"Strange Visions In Bruxelles…"
There's an old story, maybe from East Timor, maybe from West Belfast, maybe just some shit I pulled out the back the head by way of providing some sort of context for this debauched episode, aye, lust and demons and visions fit to have a man crawling cross Grafton Street at 9 in the morning babbling bout eyes and smiles and cherubs wi' vinyl phalluses where the wings should be.
Concerns a fella by the name of Bill, or maybe Johan, or just as likely The Duke, fella maybe with a beard or possibly clean-shaven, maybe shaves couple times a day, in fact, so for sure, there ain't no stubble, but there's a bastard of a red rash from nostril to tit throbs like a nuclear fart.
What happened, so they'll tell you, sat round the campfire with some floppy-fringed minstrel at the back tunin up a G an then detuning it ever so slightly, on account of the hurt, see, on account of the lo-fi. What went down back in the day, maybe last week, maybe 300BC, whenever it was, what it concerned was a fella headed south on a pilgrimage, jacket pockets stuffed fulla notepaper, cigarette hung out the yap, jitterin and shakin on account of the caffeine and the lack a sleep, eyes sunk to the back a the tongue, telling anyone who'll listen about this vision he been granted, this lass bathed in a purple glow, a wit could slice Everest in nine, a smile burns the whites a the eyes every time a man dares blink.
I'll find her, he's mouthin, tongues a madness, aye, "I'll find her, pathway painted in the stars plain as the nausea in the gills fresh off a knuckle-fuck, and also, there's the text messages and stuff."
So what happened, folks'll ask, and the ol' fella at the center, he puts the pipe down, snorts the dust out the nose, coughs, he says;
"He found her, sure enough there she was, stood right there, just off Grafton Street, so the story goes."
"And…?"
Narrator spits into the fire, wipes his mouth wi the back of a gnarled fist. "He went mad. Mad as a fresh-fucked goose."
Cause some things you ain't meant to see, so they say, like the fella accidentally catches sight a God leaving the men's room in Central Station, Belfast one February morning, been clickin an clackin ever since bout the heavenly pee-drips kissin the porcelain.
Article comments
1 - Bennett
I think I remember having nights like that.
The nightmare vision continues. Seems like a black and white adventure, colorized years later in reds and greens by someone who sees only the stark madness.
Loved the part about uncertain communication, looking for clear signs that don't materialize.
Thanks Duke.
2 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
thank you bennett. its nearin the end, onlookers will be glad as all hell to know. i'd say two more parts, three tops. i get the feelin this feels different to the rest, maybe im just bein paranoid. but regardless, it trundles on.
again, thank you bennett
3 - DJRadiohead
Good show, Duke. This is the way to start a morning... beats the hell out of doing anything resembling work first thing in the morning.
I think you are right... there is a different feel to this one. Which I suppose makes sense. Pt 1-4 were all about getting to the meeting. So was some of Pt 5 up to the point where the meeting starts. Pt 6 - we're at the show now. Makes sense it would feel different. Somehow even a bit darker, menacing. But lust, desparation, disillusionment, and Red Bull don't feel or look anything like pink bunny rabbits.
And more yet to come? Outstanding. I was fearing 6 was going to be the conclusion.
4 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
DJ, thank you man. i was suprised a tad at how menacin the whole thing feels, readin over it again now. but it's accurate with regards the state a man was in, thats for sure.
im glad you're still diggin it, friend.
5 - Sinéad
"Moses with better breasts"
heh - cheers......*blush*
6 - gypsyman
Continuing to amaze and astound. Joyce if he were taking something he found in a back ally couldn't have done it better.
will we be having Duke nights in Belfast in the near future? Instead of a one day polite reading in a pub, a Post-modern horror show stumble through fetid stink holes that pass for nightspots and bars spread over a week's worth of non indulgence save for caffeen. if there is justice we will.
You don't need drugs and alcohol to be freaked, in fact the trip is lot scarier straight.
masterful again a la mondo
7 - DJRadiohead
You don't need drugs and alcohol to be freaked, in fact the trip is lot scarier straight
I have resembled that sentiment a time or two myself. Wow.