Argument: Death is averted, silence is encountered and the show, oh yes, it must go on.Don’t turn to the dark, Sir Lathynarn! – it is always dark with the lights off and the black high in amplitude, intensity and inkiness – climb those stairs and turn not back, reach not out, sing not loud, unknot proud the tangle you’ve avoided and dismissed – be certain, moral and aware of the smoke and daggers in this criminal air.
She was behind and clapped each footstep but – be truthful – you had never seen nor requested proof; she clap-clapped a hand with tut-tut of tongue unseen, unfelt and always there behind you.
Climb the steps and be unflawed – which is not perfect – be lantern-jawed and chew determination, spitting out the doubt that she walks behind…
***
It was all a joke of course.
Trigger pull and CLAP! from them all – itchy fingers and all their faces – Troll-And-Troll-By; Troll Hazard of Trace; Chafe Litter; Obloquium; Rince Pytcher; Choplogyke; etc. – all their faces burst, laughing – a purple smell of clove smoke from toy guns and cap guns.
I joined in, knowing the larks of terror that Lathy could not comprehend (an inkling, maybe, of how it will end…)
They, the guffawing mass of villainy and humour, came by, hugged us, took us in their arms and high up we soared and paraded with cheers – their bundles to a cavern, they insisted, directly under the throne of that fool of a King, buffoon of a King, so soon to meet the King above us.
“A laugh?
What a laughter!
Hilarity, quite jocular
and ending in applause
for noble me!”
Fear to pride
misplaced, forgotten
both times perhaps
at the sound
and the roar
and the riot
of those claps.
“Thank you
[… he smiled, he smiled! …]
thank you, people
and friends for accepting myself
and my squire-in-waiting
into your group.”
[In waiting for what? what did he mean? waiting inbetween the what and what?]
“And now
[… he continued…]
you may help me.
I need the way onwards and up
to find Dear Fame and sup
her fame-filled cup.
“Applause –
I heard applause
from high windows above the Walls
and am hunting the sound
and clapping hands.
“But two –
only two hands
clapping in a womanly way
slapping each together
so, oh... gently.
“Soft hands,
long finger strokes
against her longer finger strokes
of her opposite hand
that sound their clap.
“Help me
find this Lady
dear, what she offers out to me –
fame and sweet, sweet and dear
celebrity…”
Look around – I looked around – some cavern, some sewer – naturally man-made or made to be natural – it echoes with O O O that laughing ragtime green and brown and grey array of the villains who aimed their guns – so empty, quaint and pointless – at Lathynarn and me.
They looked and looked and looked and looked… and looked and looked and looked.
Looking, some wiser man proclaimed, signs a face to the future, a contract to be shredded and threaded through the weave of life – looking, he proclaimed, was a fabric in waiting and all those looking faces wove their carpet before us in a silence.
“No hope
here to listen
and take advice from these villains
and murd’rous ruffians
all a-plenty.
“No-one
will speak to us.
No-one, not one, nothing from them
to hear in us and sing
nor whisper down.”
Shhh… shhh… quiet – pull back the camera and see us all shrink – a spider’s eye view from the rooftop and web – all calm, all quiet and calm.
“Lathy
[… I whispered in the silence…]
the show can’t stop
when there’s an obstacle in front
of ourselves and the tops
won’t budge from jars.
“The show –
pssst! whisper it! –
the show must start, go on, with lights
and cameras, music
and dancing girls!
“We can’t
just stop and halt
and obstruct ourselves from action
because some won’t speak
the words we say.
“Movement –
music – sing! dance!
Let’s beat our drummerboy way out
and shout hallelujah!
come! be happy!”
The orchestra struck up the overture, the curtain quivered and an entrance was promised – quick! here! – a lyre was flung to Lathy’s open hands - the chorus line kicked high steps to the cavern top, deep down in this hole they sang out in this music shop their rattle and hum, their rhythm and soukous, their loose-loose hips and their curtain-quivering thighs - all lights, all song, all entertainment for all!
"Sing, sing, Sir Lathynarn sing
take the lyre up under your wing
and strum and strum and strum
each harping, tortoise string!"
Then stop and then such an accident for the music to begin at the point of impasse – a darkness and a silence grew around him, and the spotlight, limelight, centrelight and leading man delight lit up the cavern we walked through.
Such accident, such happenstance.
Lathy sang:
“Happenstance-Orpheus plays upon his lyre
and the string of fire burns the otter
the string of water drowns the bear
the string of air lifts the brown turf
from beneath the lions before the earth-
string shatters the ground around there.”
Such sad, such joy and the way the women sigh – what matinee idolism Sir Lathynarn displays as he strums and hums and plays his way through this Hell, this Underworld, this Diss his Orpheus swims through, lies through, acts through to kiss___.
Applause.
One short hand of applause in congratulation and warning – stage left lit up, a flight of stairs – go upwards, calling, asking itself for a foot, two feet, a knight in armour, brave, to climb them.
The applause sang back at him:
“Don’t turn to the dark,
Sir Lathynarn! –
it is always dark
with the lights off
and the black high
in amplitude,
intensity and inkiness –
climb those stairs and turn not back,
reach not out,
sing not loud,
unknot proud the tangle
you’ve avoided and dismissed –
be certain, moral and aware
of the smoke and daggers
in this criminal air.”
She was behind and clapped each footstep but – be truthful – you had never seen nor requested proof; she clap-clapped a hand with tut-tut of tongue unseen, unfelt and always there behind you.
Climb the steps and be unflawed – which is not perfect – be lantern-jawed and chew determination, spitting out the doubt that she walks behind…
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