CC 93: In the Mind of It

ARE YOU LISTENING?

I can hear you.

I SAID ARE YOU LISTENING?

Yes.

GOOD.  NOW IT’S TIME TO GO INTO THE MIND OF IT AND HAVE A GO AT THE HEART OF IT.

The heart and mind of what?

OF YOUR PRESENT SITU.  OF WHERE YOU SIT.  HOW ARE YOU FEELING?

I’m not sure if I can express it.

AH, YOU’VE BEEN INDULGING?

I have, I have.

 

I could feel my senses enfeebled somewhat as I stood in the kitchen with Francie looking out the window into the darkness.  It was quiet, except for some cats fighting somewhere close by.  Looking out over Cox’s Demesne, the large estate that lay behind the Pollard home, we began to notice fires flaring up.  The initial sparks were like red bullets being fired in the air, but failing soon after and falling, then finding the right base from which to spurt up again, and expand to a blaze, and soon there were fires emerging all across the estate, whirling pebbles, orange, bouncing off the rippling glass of our eyes, and in the firelight, inhuman shadows mutated, which eventually we found were undoubtedly human shapes, though menacing shapes they were, and when I turned, I  saw that Francie had a rifle in his hands, a rifle,  I hadn’t seen a real one since the soldiers left and went back to England, and  ‘We’re fuckin ready, Pascal,’ he said.  ‘We’ll be fuckin ready when they come.’ The big guns were out, and it wasn’t a sword, but I thought he would have a sword, like in the picture, it was more his style, but I suppose bullets were a better deterrent, but the firearm made me uncomfortable, to be sure,  and I came over all disturbed by these sudden dangers in the kitchen, so returned to the sitting room, and saw that Serena was undulating on the floor like a serpent and hissing as one of those things do, rising up occasionally and revealing the forked and studded tongue she was famous for in these parts, and others, and she started to coil around her inflatable red chair, as if protecting it, as Jane splashed her with wine to even greater hissing, and I saw that Jane was also splashing the wine on herself, and rubbing it into her face, which seemed to give her pleasure, she was definitely fucked up, Jane was, I thought to myself,  very madly fucked up, but something artful nevertheless in how she smeared the wine on her face, and I could safely say I never saw anyone smearing as artfully before, it was the punk in her, I suppose, but still, very madly fucked up, just as was the sight of Paidi and Emer kissing, which they were now doing,  slowly, and tenderly at first, then Emer climbed onto Paidi’s lap as he sat and the kissing became more passionate, and erotic, and it was impoverishing to see that Paidi’s hands were huge, bigger than a giant’s, and they were all over Emer’s body as Geary looked on,  Bastard Geary, he was just looking at them, and  then he turned and smiled at me, then he turned back and looked at them some more, and then he turned and smiled at me again, but then he turned back, as I looked upon the back of Emer’s beautiful head, swaying gently as it kissed Paidi’s head, and I noted how gratified and contented her body appeared with his giant hands all over her, how the kisses sounded sweet, and how invigorated by one another they both were in that instant, and Geary was still smiling at me, and I didn’t want to look, so I closed my eyes, trying not to look, but they wouldn’t close, so I turned to my left and saw that Yeats had appeared beside me, Yeats,  who had been hiding at the side of the couch all along, just listening,  judging,  the creep, and  he didn’t say anything, but he had that look about him, that Yeats look, and I was thinking about what I might say to him, but then decided to stop thinking about it, nevermind saying whatever it was I might have thought to say, as I observed  he seemed quite happy just to sit there, but then he got up and started walking out to the kitchen, and we all started laughing, loudly and violently, and he looked back in disgust, but then kept going.  ‘Get out of here, you creep,’ we all shouted after him.  ‘Go find O’Leary and hang around with him.  We don’t want your kind here.’

 

Ni eht ginmrno, I udlow grftoe, ro ta steal I dhoep I udlow grftoe, sa eht ghtousth I enwk reew learnu, tub mace omrf emosheerw lear, ghtouh inebg morf emosheerw lear, hpprsea ti udlow eb tebs ot mmeeebrr, ni eht ginmrno, ot nearl morf, ot ovem worfdar morf, I dhoep I udlow mmeeebrr, ni eht ginmrno

  

WE DON’T WANT YOUR KIND HERE.  I’VE HEARD THAT ALL MY LIFE.

Your kind?

I NEVER UNDERSTOOD IT MYSELF.  JUST LOOK AT ME YOURSELF.  MAKE UP YOUR OWN MIND WHAT KIND I AM.  I COULDN’T BE FUCKIN ARSED.

The man had long stringy hair and a thin face, but I could see no features on the face except for a huge bushy moustache.  He had a T-shirt which said ‘All you need is’  on it.  He seemed to be the only one in the room now.  Sitting where Paidi and Emer had been sitting a minute ago getting off with each other.  Where were the rest of them?  Where did they go?

YOU KNOW WHO I AM?

No, I don’t, sorry.

GUESS.

 Sorry, I really don’t know.

YOU SHOULD KNOW, YOU BROUGHT ME HERE.  YOU INVITED ME.  I’VE GOT BETTER THINGS TO DO WITH MY TIME, YOU KNOW.  THINK. THINK HARD.

 Da, maybe?  Da McNamee?

 FUCK, YOU ARE SPOT-ON TODAY, AREN’T YA?  YOU’VE HAD YOUR READY BREK THEN, I SEE.   YOU’RE GLOWING WITH SAVVY OVER THERE.  COME HERE, DO YOU HAVE A CIGARETTE, PAL?

I think so, yeah. (reaches into his pocket, takes a cigarette out, and gives it to Da)

 MILE MAITH AGAT.  AND A LIGHT?

 Yes. (gives him the lighter)

GRAZIE.  OH, I LOVE AN OLD SMOKE.  I LOVE THE DISGUSTINGNESS OF IT.

Now I think I know what you mean.

THEN WE’RE OFF TO A GOOD START.

What are you doing here?  Where are the others?

I DON’T KNOW, MAYBE THEY’RE OUT PICKING STRAWBERRIES, HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?  I TOLD YOU, YOU BROUGHT ME.  SEEMS LIKE YOU THOUGHT I COULD HELP YOU OR SOMETHING.  YOU’RE DEFINITELY VERY MADLY FUCKED UP IF YOU REALLY THINK THAT, BUT I WON’T TAX YOU FOR IT.  I’D BE LYING IF I TOLD YA I HADN’T THOUGHT UP SOME PROPER PISH MYSELF IN MY TIME ON YOUR SIDE OF THE BLATHERING VASTNESS.

I can’t remember inviting anyone. 

WELL, YOU DID.   YOU WANTED TO BELIEVE.  TO BELIEVE IN ME.  GOD FUCKING KNOWS WHY, BUT YOU DID, AND YOU DO.  I’M YOUR RELIGION, BOYO.  YOU’D BELIEVE ANYTHING.   YOU SEEM TO BELIEVE IT’S ME HERE SITTING HERE TELLING YOU ALL OF THIS, WHEN IN FACT IT SHOULD BE PERFECTLY CLEAR THAT IT IS YOU, HERE, TELLING IT.  AS ALWAYS.

Sorry,  I can’t make head nor tail out of what you’re saying.

I HAVE NO TAIL.  I HAVE NO HEAD.

What’s that thing your voice is coming out of? 

 THIS?  THIS IS YOURS. 

 My what?

YOUR HEAD.

You’ve lost me again.

FORGET IT.

I already have.

SO DID YOU GET HER BACK?

I don’t think so.

WHAT’S THE PLAN?

Just wait for the right nod from her, an assurance, I suppose.

BAD FORM.

Why?

THE BULL’S THERE.  GRAB THE FUCKING HORNS OF IT AND COP YOURSELF ON.  THAT BULL WILL ESCAPE, AND YOU WON’T GET HER BACK.

Bulls are dangerous.

HAVE YA NO GAME IN YA AT ALL?  TIE YOUR BLOODY SHOELACES, MAN.   STAND UP STRAIGHT AND STOP RUNNING AT THE FIRST SIGN OF JEOPARDY.  YOU’RE SEEING STORMS WHEN IT’S JUST A DRIZZLE.  HOW DO YOU EVEN SURVIVE IN THIS TOWN AT ALL?  MAN UP.  THIS IS BRAVE CUCHULLAIN’S TERRITORY, HOME OF THE FIERCE AND DIGNIFIED.  IT’S YOUR HOME TOO, YA BIG BABY.

 

Home, where the heart is, where the mind is, but where now, when the floor can’t be reached, and the ceiling’s dropping, then stopping at my head, and going back up again, then dropping again and again, and doing the same thing again, and I thought I had one, I thought we had one, it was there on the Castletown Road, empty and weeping, and secretly holding the photos of all that was, and wouldn’t be, and as I watched the house perish, the chimney toppling, the gutters busting, and all the bricks pounding and smashing until only pale hills of lifeless powder were left, I could see Bao and his one and only Ling managing their little Taipei convenience store, I could see them somehow, even though I wasn’t in Taiwan, I was nearly sure of that, and I saw Bao filling the icebox with bottles of Mine beer, and Ling decorating shelves with packs of salted sunflower seeds, and I watched them give each other a little kiss as they sent another customer upstairs for a massage, and it all looked so easy, the way things ought to be, but I also spotted Bao halt from restocking beer, and look at a bottle, and remember Ireland, and labels on bottles from a faraway land, and reflections on home, another home, away from home, yet the tear I saw was one of gladness, not grief, the memories like treasure he’d found, and would keep in his heart, to be looked at on days when the roof seemed to be collapsing, and that’s what it was doing, but it wouldn’t collapse entirely, just teasing with its going up and down like that, and I tried again to reach the floor with my feet, but I still couldn’t do it, even though I knew it was there, because I could see Francie now, standing at the kitchen door, wearing his dark robes, and ready with his rifle for any scumbags who tried to get in, so there was a floor, as he was standing on something, unless he was floating there, like some deity, the grim priest,  Pope Francie, I had to laugh to myself as I pictured him at the balcony of the Vatican with his firearm, and the papal followers raising their black milks to toast his armed holiness, but I held the image to myself, in case the Christian reference caused offence, or broke rules, and got me kicked out, for I was happy to be here, and didn’t want to be kicked out.

 

I’VE BEEN KICKED OUT OF MANY PLACES IN MY TIME.  NO BOTHER ON ME.

I don’t like it.  I might justify my actions alright, whatever it was that got me kicked out in the first place, convinced of my own inner logic in the moment, but afterwards, when the air clears, I feel terrible that I’ve been rejected, thrown to the yard like an outcast.

WE’RE ALL OUTCASTS IN ONE WAY OR ANOTHER.  SOME OF US JUST BEAR THE BRUNT OF SOCIETY’S CUNTISHNESS MORE.

 Why didn’t you ever leave the town?

WHAT CAN I SAY ABOUT THAT?  A PLACE GETS A HOLD OF YOU.  THIS PLACE GOT A HOLD OF ME.  TO BE HONEST, EVEN WHEN THEY WERE KICKING ME OUT OF THEIR FANCY RESTAURANTS, THEIR LIBRARIES, THEIR HOSPITALS, THEIR CLUBS, THEIR WEDDING RECEPTIONS, I STILL FELT AT HOME.  THEY KNEW WHO I WAS, AND THEY WERE DISGUSTED BY ME, BUT I WAS A PART OF THEIR CONSCIOUSNESS, AND THEY COULDN’T WIPE ME FROM IT WITH THEIR PERFUMED KLEENEX OR WHATEVER IT WAS THEY WERE USING TO WIPE THE DIRT AWAY.

Yeah, but why would you want to live in a place where the people thought you were dirt?  I wouldn’t.

I WASN’T THE ONLY DIRT TO BE WIPED FROM THE TOWN’S CONSCIOUSNESS, PUT IT THAT WAY.  THERE’S DIRT EVERYWHERE.  YOU CAN WIN THE TIDY TOWN COMPETITION EVERY YEAR, BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU’VE SWEPT AWAY ALL THE SHITE.  

But you tried to be more than just the dirt.  You tried to be an artist.  You’re kind of famous for something.  Not by a lot of people.  But there are stories.

AH, EVERYONE LOVES A STORY.  DOESN’T MATTER WHERE IT CAME FROM, OR WHAT SPORE GAVE IT LIFE, OR HOW THE HELL IT WAS EVEN SHAPED AT ALL.  I’D LIKE TO THINK I WAS AN ARTIST.  THERE’S A LOAD OF CLAPTRAP BEING SHARED OUT THERE THAT WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SHARED IN A MILLION YEARS IF I HADN’T BEEN GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY TO GIVE IT MY BEST SHOT AT ACTIN’ THE BOLLOCKS.  AND I DID.  I GAVE IT MY BEST SHOT.