Night hath a thousand eyes – John Lyly
Estranged Reflections X
I was gasping for a smack in the kisser as I viewed the image under extreme magnification: there were triangles, circles and straight lines. I write deep semi-suicide notes in my journal.
As the use of regressive hypnosis continued I recalled seeing rows of pulsating lights as I glided across the room wishing I could make a fast buck by hyping hot young things and paralytic nostalgia trips. I test-flew the idea in and around the planet.
I saw Carl and Lorna giggling at a candlelit table for two, he in his first Panto role as Buttons, she up the kazoo but with a plethora of interesting data.
More compulsive thrillers; more vulnerable kleptomaniacs; the sequence came to an abrupt end. Well catch that if you can!
Next I studied the Content Process Worksheet disguised as Le Grand Grimoire, seeing, in the intricate patterns of tea leaves, handbags full of junk and women behaving badly despite the panicky denials of the government. The ‘flying chariot’ theory became serious business for two men dressed in fur coats.
I stared out of the window at the rain-soaked Surrey countryside.
Then Karen’s voice entered my frazzled Dream-time:
“Vince got stuck in The Discontent because I lost the runes and I don’t want to talk to Brad any more…” she sounded distant, somehow remote, somehow conditioned in terms of size and head colour. Waifs had no impact.
The ‘visitor’ had gone but she was far from happy. There were flashbacks and high levels of anxiety. Paintings by dead artists sell better. She was surrounded by ambitious deals, tram tracks and architect-designed bus-shelters. She had a voice like cashmere that did not sit well with my natural English reserve, tapestries, flock wallpaper and good old-fashioned chintz. She had cardinal red lips and a brand new silhouette.
“Sofia, Sister Marie that is, simply vanished you know…” continued the thousand-year-old witch dressed in scarlet sequins and a talismanic waistcoat. “…over the rainbow…Oh, he can ravish you with words…” She performed a Mambo Basilisk, (just like that!) – In the background were a thousand eyes: it was one of her hottest moments. Oooh myyyy giddy aunt! This is really exciting!
Supernatural and miraculous events proved her messages to be true on that ‘night of nights’ as the last few drinkers were finally leaving Deptford Blades and the phones went berserk, old red stars faded out over the naked city and doors got kicked in. The Spear Nosed Bat Totem began to look like the Archangel Gabriel in a sculpted evening dress, sporting the lure of hidden luxury; another puzzler in need of examination.
Trapped in a life of crime Laszlo’s canine habits encouraged drug abusers and uptight engineers to take up residence, projecting dream visions of their own bodies on the parquet floor. After that, Sharon quit the scene altogether. She was not providing the interval entertainment.
She tried to get a job with Alvin and the Chipmunks but faded into restful oblivion, they had been driven apart by recriminations and a helter-skelter journey through the revolutions of the past five hundred years.
Then there were the official papers, just as the paramedics said. It was one of my earliest big screen breaks but all that was still a hundred miles away, what a tearjerker.
I froze; like I was petrified by the gaze of the Medusa. Is that it?
I swept aside the pleas of contestant couples with their eyes on flash cars, cash prizes and glam holidays. That’ll do nicely sir!
I couldn’t feel her skin, the crosstalk, the highway to heaven, the cut and the deal.
There were only videos, CDs, a bunch of flowers and strange reflections.
AC Evans
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