So I gave her the kinda look says "You have no idea how desperate I am", but no, no counter-gaze along the lines of "I don't give a roast wank, all I'm worried about is the fistful a euros you got shoved in that ridiculous blue velvet jacket."
So I wasn't sure, so I kept on a-wanderin.
Because you can't just go assuming that ladies stood on dark street corners looking all entrepreneurial are hookers, you can't just go saying "Scuse me, you look a bit rough, I'm guessing you'll, y'know, accept payment for a couple minutes filth?"
Same way you never know if someone's a vagrant or if they just had a rough night, woke up late, didn't get the hair combed, didn't get a shave, still wearing yesterdays wank-riddled jeans. What you need is for them to say "Any change?" and then, yeah, here, same way what you need is "Fancy a quick one at the wrist for the price of a motorhome?" and then aye, read my mind you did, and also, any chance of some sort of bondage of some kind?
How can a man hope to deduce these things for himself?
How can a man be expected to make any sortsa decisions, reach any sortsa conclusions, when his mind hangs in jagged tatters on account of the indescribable grace with which Sinéad paints her every movement?
How can any sortsa thoughts worth thinking be entertained when all the while, seeing Sinéad yonder with the Marlboro Red, The Duke's a hoo-hah's whisper away from Huxley, fried on mescaline and lost in the creases in his trousers, baffled by the infinite wonders arising from such.
Rising from the static, Victoria Clarke's voice, she's talking bout Shane MacGowan, she's saying; "He romanticizes Ireland out of all proportion. He romanticizes me out of all proportion."
Thinking bout it's impossible to overstate this scene, though, thinking bout how no words yet etched or mouthed could do justice to the visions, to the burning in the senses.
And all of them getting further away from sobriety, the Jägermeister pourin upwards from the street, the smell a poppers in the air.
An ambulance pulls up at the door, a fella being carried out on a stretcher, leg busted all sortsa sideways.
Screamin, he is, went a couple notches too far in the direction of maniacal, "Black Metal" casualty, that Venom, motherfuck, it'll wind a man thrice over he don't watch what he's doin.
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.