‘WHAT A STRANGE, demented feeling it gives me when I realise I have spent whole days before this inkstone, with nothing better to do, jotting down at random whatever nonsensical thoughts have entered my head.’
(Kenko)
‘Accounts to reconcile:
Anecdotes to pick up:
Inscriptions to make up:
Stories to weave in:
Traditions to sift:
Personages to call on:
Pangyrics to paste at this door:
Pasquinades at that:’
(Laurence Sterne)
‘Who says stories reach everybody in the same order.’
(Ali Smith)
*
How da feck did you cope with ’im?
He is challenging but hasn’t changed since the last time. Changed but not really.
A feckin’ regular irregularity!
I don’t remember the cow on the wall but can still see the neck dripping goat hurt.
A forgetful photographic fluxxer.
I think he makes sense but I don’t know how.
*
Let me lampoon you.
‘Do you mean harpoon?’
No, I don’t.
It is nice to think first voyages. Hot and damp with head emerging hairy dawn. Dolphin placenta followed me, arching back blood red sea.
The startling colours, not muted hues of normal dawns. Shades bright, slapped bum screams. First needle-in-the-eye pain. First sighting of the Archipelago.
‘Shall We Call It Archie?’
Probably.
I don’t remember holiday Isle Man 5 old. Only Pier Head bus stop wander away poster look turn red bus gone no kids counts. Alone no speech find police gag an address butchers Eggy Road home hello where did you get to? Mutely sinking do’nuts by a river or a sea or an ocean is always a pleasure hot drinks in cop shops good. We didn’t miss you. Archipelago.
‘Archie!’
Soz,
‘We put ourselves through those wringing emotions,
emerged from the tumbling snot and tears,
to share the washing line of our fears.’
‘What?’
It doesn’t matter – a passing flit.
‘A head Archie?’
Who can tell?
Isle of Man consists of a main island, Calf of Man, Chicken Rock, St. Patricks and St. Michaels isles.
‘A small Archie, then?’
Not if you include the Inner and Outer Hebrides, Orkneys, Isle of Wight, Channels, St. David’s Mount, Anglesey, Ireland with its many islands – I am an admirer of The Blaskets of Kerry and a Dolphin called Fungie. If you keep being negative, Iceland is a possibility.
‘I like their prawn rings.’
Not that Iceland.
‘Poo, piss and volcanic ash!’
It gets worse – the towns we have inhabited are Arch Archipels. Mine are Liverpool, Hull, Edinburgh, London, Southend, Luton, Glossop, Marsden and Shanghai.
‘Shang Hai your Yangtze Lady near The Sea?’
Madonna my Madonna,
Plane land dip swoop another Archie, world of dust, Yu Yuan feng shui park. Crickets in baskets, tiger paw on street, mutilated beggars grand pianos art deco. Chen Xian Ge in Shanghai during the Duanwu Festival, May 2007. Heaving sweat rush shout with a glimpse of such nun peace green.
*
‘You should know the great hermit is concealed in the city, what is the necessity of keeping to tranquil solitude deep in the mountains!’
(Chang Po-Tuan)
*
The meaning of nothingness islands.
‘I was happy with Salford and Glossop. Tell me that London story again – I’m beginning to ketchup. That place scares the shit out of me. Too big whopping.’
Stop mimicking me!
‘Why should you have all the fun?’
London is an archipelago outside and in. The tube line-coloured confusions. Travel and bob up brave new world Tempest Shakespeare, Aldous Huxley different dolphin seas toes on tip back watch. Live on a triangular Kings Cross island student house bab shop ground floor, brothel middle, mattresses top (sink black pan grime don’t use – take your ruck sack to work thieving bastards).
‘What’s Aldous Huxley? Sounds nasty itchy.’
Stop! Huxley was a writer who took mescaline to have doors of perception, became a lizard king and was road manager for a sixties band Morrison.
‘I’m getting used to your mind Archies now. Do we need that pesky mesky stuff?’
Not yet. Chamomile can do it.
‘I prefer Mantunna.’
We can’t buy it anymore.
‘Double poo with poo on top! Did you really get sacked?’
The Law Society is an Archie within itself and island people do not go to other islands without conflicts.
‘F’ing Scousers what did you do?’
Scabby Salfordian, they were trying to find a file for Nigel Staveley-Dick. I helped them by explaining that I placed it as close to ‘penis’ as I could. They didn’t appreciate my young ability to accept archipelagos without having to undergo a humour bypass. On the good side, I got involved with someone there and we had sex on Hyde Park Island.
‘HPI sounds like another medical condition. Are all your Archies (!!) about women?’
Did the Newton Archie understand the world?
‘Whose he?’
The guy with the apple on his head who was shot by William Tell.
‘Stop taking the piss! You sound like your auntie.’
An auntie writing Archie?
‘If she stops mimicking, will you shoite off with the mind fucks?’
*
‘His despair has something ecstatic and grimly funny about it, which we enjoy perhaps masochistically, like a performance by a comic who insults the audience.’
(Philip Lapote about E.M. Cioran.)
*
‘Stop being a gobshite!’
Student House sweetest Swedish straw-haired Anna, I will meet you in Stockholm 14 islands away. Train through Germany bells giggling in the night fear when the train stopped in Oslo mermaid to transfer boat. Weird passeport. Miles and miles of fir green, tunnel dark, open bright Stockholm no more muted hues. Lake Malaren 1,200 islands that have never had any psychological disorders that could lead them to believe that they were anything other than an Archie. Warm first naked swim reeds stroke thighs. Metro back foreign getting going light gnarled kind hand offers and opens beautiful golden apple, his smile old and wise. Thank you. Baltic with fir sex, balls shrink un-central heating. Ferry through the mists fading with the sun to Norsta international waters booze run (even Dublin Mulligans was cheaper ha’penny bridge O’Connell Canal). Violent city Stockholm be careful Scouse not invulnerable live on safe boat. Smorgasbord, Millesgarden sculptures flying on pedestals clean fresh green. Reclam.
‘What’s that?’
Are pubs islands?
‘Be jaysus, yes!’
‘Summer sunshine warmed,
the wind wafted us together,
Oh so careful gently.’
‘Soppy bastard! Who did you pinch that from?’
Me. Smelly hitch hike trip back to Hull Island.
‘Hull is not an Archie, I love your Oirish Sagas.’
Mimicking da brogue on the way to the Homeland green Dublin bay. O’Connell Street at night pyjama’d dancing central reservation giggle Hesketh Teddy floosie in the jacuzzi Sweet Molly Malone. Train to Tralee Connor Pass delve drop deep to Dingle. Home pink, Dick Macks pub. She travels the shops pretending to be Dublin.
‘Dat Erse is gud.’
Lilith my Lilith pissing in the sink.
‘Dis fuckin gusting!’
Somebody smashed the toilet. Signing on big room surrounded by grills queues in all directions money straight away. God bless you Eireann! Tom Smith Publican, a learned man. Patrick Kavanagh
‘Whose he?’
walk the tow-path lay to mourn in the mist. Her mum dieing need to leave. This conversation republican side of the bar IRA, leave us alone for this you gifted Blarney gabber and take that glass from my face or I will shove it up your gombeen arsehole.
‘Fer Feck’s sake!’
look at the map see sea an island circle Oban Skye Bridge Outer Hebrides
‘OSBOH – not another!?’
Every word carries and listening grows. The boat provisioned to Lewis. Harris, North Uist, the bombed practice devastated Berbecula, South Uist, Barra. Nothing. People at the edges teeter.
‘I can remember you bracing in the white sands of Barra stunt-kiting knee-deep slide Atlantic blow.’
That wasn’t you Inish Boffin.
‘Wat the feck is dat?’
Part of Your Homeland. Island of the White Cow Archie Irish Arran.
‘WCAIA is not something I’m ever going into a clinic with either.’
Married depressed sick a bull in the china shop of my life leave to recover I go Ireland with another, younger Oirish North. Hitch hike from Dublin Chevrolet all the way to Galway, Galway Bay.
‘It sownds lyke ’es ’avin’ fun!’
settle in YHA, illicit shower go out invited Ceilidh sing dance locked out break-in crash blinds blind sleep leave quickly head to the mail boat Clifden, Cleggan. Innish Boffin doesn’t have Gaeltacht cows, only rabbits and locals fearful on the edge of the world. Leaving, I look back at where I have been and do not notice locals hovering under the beams move out of the harbour smash waves gombeen bastards. Salty soak. Wet no cars to carry drive by walks rain German tourist bus chat thanks Dublin f’ear gortac dead grass plane home next.
‘Do You remember Paris and Kavos?’
It wasn’t you.
‘Annuder poo.’
