Another Molten Trash

More Molten Trash Again….

We were all talking about Paul when Aunt Megan came in, so we suddenly fell silent. ‘Carry on’, she said, glaring at us, ‘No need to become all secretive just because I’m here.’

‘Just wanted to know what’s gonna happen to Paul’ said Jenny. The staff in the home had been instructed not to discuss the case with us; it was not even clear whether they actually knew anything about Paul’s situation. All we knew was that he had injured one of the house staff, and she had remained away from work for three weeks, while he had just gone and not been seen again.

‘There isn’t anything I can tell you’ she said, ‘And we have told the headmaster that you are not allowed to discuss anything to do with Paul while you’re at school. It could be serious if you accidentally spread false rumours.’

I kept silent about the possibility of spreading true rumours.

Later that evening, one of the kids rushed into the playroom holding a dull red exercise book. ‘Look what I found! Under Paul’s bed! Under his mattress, I mean!’ We all stared in horror; we were terribly excited at this new discovery, but the house mother would be furious if she knew that we were still debating the miscreant.

‘Take it to the Aunts’, I said. ‘Don’t look inside it and don’t let anybody else read it.’ The young lad looked scared at the prospect of explaining why he had been searching upstairs, and he dropped the book. A folded sheet fell out; Jenny calmly picked it up and began to open it.

The paper carried a neat diagram in black felt-tip, with a five-pointed star inside a circle. Each enclosed section of the picture contained a symbol, but I didn’t recognise any of them except for the Greek letter Omega. A line of script ran around the edge of the paper like a square spiral; it appeared to be just a random list of names from the Old Testament, mixed with some technical terms from nuclear physics. The words ran along the paper forming three concentric blocks of text, and then trailed in to wrap themselves around the circle, in an unbroken ring of letters which made no sense to any of us.

Journal Entry, 20 Mar 2000:

Hurrah! This is National Science Week! Today at work in my incredibly high-tech scientific job I made some black paint on 185 alkyd resin. And I replaced the black bag in the lab dustbin.

Went to library: ‘Complete Motorcycle Book’, ‘Open Skies, Closed Minds’, ‘Black Horn’.

Tomorrow is Budget Day. Stephen Byers (Trade and Industry) is under fire for messing up the sale of MG Rover.

Haloflex brochure: recommended for use on galvanised steel and with ZPZ etc. However, also suffers degradation at 160 Fahrenheit when in contact with zinc…?

22 Mar 2000: At work made a dinky batch of stoving drum paint. Also Dunlop silver with a non-leafing grade of aluminium paste. Vinylidene chloride emulsion resins also available from Scott-Bader: they recommend avoiding copper, zinc, aluminium and steel.

Also at work, we were discussing red-light districts, and the subject of Moseley Village cropped up, whereupon it emerged that Brian knew a couple of gay friends who lived there and when he was discussing them he used offensive hand (or rather wrist) gestures, to my extreme embarrassment. Question: could it be that Brian C doesn’t actually know about me?

29 Mar 2000: Strange day at work. In the mess room I was playing around with the cards left on the table, and lifted a chunk to reveal six spades. Then I cut this packette to show the same card. Eh? It turned out that the jumble on the table included two complete decks.

Pete wants one of us (me or Brian) to accompany Lulu to Blagden’s on Tuesday. Brian said that it would be okay if I went, and Pete was v unenthusiastic.

04 Apr 2000: Arrived at work yesterday, and Brian said that he had been asked by Graham J to accompany Kev to Blagdens (so I was no longer required). Question: if –as I was told before – I ws brought into Newtown to take over from Brian when he retires next year, then why was he invited to go today? Eh?

20 May 2000: Fabulous brilliant sunshine and blue skies. Had letter from Steve and Kathy about their new baby (Alice) and barbecue to be held 11 June. Unfrotunately I shall be on way from St Austell.

Tony and Cherie Blair had another baby. Leo.

Phone call from Michael S in Germany; he attended a job interview recently where they seemed very keen and eager. Then today he’s been sent a rejection letter couched in a clumsy, meaningless phrase.

It’s about a year ago that I left Mason and moved here to Tamworth. So many dreams, boundless optimism, opportunities, operatics, organic synthesis of pop melodies, charismatic evangelism, make all black things white and vice versa. Elaborately modulated. So anyway I moved out of Derby to a job that pays less and a flat that costs more. With no secure bike parking. Job potential: no computer training, no supervisory role, no management.

21 May 2000: Last night did an omelette with mushrooms and Edam, drank bottle of Chianti and a can of Beamish, woke up this morning with awful hangover.

Sick four times – pounding headache. It’s now 3.30 and I thought ‘Let’s put that programme on where they dissect music; who knows, it might be Bruckner V.’ Anyway, that programme doesn’t start ‘til 4.00 but on R3 wot are they playing but Bruckner V (Horenstein archive recording).

Plastic Fetish

Welcome to the parish of St Yrene
Where the acres of pink-tinged lust
Pretend to be arousal
Disguised as appraisal where the rust
Drips onto a wire inside-out
Drips like the litany of hatred
Where nothing is red but not pink
I lust you, neither do I
Thanks to St Yrene for prayers
Unanswered. 

Meltdown in the ravishing St Yrene
Where the makers of printing in
Trust no-one but to dazzle
Excised by a pretzelogical crust
Strips my wire in spite of
Lips are illicit afraid of not rated
Books are unthinking and unread
You thrust, I no longer erupt
Against the statue of St Yrene
Unannounced.

Elegantly trashed St Yrene
Her attackers were just a kink
In the shining hot straight wire
That calls itself the azure sail
Wrapping our world like a flat shell
Where the next eclipse is distilled
From a silent harmony of head
We must never deny
Our baptised brotherhood of St Yrene’s
Innocence.

 

 

 

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