass vision that perhaps fermented here:

"What happens when we transmit the repeated message, You are broken, here let me fix you? or worse, Shh, let's ignore all it and be happy?"

I fell ill at ease. 

"What happens when we transmit the repeated message?"
"What happens when we transmit the repeated message?"

I remembered an instant my parents' irreverent laughter on seeing Dreyer's silent masterpiece for the first time, I imagine perhaps on their honeymoon. 

I see myself writing unquestionably 'silent masterpiece' 'cos that's what people say to introduce Dreyer' film.

I imagine my parents couldn't cope with the melodrama of it all when they were taken up in joy.

I recognise that joy. 

I have really no idea where this memory comes from.

Surely pure invention.

I don't believe in pure invention.

A thought made me feel better.

Inappropriate love.

It was long before I was born.

Others no doubt looked on them sternly in the cinema.

I find resonance here:

"I've become quite practiced at emotional surges and drops.."

And here:

"We tend towards disorder."

So here is a sickening jingle that entered my head with an accompanying vision. 

I don't know why. I am sorry. 

I really hate this fucking song.

Inappropriate Visions.

When you try your best, but you don't succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse
And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
And high up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
Jeanne De Motherwell exerce son droit de réponse a Coldplay.
"Wave yer bloody Zippos then.
Ignite my bones?
So then yer gonna fix me? 
Oh yeah sure thing babe.
Just give over yer wet blouse."

With apologies to the French nation, Carl Theodor Dreyer and Motherwell.

Film director Carl Theodor Dreyer never settled on a score to accompany his 1928 silent masterpiece The Passion of Joan of Arc. Will Coldplay prove a more fitting soundtrack?

Post Script.

The jumbled collage came to rest an instant.

We know no borders, they are beyond our ken.

Thank you Mary Anne.


  1. I'm outside facing only the Atlantic Ocean. Storm is surely coming and I'm laughing out loud when I get to the cartoon about please not Coldplay. I'm sharing a house w 16 others and I love this private moment. Thx

  2. I stopped

    at 13




    hate the

    number 14.

    Don't you?

  3. IT appeareth that my marginia has been marginalized in poofy prestidigitation. I sigh.