Wednesday 18 August 2010

A summer seasoun—meditation on a squirell—spectral terror

Woe and distortion, tis the season of summer, and all trees bend about in breezes. Watch youre humblest walkyng higgeldy-piggeldy through Bloomsbury where he taketh in hooverwise the sights of Town.

Ever-seeking and never-finding, Nashe, I sighd to me, pausing on a bench in the RUSSELL square. A squirell insensately collected a Nut in front of me. What violent pangs redounded too, when I saw it, that microsentient thing like to a Mechanism, laying up with good sense his store for the winter and I, a tissue of divinity transfix'd in humble flesh, pissing away the morning on fanglings of the news-paper crossworde. And an apt name I thought, struggling with the clew and feelyng my temper increase. I bit the pencil in half and stormed to'ard a park cafeteria where I demanded that black Liquid which makyth a man incapable of lassitude.

—Coffee please
—With sugar?
—No
—AND WHY NOT, askd a voix behind me. Aghast I revolvd to face mine interlocutor. Looking the mighty figure up and down I apprehended violence in's eye, physical force in the jaw, and a bald head. Then I staggered back'ard into a three-tier scone display, knocking it to the floor. The figure bore itself toward me without footstep or sound, bobbyng on its heavy skirts.
—Nashe! bellowed the form, the devil in human format pelting me with organick snackes
—Why dost thou persecute me so? I cryd protecting myself with my handes
—I wish a bargain
—Stop, stop, I shouted, drawing my newspaper
—Bargain!
—What wishest thou, sire?
—A commission.
—Alas I have no wit left in me

No comments: