In my youth I lived as a bedouin during the hard days, the intrigues and fighting of the sheikhs did not impress me, and neither did I have the strength or the camels or the watering holes to compete.
We kept our heads down, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, biding our time until we could reach hospitable lands without being murdered.
Quietly taking care of yourself and your clan, surviving while the blood of the proud, the reckless, the desperate and arrogant flowed constantly into the sand.
Never being cocky, never taking tomorrow for granted, never not tired or hungry, but never quite exhausted, sustained by a greater force that does not abandon you but is easily abandoned, which would have been fatal.
They thought I died out there, but I passed through the threshold into the other world, and still I was not forgotten.
The wind blew harder, I shivered as I went.
The field was cut in tayn by a row of trees, yan of the trees was leaning on another- brothers or comrades from another time, maybe they leant on each other when this field was a battlefield in a separate age. and the line of trees was a line of soldiers.
I could ask them but this would foolhardy because the trees do not like to be talked to.
The wind was calmer now it still roared across the land, speaking without words, it’s meaning is plain if you listen but I must be moving on, even now I could see the first indications of human settlement, I had come a long way but there was still further to go.
Behind the whispy windswept clouds, the many ringed moon shone clearly in the starry sky.
I went down an incline towards the lights and sound of the London Road.
I walked eastwards on the narrow pavement beside it, cold and tired, not yielding to the aching spreading through my body, I felt my consciousness fading into a blissful stupour, a part of me not responsible for thinking guiding my slow steady movement.
I was slipping into the world of dreams and nightmares.
They wore black feathery cloaks had bony rotting child’s bodies but faces of grown up corpses, people I knew.
Down the road came a clip-clopping, it was a pony and trap, the fact the rider wore a bike lock like a sash, glowed faintly and wore a deer skull with antlers on his face was irrelevant, a couple of cars overtook him needlessly close.
The hedges by the road rustled aggressively so I quickened my step, in the middle of the road was a traffic island that had recently been hit.
The air smelt of excrement, hopefully a result of dungspreading.
A rush of cares went by all at once, it is with bareness and emptiness and dullness and hardship when everything falls into shape.
When I am alone and travelling at night, does this rush of dreams come from the land around me? or were they inside me all along and just evacuating themselves in the quiet and stillness?
After all everything comes down to the land, all money, all power, almost all sustenance, why not spiritual sustenance as well?
No.
It cannot save itself against the ravages of Humanity and it could not save those who relied upon it in the face of modern civilisation, it swallowed them up, a mother who eats her children, it cannot save me, it’s begging me for help, it’s no use begging from it.
The fields ended and houses began, outside one of the houses a weeping willow danced in the aimless wind, it started raining.
Cold and numb, I continued moving and thinking:
It is better to have tried and failed than to have tried and succeeded, Taking your thoughts and plans into the grimy world of reality must be a terrible burden and a terrible responsibility, because your effect on history may not turn out to be a good one. But never trying is like a death. After all failure is by far the best way of learning, and perhaps even teaching, someone who is wrong and not afraid to be wrong is better than someone who is wrong and afraid to admit it.
“Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” That is root of all knowledge, that is what Socrates taught and Plato neglected.
An electronic phantom was emitted by a telecoms box and floated through my eyeballs to put an end to such disordered reasoning, my feet leave the ground and I float onwards.
Past the bus stop, allotments, Surgery, RC Church, man in a black coat wearing black headphones listening to Jordan Peterson talk about Jungian archetypes, faster and faster not slowing down.
A passing idiot in a car beeped at me, a flock of geese flew overhead honking desolately and determinedly. Mashed up leaves lie on the ground, further demons emerge from another telecom box.
A scrap of paper danced in the wind.
By the door of a house an ornate bell, nostalgia for another’s age.
I dissolve into the environment and another self underneath me like a layer of an onion is revealed.
Now I am an old woman in an oversized thick coat with a carrier bag and wearing a headtorch, on my way to Tesco.
I remember when it was a Londis, I turn off the headtorch.
The doors swish open ahwshhhht-t-t-t-t-t, I step out of the dark into the light, I pass the multipack crisps, I go past the meal deal section, the fruit and the vegetables, the meat, I turn left into the tins, so many tins.
These tins all contain body parts, eyeballs, fingers, thumbs, thumbnails, tracheas ,kidneys etc…
I pick up a tin of tongues, there is a picture of a fresh pink healthy tongue on the label, under ingredients was listed: Fredrick Ayres, Frank Elliot, Maurice Falconer, Water, Salt, Mixed herbs and spices.
I put the tin back, then I see the shop assistant coming down the aisle with a trolley carrying a meat processing device, a range of carving knives and a big stack of uncapped, unlabled tins, she’s coming to put me into tins, it happens to us all in the end.
I am the plastic bag blowing in the wind, I am the row of black bollards beside the road, I am the paving beneath a strangers feet, I am the person who lives above the pharmacy in the corner, I am a discarded coffee cup lying beside an overflowing litter-bin, a draft in a phone box, I am a traffic jam. I am this entire section of The Old Bath Road.
I am a haze rising from the tarmac, forming into an invisible orb, drawn onwards to an as yet unknown destination.
I cease to be both everything and nothing and I am again walking, looking down at my feet watching the cracks in the pavement, I am drinking a can of Red Bull, a cyclist goes past, I drain the can and drop it on the ground, it is my contribution the character and soul of the landscape, proof of the destruction inherent in capitalist systems.
The birds pecking for grubs in the fields beside the road looked at me and muttered to themselves about my anti-social behaviour, I must be careful. The cows walk from the far end of the field as if to greet me, my attention is distracted by the dandelions and fool’s parsley beside the path.
Bits of cardboard were distributed tastefully among the varying kinds of nettles.
I kicked an empty coke can, but felt guilty about it, why was it any less worthy of respect than I was?
Didn’t it have a soul as well?
Dandelions actually grew up through the curb and the cracks in the tarmac, life cannot be suppressed for long, I reflected.
I saw a face looking out from a drain holding on to the bars of the grille like a prisoner, I walked faster.
A siren in the distance wailed.
There was a burnt patch in the grass beside the pavement, a single traffic cone stood in the central reservation.
I passed a cardboard box once full of cans of Cherry Cocacola, a tree stump, a house covered in scaffolding, a flowerpot full of weeds, innumerable parked cars and a great deal of moss growing in the cracks and depressions.
There was a smell of washing detergent.
I heard pigeons cooing.
All was right with the world.
I went straight on at the roundabout.
The weeds and the grass and the bushes whispered joyfully.
In a sideroad someone was making heavy weather of turning round.
I went on over the bridge then down the hill.
The traffic was now heavy.
One of the houses by the road had a metal dragonfly on the wall.
I passed a woman in a pink coat walking her dog.
The dog stared at me.
There was a broken pink child’s umbrella on the ground.
The ground was covered in mushy fallen leaves.
I went past Aldi, I saw a latex glove in the branches of a young tree.
My God, the noise of the cars and smell of petrol and decomposing leaves was overwhelming.
The Bus went past.
A McDonald’s box in the ornamental bushes, how delectable, a napkin folded neatly inside it.
I went under the railway bridge and went past the terraced houses opposite the park.
Despite of my resolution I kicked an empty coffee cup.
I passed the Conservative Club and turned into the back streets.
In the distance I saw a gasometer and heard powertools.
I passed kids going to school.
I passed a corner shop, I walked onto the towpath by the canal.
The geese and seagulls called to me.
Red brick houses lined the canal.
I climbed stone stairs onto the bridge.
Past the old offices, past the bus stop, past the tower blocks, past the prison, past the old church, past the policewoman, across the road and across the road and to the station.
Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth!
-Kipling, The Ballad of East and West
A smirking pisshead in a grey hoody and corduroy britches wheels past a bike.
He stops and asks me for a light, I oblige him.
“Amazing, cheers God bless you, I prayed to God that someone would give me a light yeh, you did yeh, you’re doing God’s work by giving me this lighter, you see right, God always gives you just what you need, no less, but also no more.”
“No less and no more” he calls after me “always remember that, yeah?”
There are jiggits more a gross of people going and coming.
It’s difficult to realise just how many people there are.
People I may never have seen and may never see again.
Once upon a time I saw that woman in Trieste, that one in Zurich, that man in Paris, I can’t recall the rest of them.
Some are speaking other ]anguages, Punjabi, French, Esperanto...
This is the right location, In the particular is contained the universal, in the universal is contained the particular, the distinction between the two is almost an illusion, here is illustrated the particular and the universal, here it is possible to see both thereby to discern their true nature by their reflection in each other and in these reflections a certain type of human yearning.
It is easy enough to buy a ticket from a machine, put it into the turnstiles and enter, but it takes more than that for the station to let you in, especially now it is freed from the weakness of the sanctity of age following it's renovation.
