Igor Stravinsky

Who am I to judge? I mean, what was I thinking of? It started off as a little joke and now it came to this. That’s the last time, I tell you, the very last time. Look at all this mess. Was I responsible? If truth be told, I am. But Gregory had a hand in it as well. Still, I might as well start clearing. Traffic Lights? My goodness me I didn’t realise they still made Traffic Lights. My older brother told me how Traffic Lights of the nineteen seventies may look disappointing in comparison but at the time they were the most beautiful he’d ever seen. Oh my dear Vincent, why did you move to New York? How dare you fall in love. Learning that you were gay and still are made it easy for me to come out. Mum says she’s quite comfortable with her children being the way of Jean Genet and Jeanette Winterson, I guess that comes with the territory of voting Liberal Democrat, but I bet deep down she’d like me to don the white dress of purity. What am I saying? She’d like me to have a civil partnership with me wearing that white cake of a dress as a piece of gender bending irony. Sorry, Mum I intend to be a free agent. Just don’t tell Georgina.

What a chaotic mess this all is. Curse you Gregory! Good friends from the time we were in pre-school. I remember when I first saw you come in. You looked so sweet when you were upset and demanding to see your mother. I must confess my dear Gregory that was the first and only time I fell in love with a member of the opposite sex. It must have been your feminine side that I was attracted to. Many a time I’ve overheard my lesbian posse whisper amongst themselves, “If she wasn’t such as boyish dyke they’d be sitting in a tree K-I-double S-I-N-G.” Well screw ‘em. And I did, well a couple but not at the same time. Oh I wish you were a girl, Gregory. I could dress you up again like I did on your thirteenth birthday party but it wouldn’t be the same. I’d end up disappointed once the Laura Ashley was peeled. Boy! Am I confused? No I’m not, that’s what helpful homophobes want you to think. But, oh, do they have a point? No matter. No time for philosophy, time to clear up.

It’s funny how in this day and age the word ‘philosophy’ is bandied about. I even saw it on the back of an oversized shampoo bottle once. It would make a nice change to see extracts from Thomas Hobbes ‘Leviathan’ on the back of a Timotei bottle rather than the usual not-at-all-scientific mumbo jumbo they use. The deluded religious claim that their way of life is a philosophy. Many of them are unaware that the best film about Jesus was by a homosexual Marxist atheist. If you can read my mind Gregory then read this. This is the last merry prank I play with you my friend, the last one. I thought that one when we did our film studies A level was the biggest. You suggested to me that instead of seeing Rita Hayworth putting the blame on Mame as the so-called classics weren’t a patch cinematically on the likes of ‘Star Wars’ we’d have some fun with motorbikes. So one afternoon the two of us with a sack full of ropes and chains went down the streets and roads hoisting every motorbike we could find into the nearest pavement planted tree. It took a lot of time, strength and effort but we made a successful job of it. Funny how something that is worthless, unbeneficial and pointless can give you a sense of satisfaction at the end of the day. We both celebrated our little prank by going down to your student digs and watching ‘Zatoichi At The Fire Festival’ on a cruddy pirate video. Whilst most students were boasting about their illegal copy of ‘A Clockwork Orange’ you were amounting a pretty good accumulation of chambara movies. However for a guy whose as straight as a die I did find it interesting that you decided to show me a Shintaro Katsu film that had a little bit of homoeroticism and plenty of male nudity during one scene of swordsmanship. We certainly made the local paper that week. Even made the tabloids and ‘Newsround’ on Children’s BBC. The only people we really wound up were the motorcyclists. The rest of The Great British Public (Registered Trademark) thought it was funny even though they knew they were meant to disapprove.

We did land in trouble, big trouble and we were expelled from college. It probably was a blessing in disguise as now I make a pretty penny running my own tattoo parlour, whereas you… In all fairness I don’t know what it is that you do. What are you nowadays? Are you a drifter? Drifting from place to place? Drifting from job to job? A successful entrepreneur? I wager that either you are unemployed with too much time on your hands or in a job that is so dull and routine you need a little excitement to boost yourself. The world of the grown ups only rewards the dull little children who looked forward to double maths on a Monday morning. We were friends from the age of five and yet we became apart. I lamented that day when I thought I’d lost you forever. Should I rue the day that I met up with you again? Clearing all this waste. Phooey! I never thought tigerskin watermelons could smell so putrid. Oh, look! There’s a cat. “Have you come to help me my sweet little one? I won’t hurt you. Oh.” She’s probably confused. Unable to decipher whether I’m a girl or a boy. Must confess to even confusing myself sometimes. Gregory! How dare you! We were going to undertake this little prank together and when I turned you weren’t there. I’m alone to pick up the pieces. It was you and closed circuit television cameras that got me into trouble. Tidying up, the ultimate humiliation for a prankster in her thirties. I wonder if my brother found out. He’d be sympathetic. Hell, he might even chuckle. Mum and Dad are shamefaced though. I reckon they’re going to pay for me to get some help. Like junior school once did with the music teacher saying prayers for me in the staffroom with three of the other born agains. Loving me the sinner and hating my sin. Kindness and doctrine make for an uneasy cocktail I must say. As do jumping jacks and purple grapes.

“You know what would be funny?” You said to me. I shook my head and when you told me what it would be I immediately wanted in. I didn’t care if we were in our early thirties and should know better. If commuters can read superfat tomes by Jo Rowling then why can’t Greg and I embrace our inner children? You were inspired by ‘The Naked Gun’ and the cinematic version of ‘Thoroughly Modern Millie’. You were also inspired by goodness-knows-what. The combination of inspirations led you to suggest to me that we have a fireworks spectacular in a warehouse full of fruit and vegetables. Even as I clear this mess I can’t stop myself from chortling. Would I have agreed to this if I had a second chance? My laughter betrays my moral principles. It was a dangerous prank all the same. Someone could have got killed. Still I’m now thinking it was worth it. If only I could tell you. Where did you disappear to? Where did you vanish? My dear, dear Gregory.

© 2009 Clinton Morgan