At one magical point, people sat on the floor and formed a long line to dance to 'Rock The Boat' by Hues Corporation (1973).
I like sitting between people's legs. There aren't many occasions where you can have physical contact with friends and strangers without it being seen as sexual. I'm all for it, being surrounded by legs, rocking back and forth, as enthusiastic as children who bundle on top of each other, slamming the floor with the palms of your hands; raising the dead, putting things to bed. This is why parties are so important. And this is why we will be resuming normal service soon with our arty party MOONA.
|Spoon face painting table|
In the cab the younger sister says, 'My flat smells of death, something has died there, you won't like it.'
I hear the words but don't think that they could be the truth. All I can think is how wonderful it is that she say things like this, dramatic crazy things. It reminds me of how many things there are to possibly say that don't normally get said. Are we the three drunk and debauched men in Chaucer's The Pardoner's Tale where three men set out from a pub to find and kill Death, who they blame for the passing of their friend and all the other people who have died? The tale goes that they meet an old man says they can find Death at the foot of an oak tree. When they arrive at the tree, they find a large amount of gold coins and forget about their quest to kill Death. They decide that they will sleep at the oak tree over night, so they can take the coins in the morning. The three men draw straws to see who among them should get wine and food while the other two wait under the tree. The youngest of the three men drew the shortest straw. The two plot to overpower and stab the other one when he returns, while the one who leaves for the town plots to lace the wine with rat poison. When he returns with the food and drink, the other two kill him and drink the poisoned wine, dying slow and painful deaths. All three find death.
Is the pot of gold in my pocket? I have a Euromillions lottery ticket. Tonight one hundred people across our small island will become millionaires. It's a special draw. As long I don't check the ticket, I am possibly one of them and I'm possibly not.
The next morning I wake up in a someone else's bed with my friend. A cat is sitting on her chest, kneading the duvet. I walk into the lounge to find her sister and her boyfriend smoking.
I retch. When the cigarette smoke stops the smell begins, like a noise being turned up.
I put a sock over my nose and breath through my mouth.
'What's that smell?' I say.
'It's death,' she says. "Death is under the floorboards. I told you last night.'
'Well yes, but I thought it was just pretend,' I say.
I get a cab home in last night's clothes. I sit on the loo with a diet coke and when I get up the seat is covered in glitter. A week has passed and I'm still finding it, in my clothes, on my cheeks, in the fronds of the carpet.
How it lasts.