Grips can be wrong as well as strong. Christmas in Paris you lived in France once but they refused to understand your francais so we went to have a row in a restaurant near the Sacre Coeur where I left you, you rowed with me shoutily on your return loud. We went down to breakfast surrounded by embarrassed Bar Mitzvah boys. You puked in the Pompidou ripped doors from cupboards.
‘Pissing in sinks, puking in Pompidou’s! Such romance. Did you ever think of converting to onanism?’
Since when did you get posh words right? I prefer animism. Onanism is for the intellect.
‘Yerve always been a wanker!’
Scootering in Kavos find private beach.
‘I all ears!!!!!’
The left one sticks out pixie more.
‘You really can be a complete bastard!’
Old woman skirted with ouzo and wines smiles. Head off scootering hunt and gather. Un-tarmac pothole fall oblivious carry on beach there walk knee deep in black slime bloodied. Drag out ride back don’t fall. Hosed down iodine dressed head off steep slope narrow road stop talk. Don’t use too much throttle here left as she headed towards the taverna opposite drop ow off pissing petrol. Pick up bike pink stuff and bandages from Lady home safely abashed limp.
‘You are making my head spin, please talk normally for a while.’
but they refused to understand Glendalough down from the Cave water immersed cold meditations.
‘Pretty please.’
‘Fer frigs sake give er a brake!’
Minos is an Island in the Cyclades, Venus was found there, so is vermiculite.
‘Whose Venus?’
‘I give up.’
Minos is a mining island, a very rich one that does not rely on tourism. There was a lovely disdain about it, but I couldn’t suffer it for long. As tourists, we expect an Archie to perform in a certain way and are lost paddles left if it doesn’t.
‘You are doing it again.’
Temptation resist can’t.
‘Oscar Wildness!’
Only a day spent there. We hired a car. Very beautiful but mostly building site mine (digging mine, not possessive). We travelled the island and found the extraordinary White Beach. she lazed while I photographed coloured volcanoes from macro-lensed satellites, Archies on a beach.
‘Are you waxing lyrical?’
The photos are on wall in an Orange Room.
We dropped the car off at the hire place and went for a nose-bag before going for the ferry. When we got back, we had a pink parking ticket. She ate it.
‘What?!’
Worse it does get.
The hire shop owner accosts us at the harbour with a local with a pink ticket accompanied by a copper. Sting. Pink jawed her, throws an hissy spitty paddy fit as the ferry arrives lights bright.
‘Your language is slipping again.’
‘I c wat you meen. Can you get back to talking da poeticals?’
You brought your beauty towards me at the ouzeria.
‘Which strumpet are you talking about now?’
You!
‘Me? I don’t remember.’
That’s because you are dead.
‘Oh, I didn’t realise.’
Shit happens.
Syros, Posidhonia, Georghe, Agathopes, Komito, Finikas. Quaddy to Vari steep skid dirt road brake break quick way back.
‘Vague feelings that I couldn’t cope with you being an adventurous twat.’
Good! Stop changing the way you speak and please don’t reference your own genitalia in an abusive fashion I miss them. They have CCTV.
‘No fanny recognition then?’
I’d forgotten about that goat steep cliff edge walk alone invites to fall for dolphin. Drop to beach thighs open shaved pubis mons majora minora. Mythos ke ouzo to recover.
‘That was so funny! – Will you swim and sleep with me in the clouds Archie?’
Always! I’ll fetch me celestial ethereal trunks. I took you home knackered pissed returned alone to traditional Rebetiko bazouki and the waitress menu on legs.
‘Katalogolegs – Ha!’
‘Legolass?’
Same thing.
Hegel, Sartre couldn’t swim, Wittgenstein flew kites in Glossop and tried to hire a private train to take him to Liverpool.
*
‘But it is the tumbling ebullience of his mind which is hardest to resist.’
(Coward, D. XXViii.)
*
‘Tossa!’
The cow walked across the wall in Cyros, the crocodile island tried to eat the shark, the moon was poorly then it shone (NASA had not paid enough to make it work). Trees reflected in the failing sky, triangles in the sea. Eric cat in a Grecian shoe ferals stole my BBQ. Milk in the moon, petals on the path. Meals, cats, angry Greeks as we stop traffic throwing slouvaki in the road. Jab in the bot bot.
‘That was soooooooo funny.’
My B12 normally goes in my arm and not in my arse
‘Jack C!’
in a chemist’s cupboard in Ermoupoli. Limping out to meet you in Infinity Absolution Paradise posh place you gave me a mini guitar.
‘Soz, she carnt tawk now – still pissing in ’er frock!’
Demolition of Georghes the moon was tired but he was using his sunny strength for winter regeneration. Easy jet archipelago.
‘Archie! Be consistent. I was confused how you found Georghe.’
Instincts and accidents. We wanted to move away from Ermoupoli.
‘Monopoly?’
Always. When I said I was in search of a character, I forgot to mention that I wasn’t looking for two sociopaths.
‘Darling my Darling Love will you ever Forgive me?’
You don’t have lips to kiss and can’t capitalise. Every capital Archie is an Ermoupoli. It was good there but it was nice to leave it a bus ride away. Looked like Beirut for you until you walked the pier looked back sat rocks on the anniversary phone mum remember dad death. Colours senses. First night lights terraces bay. Couldn’t sleep in the dark room slide out lower terraced bed slept together wake to the sun. Find out tomorrow. Wake early camera windmill arches smell. Home. Terraced bar bay start happy. Saunter church stop. Hims on the crosses big silk covered candle light sigh scary. Awe without religion. Down-hill investigate. Stop sea front her tourist salt pinch possibly Aphrodite.
‘Not Aphroditii mou.’
No, only Kosmos mou.
‘That was so fucking embarrassment red face where to put.’
Syntax! Roam. Market smells I need spanokoptika off-licence walk towards the square Chinese shop ‘Nee how ma?’
‘Kids playing in the square.’
Kids playing in the square parents thinking about them. The hill back up is a bastard church closed need to stop for a rest with lovely ‘long hair’ waiter over-looking the bay fifty yards away home idea chalk board in the bar inviting ‘esta muchacha es mi a mundo’ ask for Greek ‘oti to koritsi enai o kosmos mou’ write, as well, ‘dat gurls my world!’ All laughed as we balconied with moonlight and lights in the bay. Olives, dzadziki, feta, salad meze blessed toms, swordfish, kleftiko, kombosta zaharomeno kalokeri
‘My head just crashed – stop it with the language. What did the last bit mean?’
Compote sugared summer Diderot Cherry Death.
‘Sounds lovely. What did I eat?’
Kleftiko.
‘What in da kefalotori is dat?’
‘Seal a leg of lamb in a parcel then roast it long and slow with garlic, lemon and herbs, and potatoes to soak up the delicious juices…. Bring up the sides of the foil, then pour the marinade from the lamb over the potatoes and throw in the bay leaves… lift into the roasting tin and…’
‘Was it as bad as eating eyeballs lark tongues pig intestines rats in China?’
‘Yer didn’t did yer?!’
Archies I didn’t ingest.
‘Is that when I took my walk down the steep steps to the bay?’
Steep stumbled steps looming wateries.
‘Was I drunk?’
No, just pissed bonkers danger.
‘OOOOppppssss!’
We found our way up from those loom threats and you slept alone. I waited for Blue Star horns enjoying the dawn?
‘Is that when I repeated the note through my back fanny?’
‘Arsehole!’
I think that came later but it was a note perfect major key C thing of beauty in unison with a ferry. What were your favourites?
‘Eric & Erica cats, Georghe’s under the vines. Bougainvillea. I loved the cicada singing.’
Are you studying heavenly poesie as well? Lasting impressions?
‘Just the sound of the sea.’
Oranges in church-yards, fire-flies on the beach, stepping in moonbeams, black coral feeding skinny-dip while clothes walked by eyes averted. Smirk. Twisting up festival hills dancing in centre sweating swirling horos. Did the horses sing in a turquoise sea, sun-blessed olives join ouzo in the shade? Why did the flip-flops walk to the earthquake death of the old town with aqua bottles happy hats?
‘Yer off on one again!’
I have changed my fishyness many times. Kopudi, dolphin saying hello to sharks. Once I caught birds and vomited feathers that rotted for the plankton. Lugaid Cichech, fumbling with his flaccid dugs, remained silent amidst the throbbing of the sea.
‘What de F is dat!?’
‘I love you Archipelago.’
*
‘Me ’eads bleedin’!’
‘He’s getting better – he’s reading Chinese stuff about life cultivation and rehabilitation.’
‘Gud luck with dat one!’
‘He’s got a new teacher, Doc Lin Nu How, whose telling him about a White Tigress and a Jade Dragon – for some reason, he is also obsessed with Uncle Tom & the Twins.’
‘Who knew how? – what a load of bollocks in an unmade bed!!!’
