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Friday, 30 July 2010

Velvet hills

I stayed up way past Parker's bed time last night delving into yet another incredible book. This time I was to explore the parallels between modern physics and Eastern mysticism. I can’t sleep at the best of times but this was ridiculous! I thought about waking Parker several times. I resisted until about half three in the morning, by which that point my head had reached near bursting. I took parkers hat off and we began to talk!

I relayed my new discoveries and philosophies of physics, using unusual diagrams and ink blotches to explain my findings. Parker stared at me in total confusion. The noise outside my house was incredible, London never seems to sleep! The tide of party goers woozily gadding home didn’t help my train of thought. In the distance a thousand speeding cars sounded like an ocean, even beautiful!

I half heartedly scribbled some words on my page…something about a missing step. At that point I must have fallen asleep at my desk.

I woke up abruptly to the sound of chaos. The East end of London stank of mischief  as usual. I was still clutching Parker in my hand, which was now adorned by a black inky glove. Feeling like a drunk waking up after a stag party; I fumbled my way through the hills of  velvet cushions to the bathroom. I stared at myself with an expression of utter distain. Parker had decorated half my face with thick black ink, I was not amused. After shouting words I cannot repeat here, I decided not to let this get me down. Besides I resembled a super hero. I even considered maintaining said disguise for the rest of the day.

After dithering about in some vain attempt to prepare for the day I finally had an idea that was worth perusing.  Ignoring all that I had jotted down in my half sleep state, I danced with Parker around  the page and this is what happened:


There, embedded within the vastness,
The concept picks worm holes into my skull.
Like a snake of truth lost within its own faults,
I wander through heaven in search of another hell.
A creeping thought, a concern or a cell?
A daunting love, an insistent urge, 
A promise to a melody that no one heard.
A persistent hum, relentless in such aggravation.
The world seems to starve without creative notion.
And I too would die.
There is no controlling the narration.
To a tale repeatedly well served.
The story teller evolution, and the pillow time.
Growth and enlightenment bloom.
Gods within the most mortal pantomime. 
One day within the bustle, and again within the folly, 
A piece of coal enlightened; a diamond of all things holy!
Before Moment embedded his head in the pillow,
A leaf of the deepest green, twisted its logic and nourished a dream.
This time his growth grew not green but a velveteen red.
And in place of the leaf, a rose grew instead.

Spirit de la Mare. aka Li'l Literati. London 2010
C. Spirit de la Mare. London 2010

Above:The Rose (unfinished)
 Work in progress. I will post the finished article soon!

Illustration by Spirit de la Mare aka Li'l Literati
C.Spirit de la Mare. London 2010.

Also of note: