Wanderlust: by Philip Kane

 Old need seeps through red steel and it dons a turban when it flows past the candles.  Like a whisper from the darkest canyon, where tailors’ dummies lurk in the expectation of meeting their prey, it writhes at the windows with a cobra’s ecstasy.

I am tempted to rip apart the notebooks that clutter the floor.  It would be a meditation on trees, and probably a triumph of classical music at the same time.  I am tired of the beasts that trample down the growing statues in my garden, tired of the cat I hung from the chandelier.  So it seems a good moment to sink my father’s boat in the harbour and drown all the options. 

That’s the conundrum that faces me whenever I open the door into the laying-out room.  I filled it, yesterday, with blue sheets and strips of torn newspaper.  I had hoped that it might resolve itself into a kind of iris, one with a clear calculation in the top right-hand corner, an illustration of Daniel Defoe on the cover, and a bent staple in the binding.  Instead, there appears to be an ambidextrous medicine-man nesting in the middle of it.  I found him chewing on his own shoe leather; he invited me to join him but I declined, regarding it as a ploy intended to lull my insecurities.

Obviously, the presence of a cup of tea on the lawn perpetuates a myth; that the more civilised the omnibus drivers of a country, the more floral its arrangement of armies and fleets.  Such stories, left to ferment in the rain, build themselves up into a cliff carved with the portraits of notable rapists.

I always wanted, instead, to codify the nocturnal wanderings of choristers, annotate the manuscripts written on trouser belts by deafened camp followers, sit remembering the callow youth of my conscripted guardians.

Advertisements

~ by londonsurrealistgroup on May 22, 2007.

One Response to “Wanderlust: by Philip Kane”

  1. I found this most inspirational. I like the way it combines black humour and a kind of uncanny ‘terror, lurking in the shadows’.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: