It's well past 7, the sleepers long-since rendered useless, the day all set for shining, the branches o' trees all lazily weaving shadows o'er busted bottles and crushed tin-cans.
I tell her that I been thinking.
What I say is all about how the last time I was in her presence, midst the transcendent phantasmagoric swirl o' Dublin City, what I say is that she took hold a chunk o' my soul I been finding it awful difficult to function without.
London, there it is, up ahead. Be it the London Conrad caught snaking through fog in those opening pages o' Heart Of Darkness, be it the London Strummer watched burn and rise anew, be it the County Hell, the home o' yon Landlord, the "Bitch's bastard's whore" done rid Shane o' his pennies back in the day, or be it all of those things and any amount less, whatever it is, it's there, it has a hand on my knee and it's telling me it likes my way with a G and the way I say "fuck" in conjunction with words not necessarily "fuck."
What I say is I have a thirst for those lights all burning my breath.
What I say is it's a thirst I acquired by way of masking that other craving, being the one connected solely to the blue all dancin' in her eyes.
It's 7:45 I tell her, announcing the following: "All it would take for to lead me back from off of Hampstead Heath and, indeed, to have me packing those cases all the sooner, this evening even, would be a line or two from you along the lines of 'O.k, come on then.'"
What I tell her is London is London, but it's not you, and therefore it can't ever occupy any more than maybe 16% of my heart and soul and mind and wrist.
What I say is no pressure, but if you give the go-ahead, I will leave here, today, and book myself into a bus-shelter somewheres 'longside the fetid plunk o' the shuffling Liffey waters.
I hit "Send" and spark up a smoke.
Around 5 p.m. I woke up to the delightful hiss of a gentleman reading In Cold Blood from out the earphones wound round my neck. Before I opened the blinds I spent a moment soaking up this sensation in the chest, this hunch about how what was waiting other side of that windowpane was nothing less than the most beautiful day of the year thus far. Kinda day a man might sit in the back garden drinking Diet Coke, smoking Mayfair Kingsize and reading poetry written by women lost to delirious fancies regarding Saint Augustine.
Article comments
1 - Richard Marcus
Another masterful gem written from your personal heart of darkness my friend. London won't know what hit it, and you might not know what London is going to hit you with, but it will be far better for you than the factory life.
It's all what you make of it anyway, least that's what they tell me on my good days, on the bad days it doesn't matter anyway just as long as you make it.
Fare Well in that dirty old town.
cheers
2 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
Thank you Richard. And you're right, it's all in what you make of it. It's a fairly troubling thought, that it might reveal itself to be some kind o' arachnid monstrosity snarlin at my cheek-bones, but worse than that notion is the notion of never doin nothin cause you're somewhat scared regarding the whole What's Out There thing.
certainly scribbling this screed has proved all sortsa cathartic with regards clearing the mind-funk.
thank you again, sir, very much appreciated, those words.
3 - DJRadiohead
Just saw this up here a second ago... looking forward to giving it a proper reading, Duke.
Btw... it was great having you back on the BCRadio thing.
4 - Sinéad
our aaron, that made me weep a little
5 - Greg Smyth
How could it have ended any different? Obviously disappointing personally but, as part of The Duke's Great Ongoing Masterwork, a necessary plot point.
Top drawer as usual, Good Sir.
6 - Aaron Fleming
Fucking great! But oh so sad and meditative at the same time. Wonderful poetic genius!
And I feel your fear, but agree that the fear of doing nothing is that bit stronger. One fear shoving another fear along...that might make a good stop-motion animation.
7 - Mark Saleski
i might be getting my history all fouled up & fuzzy...but that's pretty close to the best goddamned thing you've ever written here.
8 - Fearghus
Man, that's fucking amazing. Traumatic but poetry without a doubt. You're a gifted fella. Good luck..
9 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
Dear lord, folks, thank you. i expected a greetin of maybe "oh, AGAIN with the moaning". but no, lovely words awaiting a fella.
DJ - i hope you dig it sir, and t'was a pleasure to be back on BC, although i apologise no end for what is, really, a terribly shoddy segment. i was rusty, as you're well aware.
sinead - thank you m'dear. and it had the same effect on me. imagine that.
(unreleated side-note regarding the mystery recipient o' the email described up yonder, whose permission wasn't asked, and a formal thank you for not tearin the limbs off my torso wi rage)
Greg - thank you sir. heh, a neccesary plot point. it is. still, i coulda worked just as well with a different conclusion. ah well.
Sir Fleming - you're input on these matters is highly regarded, seeing as how involved in them you are (should point out the email wasn't an email to Sir Fleming). and that animation aside had me roarin to the heavens wi giddy throat-spasms.
Sir Saleski - thank you, i can't offer any opinion on your musing, but i'm very glad you saw fit to muse in such a manner.
and Fearghus - i'll take that luck, good sir, and run with it. Thank you for stoppin by!
10 - DJRadiohead
Duke! This is... well fuck, good man. This is fucking great. All of it. Every last word of it. Now I am feeling like I should switch from the Petty on my iPod to "London Calling." Is that weird? Yeah. I thought so, too. Enough of me. Seriously, Duke. This was a great one. I cannot wait for the next installment in written or audio form.
11 - Scott Butki
Another excellent, fascinating mind-blowing piece, Dukester. So what's the time frame on your move?
12 - Duke De Mondo
DJ, i dunno how i missed your comment, but thank you! and the new instalment is with the BC cleaners, as they say.
Scott - I DO know how i missed yours, and it relates to an email dysfunction. What i can tell you is that since this number was etched, the move has been put back to September of 2007 for reasons of finance and what have you. Also, it gives me time to get the ol' novel scribbled. i'm feelin very good about that, actually, on account of bein in the midst of chapter 6, and therefore unmistakably well past chapter one paragraph one. terror'll do that to you. and thank you for the kind words, apologies again that it took so long for me to respond.