yammering

oh, well, whatever . . .

how to plumb the apocalypse

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I spent most of the day sitting at an inquest. Driving home I noticed it had become much warmer. I went out on my bike and rode down the coast.

Later Margaret told me that she and Brenda were thinking of setting up another internet business. I asked her if it was acupuncture. She said it wasn’t. It was slippers.

‘So how is Brenda?’ I asked.

‘She’s great,’ Margaret replied. ‘She’s got a new man in her life. She’s blooming.’

‘Who’s the man? Is he an acupuncturist too?’

 ‘No, he’s a plumber. Well, actually he isn’t. He a TV repair man. But he’s a plumber now. He’s called Tristan.’

‘Tristan the plumber?  I think I might know him. What’s he like?’

‘You don’t know him. And I haven’t met him. He was out on a job when I was there.’

‘Tristan plumbs on the sabbath?’

‘Not everyone is afraid of hard work, you know. Brenda is expanding her business into other areas too – reiki, massage, and life coaching.’

Margaret then gave me a sheet of paper headed Brenda Blenkinsopp, Life Coach: “Finding the key to the life you really want”.

Below that was what was described as “a simple questionaire that will help us together to find out where you really want to be in you life and what the main obstacles are preventing you from getting there”.  The instructions were to choose from the following list in rank order the three items which best describe your attitude to your body. Here is the list:

My body is         

  • a temple
  • a barn
  • a cheap hotel
  • a sub-post office
  • a warehouse
  • a waste disposal amenity
  • a peel tower
  • a lock up garage
  • a lighthouse
  • a Wendy house
  • a caravan
  • a detention centre
  • a winding house
  • a signal box
  • an all-night cinema
  • a spire

‘How does she interpret the answers?’ I asked.

‘Do it and you’ll find out,’ Margaret said, like an excited schoolgirl.

I looked at the list. It was utterly opaque. I went and let De Kooning out. It was an apocalyptic sunset, orange and billowing out of the west. The solar lights around the lawn were coming on, blue and ghostly. There wasn’t a breath of wind. The boy died of an accidental overdose of benzodiazepine. The verdict was misadventure.

 

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Written by yammering

April 24, 2008 at 9:15 pm

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