YOWL

"let's go fly the kite."

a single bare lightbulb hangs above a plain oilcloth covered table...

P sits near the sink deftly rolling catnip spliffs in his left hand and stashing them in an old bacci tin...

FD looks up mid gingerbiscuit... and i slouch in a corner taking notes...

Kazan's on the waterfront is showing on a tv... the sound turned down.

we vacate the bedsit and take the stairs to the whorehouse below.   Sam the piano player in shirtsleeves is labouring over a challenging rendition of some Captain Beefheart number... bashing it out on a honkytonk upright.   as we pass the bar P picks up a bottle of spirytus polish vodka.

out on the street P cracks the seal and we each take a swig against the cutting wind.   glass filament rainstreaks sparkle in the street-lamplight... pewter puddles on dark cobbles downhill to the riverside quays... black-eyed warehouses lean inwards above us.

at the river stairs we board a dinghy...   the Dornier DO-X is a dark shape moored out on the river...   a cabin lamp illuminates the cockpit windows...   shorelights reflect off the silver hull.

B is pulling on a string wound round an ancient seagull.   it coughs and splutters, throws out puthers of bluegrey exhaust, limps into life...   drips cooling water.

phut   phut   phut   phut   phut

as the little craft approaches the flyingboat B swings her round into the tide and she bumps gently against the starboard stub.   we clamber aboard.

P goes forward to cast off the mooring buoy... FD eases into the pilot's seat... B flicks switches and taps dials... i smooth out a chart, hit on a route and return to my writing.
"we'll pick up Mary-Lou first and then on to the land of green ginger." says FD.
("Mary-Lou?   who is May-Lou?" still FD.   "names have been changed.   Jack always changed everyone's names." i reply.   "you've not changed our names." B has joined the conversation.   "you all have initials.   what'd be the point of changing your initials?   anyway it's my story and that's the way it is.")
"home of Hairy-Moo it is then." FD pulls up the collar of his flyingjacket. "chocks away... fire her up.


B flicks more and more switches... engines wheeze, chuck-chuck-chuck and purr.   the craft bucks as she is taxied into the main channel, into the wind, and roars forward in an accelerating dash.   spray.   the nose lifts and is pushed down to drag the stern free of the river's grip.   we trail river-lets.

she flies!

climbing and banking...   scribing an elegant silver arc across the midnight sky.

THE VOID IS FULL OF STARS...

                                              ...STARS EVERYWHERE.

Ginsbergbear

Limehousesailortown

2010

The Plot Thickens

There is some concern that the recent rat attacks against British Rail are but the local manifestation of a world wide phenomenon.   On Friday PRAVDA posted the following report:

Obscured by the arctic twilight a fiendish horde of crazed rats ambushed the Arkhangelsk > Murmansk armoured express today.   A relief column of Boz-Cossaks was quickly dispatched, but despite their repeatedly charging, knee to knee, the rodent lines, brave troopers flanked by techankas, whose heavy machine-guns rattled leaden death into the massed ranks of bandidos, our selfless heroes, hopelessly outnumbered, were invariably thrown back.   Not until a Polikarpov fighter of the Kronstadt Fleet Air Arm arrived spitting retribution from the skies were the rat fiends sent scuttling back to their holes.

An alarming rumour has it that the dark lords of the rat horde, Les Chats Soutterains, have formed an alliance with the Merovingian Lizard Kings and the Bilderberg Bankers to seize the advantage in this current political turmoil and achieve world dominance.

I have been pondering of late - and it seems to me that Les Chats Soutterains cannot, in themselves, be evil.   They are still cats after all.   They are misguided.   They aim to conquer the world in order to improve the world - but they can never make the world a better place by force.   Only the people can make things better - and we can only do that if we are free.

Les Chats Soutterains must be resisted, of course.   They must also be contacted.   Reason must prevail.

¡La lucha continúa!