[NetBehaviour] Wistful in Liverpool
mclennanfilm at gmail.com
Sat Oct 31 03:11:30 CET 2020
How B remembered well and Leo made a speech.
No drawing for this episode.
When he thought of a new idea or concept it could be visualised thus: wandering in a vast desert of dry grass and sand he spies a shape in the distance. Upon approaching the object it begins to take on more form and detail until it stands before him quite clearly defined like a simple and perfectly elegant sculpture.
Leonardo leaned against the wall and regarded B with a somewhat beady stare.
Of course it wasn’t all new ideas.
“The past always presented itself like a gorgeous bouquet of flowers” he moved over to a chair, sat and beckoned B to the other chair —
“Orange snapdragons with great dog daisies, or better still — pungent lilacs with kinopfia the red hot poker!
“The past in all its mysterious and cobwebby, at times shabby, at times gay — certitude. Things often not matching, like gaudy and Ill combined flower arrangements. Not to say the memory wasn’t somewhat malleable and had a tendency to reshape itself, to fit one’s own desires. How human we are in this. How like the future our past is, in that we may project our desires backwards as well as forwards.For peace of mind if not for our sanity. Better to forget sometimes.
Take the experiences and reshape them into beautiful poetry, a painting, a song or a fantastic machine”.
“Now is now and nothing else is as keen as the moment”.
Bron threw back.
She lifted a sheaf of papers from the table and examined the intricate drawings and strange writing - “this is backwards isn’t it” she traced her finger across the odd writing. “You’re hiding your ideas from you-know-who. Mighty big trouble otherwise hey?”
L put his index finger in his ear and wobbled it “Ha yes, they think I might be preaching heresy. More’s the pity”.
A sound of thunder rumbled ominously and they rose and moved to the window which was open. They gazed out over the dark green, choppy waves of the river estuary. Across the night water yellow and white lights sparkled creating a pattern like a net of gems. Several lights moved on the shadowy but reflecting water. The most prominent light moved across the river mouth heading to the ferry terminal opposite. Music drifted up to them as they watched.
The sound of cars and buses created a tapestry of sound and a general, almost imperceptible background hum - that unmistakable hum of a city at night.
They both listened, drinking in the whole scene.
The sound of a typewriter through a closed door, a hooting ship’s horn and the smell of fish and chips with newspaper soaked in vinegar added to the mini opera.
Later they ate fish and chips in the tiny two bunk cabin of a bigger ferry as it crossed the rising waves of the Irish Sea, headed to Dublin. Music played from a small portable radio.
B sang along very quietly ‘...Cos red is the colour that my baby wore, and what’s more it’s true, yes it is’.
She recalled once playing on the swings with her friends, it was early evening in summer. The swings overlooked the sea. Twilight was falling. She remembered the sing-song thrill of the moment, the to-and-fro of the childish chatter, but with a feeling in her chest like a bird bursting as it sang it’s song of the love it felt for its life.
The swish of the swings, the drunken feeling of the dizziness, the world seen upside down, the interest in one of the boys, the scraping of the toes of her leather shoes, the smell of the night, the carefree feeling of staying out too
Late but it was a holiday, the passing excitement of car headlights, the sound of the returning tractor to the farm opposite, the buttons on the lilac cardigan, the spots on the skirt, the midge bites on her arms and face and the Coca Cola drunk from the glass bottle third that night and the gorgeous burps thereafter.
“Something about the past you were saying?”..
She turned to L, who had fallen asleep.
She turned to the porthole and gazed out, although she seemed rather to gaze inwards as the radio played on tinnily - ‘... just give back the ring to me, and I will set you free, go to him’.
(Not sure where this has gone and if it’ll ever go back...)
Sent from my spyphone
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