There are eyes, seen and unseen watching you, there are invisible impenetrable boundaries keeping you out even when you are in, otherwise the psychic noise would be overpowering
You cannot penetrate this enforced liminality unless you work here, unless you can learn to act as mother to the wild, self absorbed querulous and Lostwithiel customers often in need of Bath Spa, in their millions upon millions until you love them from the bottom of your Swindon.
Until you work never endingly to reach the Norman Topsom of your game, keeping them moving even when they ought to be in Bedwyn- in single units or thousands of them, the off-peak and the on, the Newbury and the Cotswold, those who have had their Bristol-Temple Meads and those that have not, to never ever let Taunton get on your Gatwick- Inspite of the Goring and the Pewsey and the Hayle.
Until Pangbourne of the Hungerford the thousands of miles of the gleaming rumbling iron road of the rallyway gets Neath your skin, into your blood and runs through your Sonning Cutting from the top of your Paddington to the souls of your Truro.
Until engraved in your consciousness are the immortal words never to be Foregate:
"
I.K.Brunel
Engineer
"
Once, so they say a man actually tried to hack his way in with a pickaxe, when the staff caught him in the act they put him in the cavity he had created, then bricked him in.
Thankfully that will not be necessary, I have a ranger ticket issued by the L.N.R. I enter through W.H.Smith’s; by the magazine rack a man is kneeling down reading an off the rack magazine, cheeky Nile duck. I doubt the smiling girl in charge here would care even if she saw him.
Some cheerful broad gauged men holding bottles of beer are playing some variant of bowls with a tether of guineas instead of balls.
I nearly trip over a long lost manuscript carelessly left on the floor.
A pair of piercing otherworldly slightly narrow blue eyes watch me not without amusement.
They belong to a squarejawed Gaelic face attached to a somewhat undersized body, wearing a brown leather jacket and holding a pair of deerskin gloves.
He got up from the green metal bench swiftly and kicked the manuscript away with the heel of his airman’s boots.
He grabbed my hand firmly, “Grimshaw” he said as introduction, “You are late my dear fellow, we do not have much time, it is imperative that I give you your orders before you leave which should be in about a quarter of an hour.”
“I would like to beggin at the beggining, but everything is so utterly backwards so to summarise our position we shall have to begin at the conclusion.
In the end as you are aware everything and everybody will be destroyed by the force of ego and the enslavement of appetites.
The Earth’s fate is already sealed, there are already plans in place for us to take refuge in the belt of Orion.
Until then the cycle of barbarians becoming gradually becoming civilised, civilised people becoming decadent then being slowly, deservedly and utterly destroyed by barbarians will continue.
Our task briefly is to raise our nation above mess of chaos and corruption- you see... deep within our Island is concealed an ancient power, endlessly defiant, but pragmatic, more just yet still as bloodily ruthless as that of other nations.
Because of this enchantment while our Island is united it is impenetrable from the outside, spritually and phyically, our task is to prevent it from being broken up from the inside.
What we are fighting is a psychological war to ensure that this does not happen, you have been sent by our superiors to help us.
Our methods must necessarily remain opaque, yet what needs to be done will be made apparent to you when the moment arrives.”
The window of the 11:33 to Newbury slid open, standing on the table in the carriage so his head could protrude was a very familiar portly figure with an unlit cigar held in his wide grimace.
He stuck out one of his arms, and in his hand he was waving an envelope.
Grimshaw grabbed it from him as he went past.
“You’re out of time man! You’re out of time, you’ve already failed!” the head cried.
“I can cope, I assure you! You tiresome old woman!”
“What is needed is an iron hand in a velvet glove, what you've got is a velvet hand in an iron glove. ”
The window slammed shut, clearly offended.
I was striding alongside Grimshaw despite of his short legs, I struggled to match his pace, he placed his gloves in his jacket pocket and took out a pencil,licked it and hurriedly scribbled instructions on the envelope.
“Never mind his rot.” he said regarding his departed friend.
He handed me the envelope I made to read it but he stuffed it inside my coat, “time’s of the essence, you’ll have to read it later on. Make sure not to read it while anyone may see, whatever you do” and he was gone.
Around me are a thousand individual tracks with a thousand individual services, one SPAD, several services are cancelled, held back and re-directed around him.
I watch them all in amazement from the cess by W.H.Smith buffeted by the on-rush, disorientated by the hundred totemic icons on the walls.
A yellow sticker on the glass: “Reason provides your only hope as a human to recognize your failings and free you from their trap. ”
A pigeon and a pigeon and a pigeon and a pigeon, the masters of navigation, feeding off the raw power of human transit, the true masters of the immortal city.
Their ancestors were messengers to the ancients, and messengers in all our major wars, their ancestors were the descendants of doves, the symbol of peace, gentleness and the holy spirit.
They have been domesticated by us from the earliest days, once they were highly honoured and now they are disliked and abandoned.
They are one of the few animals capable of recognising their own reflection.
Mice the binbred rat hath chewed.
Mether the town clock chimed.
Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time.
Brr-hrrr, brr-hrr, brrhrr.
The flock gathers around the Statue of Queen Victoria to discuss affairs of state, their orange eyes gleaming.
A young white pigeon and the pied pigeon Diplodocus both pecked at the same crust.
The white pigeon, stepped backwards respectfully.
Diplodocus flapped at the white pigeon and pecked at him bad temperedly.
A blue banded pigeon seeing his friend being assaulted joined in the fray, soon a pigeon war was raging, Diplodocus in the centre throwing off birds left and right and up and down in a storm of grey and white feathers.
Pigeons do not really like to hurt each other so soon the fight died down.
“Was I not” declared Diplodocus “reared by Heracles?"
“Am I not found depicted on the most ancient of pottery?
Was I not the possession of Leonidas? Was I not with him to his last moments at Thermopylae?
I am the Daemon of Scipio Africanus and of Charles Martel
I was at the siege of Antioch and Jerusalem where horses walked up to their flanks in human blood.
I was kept by the Knights of Malta and the Palaiologos, I was at the siege of Vienna.
I was at Mons and Marne and Arras and Loos and the Somme.
I was at Passchendaele and Cambrai.
Now I am dying, my legs are torn and tied by plastic and my toes are falling off.
In my system is a build up of poisons, inside my chest is a pellet from an air-rifle.
So therefore I ask that you show to me some respect and listen:
You remember the line from Ecclesiastes?”
'All rivers run to the sea, yet the sea is not full, whence they come from there they return.'
Such is the nature of the universe.
In the end there will be a new universe full of new creatures and our ghosts will inhabit it in the form of rocks which will erode into sand which will become clay, which will become flesh to be eaten by the new generation.
King Solomon was wrong however, I have seen rivers that do not reach the sea but dry up in the middle of the desert, I have seen some rivers put into pipes and used as sewers, I have seen ancient rivers dry up from the source, all these things will happen to the river of our lives. So hear me when I say:
I was born about ten thousand years ago
And there's nothing in this world that I don't know
I saw Peter, Paul, and Moses playing ring around the roses
And I'll lick the guy that say it isn't so
I once knew Cyrus the great
I knew him and wasn’t he my mate
He said I wish I’d been a tailor
Because being emperor is a job you grow to hate
I was born about ten thousand years ago
And there's nothing in this world that I don't know
I saw Peter, Paul, and Moses playing ring around the roses
And I'll lick the guy that say it isn't so
I was the guest of famous Cicero
He was really quite a lad, don’t you know.
Though when I told him he’d get nowhere just by moaning
He bashed me then he told me where to go
I was born about dic thousand years ago
And there's nothing in this world that I don't know
I saw Peter, Paul, and Moses playing ring around the roses
And I'll lick the guy that say it isn't so
I saw Nero fiddlin' while he burned up Rome
And I told him to go and make his noise at home
And when he had the nerve, to say we get the rulers we deserve.
Well I burst a beer bottle on his dome
I was born about ten thousand years ago
And there's nothing in this world that I don't know
I saw Peter, Paul, and Moses playing ring around the roses
And I'll lick the guy that say it isn't so
I designed the pyramids along the nile
I was friendly with the Pharoh for a while
He was always playing Rummy with an old Egyptian mummy
And he kept old Egypt going with a smile
I was born about ten thousand years ago
And there's nothing in this world that I don't know
I saw Peter, Paul, and Moses playing ring around the roses
And I'll lick the guy that say it isn't so
It was during World War II I met them all
There was Roosevelt and Churchill and De Gaulle
Then one day I nearly fainted, I was having my house painted
There was Hitler hanging paper in the hall
I was born about ten thousand years ago
And there's nothing in this world that I don't know
I saw Peter, Paul, and Moses playing ring around the roses
And I'll lick the guy that say it isn't so
I was in the court of Henry the Eighth
He was a man who was fond of his jape-th
He was going to cut my head off and that is why I sped off
Oh it’s the only way to get rid of silly prate-th
Olé
I was born about ten thousand years ago
And there's nothing in this world that I don't know
I saw Peter, Paul, and Moses playing ring around the roses
And I'll lick the guy that say it isn't so"
An interesting fact about urban pigeons is that they always distribute themselves proportionally to the distribution of available food, so if you put some food down you feed some pigeons, but if you put more food down you find you are not feeding the same pigeons more, you are merely feeding the same amount to more pigeons.
They fly to the old market place, where someone had made a mess of eating their sausage roll.
There, there was some people on a protest about something to do with the price of fish, proclaiming “We are the people!” only the funny thing was there didn’t seem to be very many of them.
Charlemagne the speckled pigeon and his chorus were encouraging them.
"Humanity finds itself embroiled in an event unprecedented in its history. One which, unless immediately addressed, will catapult us further into the destruction of all we hold dear: this…"
“Lala lalalaa, lala lala laa” “That was a cute little rhyme sing us another one do!”
Leaving powerful nations feeling unjustly treated, humiliated and more dangerously feeling under threat as History has shown again and again is guaranteed to turn them into very dangerous enemies. Napoleon's France was backed into a corner and surrounded by actively hostile kingdoms, so to were….
“Laa laaa laaaa laaaa, laaaa laaa laaaa laaaa”
"Have you ever heard this one have you?"
Which one?
This one!
"Have you ever heard this one have you?"
Which one?
This one!
"We have low birth rates and high rates of immigration. However anyone with a conscience, must know that first and foremost we are humans, and…"
You've never heard that one have you!
“Laa laaa laaaa laaaa, laaaa laaa laaaa laaaa”
If I was not upon the stage there's something else I'd be;
If I was not upon the stage an enarkiste I'd be!
You'd hyar me all day long, a-singing out my song:
"We are really, really alarmed by the government’s thrust towards authoritarianism. This represents one in a long line of draconian laws which the government is bringing in which will impact on our fundamental rights..."
“Laa laaa laaaa laaaa, laaaa laaa laaaa laaaa”
If I was not upon the stage there's something else I'd be;
If I was not upon the stage a schitzophrenic me!
You'd hyar me all day long, a-singing out my song:
"This cult is promoted by sophists who overthrew the ancient and venerable creed of our ancestors bit by bit, decade by decade, by deceit and fallacious arguments in favour of their false deity. The people come to this idol for guidance, but this deceitful being …"
“Laa laaa laaaa laaaa, laaaa laaa laaaa laaaa”
“Bing bong bing banggg”, say the speakers; “Ladies and Gentlemen, aughormgie mi gwing h]gharjangkhh! toestablishandprotectaneworderthatholdsthepromiseofconvincingpotential competitorsthattheyneednotaspiretoagreaterroleorpursueamoreaggressiveposturetoprotect theirlegitimateinterestsinnon-defenseareaswemustaccountsufficientlyfortheinterestsoftheadvanced industrialnationstodiscouragethemfromchallengingourleadershiporseekingtooverturnthe establishedpoliticalandeconomicorderwemustmaintainthemechanismfordeterring potentialcompetitorsfromevenaspiringtoalargerregionalorglobalrolewecontinuetorecognize thatcollectivelytheconventionalforcesofthestatesformerlycomprisingthesovietunionretainthemost militarypotentialinallofeurasia;andwedonotdismisstheriskstostabilityinEuropefromanationalist backlashinRussiaoreffortstoreincorporateintoRussiathenewlyindependentrepublicsof UkrainebelarusandpossiblyotherswemusthoweverbemindfulthatdemocraticchangeinRussiais notirreversibleandthatdespiteitscurrenttravailsRussiawillremainthestrongestmilitarypowerin EurasiaandtheonlypowerintheworldwiththecapabilityofdestroyingtheUnitedstateshgggghk-k-k"
“Bang bing bong binggg.”
A deep penetrating overwhelming sense of corruption hangs in the air. Maybe it’s the preapostrophus nonsense in the information carried through the formless void by the 4g signals, flitting among them are fantastic ephemeral demons, beautiful and destructive creatures made in California, do not hate them, they are more slaves than anyone. See if you can spot one.
“If a man harbors in his house a male or female slave who has fled from the palace or from a freeman, and does not bring him forth at the call of the commandment, the owner of that house shall be put to death. ”
“Now your statues are standing and pouring sweat. They shiver with dread. The black blood drips from the highest rooftops. They have seen the necessity of evil. Get out, get out of my sanctum and drown your spirits in woe.”
“dear mumy yesterday ate some lovely truffles love william.”
“I beseech Christ for this one thing only, that He will enable me to endure all things courageously, and that He break me as a potter’s vessel or make me strong, as it pleases Him.”
Man can do what he wills but he cannot will what he wills.
"I believe in God; and Mozart, and Beethoven as his only sons."
“When we are victorious on a world scale I think we shall use gold for the purpose of building public lavatories in the streets of some of the largest cities of the world. “
“I have invented a new series of verses, verses without words, or sound poems, in which the balancing of the vowels is gauged and distributed according to the value of the initial line.. .With these sound poems we should renounce language, devastated and made impossible by journalism. We should withdraw into the innermost alchemy of the word, and even surrender the word, thus conserving for poetry its most sacred domain. We should refuse to make poems second-hand; we should stop taking over words (not to mention sentences) which we did not invent entirely anew for our own use. We should no longer be content to achieve poetic effects which, in the final analysis, are but echoes of inspiration.. “
“Therefore it is by no means an idle game if we become practiced in analysing long-held commonplace concepts and showing the circumstances on which their justification and usefulness depend, and how they have grown up, individually, out of the givens of experience. Thus their excessive authority will be broken. They will be removed if they cannot be properly legitimated, corrected if their correlation with given things be far too superfluous, or replaced if a new system can be established that we prefer for whatever reason. “
“Vocatus atque non vocatus, Deus aderit.”
“A person who does not concern himself with politics has already made the political choice he was so anxious to spare himself: he is serving the ruling party.”
There is no one to take you out of this mud of depraved unreason, the more you struggle the deeper in you sink, like a soldier in the mud of Ypres.
Why do the tragedies of our grandparents sometimes seem so far and sometimes so close.
Why must people tear at the ancient wounds, invoke the old shadows, pit victims against victims.
Why are people shouting and waving flags when they should be mourning and commiserating.
Why are the ghosts of men in uniform crowding around now?
“An opinion can be argued with; a conviction is best shot. The logical end of a war of creeds is the final destruction of one,”
The lack of consternation caused by these apparitions is bewildering.
I descend the escalators to the platform, a mass deportation of unwanted aliens to Didcot Parkway is taking place.
I join the jeering crowds waiting for the next train.
The crowd settles, nervousness, irritation, shyness, impatience is being passed around them, reflecting from one to another.
I try to adopt a cheerful countenance.
A man pacing up and down catches my eye with a conspiratorial oriental glance.
I can tell he is quietly intent on perversion and mischief, and he sees in me an accomplice, or a victim.
My God have I become evil?
And me just freshly re-born like a new born baby from out of the aether.
Is this why everyone is so reserved?
To hide the horrors inside them?
Then I remember the sign by the entrance:
“If a man charges another man with sorcery, and cannot prove it, he who is charged with sorcery shall go to the river, into the river he shall throw himself and if the river overcome him, his accuser shall take to himself his estate. If the river show that man to be innocent and he come forth unharmed, he who charged him with sorcery shall be put to death. He who threw himself into the river shall take to himself the house of his accuser.”
Supposing he read my mind and he will throw himself in the river and have me put to death.
But I relax as I remember what was written underneath it:
If a man brings an accusation against a man, and charges him with a capital Offense, but cannot prove it, he, the accuser, shall be put to death.
The train comes in like a green dragon twenty-one seconds late hwshhhsssssst pffff, …. shhhwict and waiting passengers Exeter St David’s.
the cleaner’s coming with a sword on his mop bucket, the sword also means clean-ness + death! They won’t Send me Henry west!
Bebebebebebe …. sshhhwict.
Pffshhhwict….. I board the train.
I sit impatiently tapping the wall, the engine kicks into life, brbrbrbrbrbrbrbrvvvvvvrrrrrrrr
Bebebebebebe …. sshhhwictklak
The guard’s whistle blows and we leavvvvvvvvvvvfffffffffffft-tt-t-tt-t-ttt-ttt—ttt-t-t-ttt-ttt-tt-t-tt-t-ttt...
And so, my heart full of Joyce I pass into my ancestral lands and into another’s dreaming…
-beeebaaw t-t-t t-t-t -t-t-t-