An irregular, irreverent, post-modern account of the surreal, the ordinary, and the bizarre happenings on and around the Felia lavender farm in Crete

Monday, June 19, 2006


Gilbert leaned over his notebook scribbling in his malformed hand with a 2B pencil (he habitually used a 2B pencil - it was his his little nod to Joyce via Stephen via Hamlet). Joyce was much on his mind this morning. He slurped down some cold coffee - he had allowed his appalling manners to deteriorate further since they had moved here. "Gilbert, please!" implored Abby as she strode past carrying today's harvest of lavender. She tousled his hair. It was, she noticed well past needing to be cut but he had said when he shaved his winter beard off that he would grow it long again. Ah well, that was his choice. So long as he didn't end up with a tasselkopf or a ridiculous straggly pony tail - rat's tail more like. Then, he would be going out on his own.

She poured herself a mug of coffee and sat down. She lit a Silk Cut aspro. "Gilbert, what are you working at now? You said you wouldn't use the notebook again after that horrible Dick broke in and defaced it." He looked up from the page at her, he looked haggard, blue circles under his eyes and a weary, nearly hunted look in those green eyes. "Did I? Yes, perhaps I did. When was that? But he's determined to wreak havoc he's planning a pandemonium you know? Did I tell you? Yes yes I did I must have. He's going to let them all have their own ways about everything. He's letting go the reins. Let slip etcetera. Dogs of war, characters what's the difference. I told you didn't I? ... and cry havoc or was it the other way round no matter. I must get on. "

Abby poured him another mug of coffee and pushed it to his side of the table and then she went round to his side. "Gilbert you have to calm down. You're confused because you aren't sleeping properly and you have begun to forget things that you only recently did. You are under a terrible strain. I know that, but ..." she trailed off. He was staring out of the window at the mimosa. She shook him to. "Gilbert darling you need to slow down. What did I say? Huh? Just now: what did I say?" Childlike he stared up into her beautiful blue eyes - "You said that Dick mustn't find my notebook and that I must calm down. Isn't that what you said?"

She smiled lovingly at him and touched her fingers lightly, lovingly to his left cheek - stubble, he had forgotten to shave for four days now - she stroked down to his chin and put a finger across his lips - crusty - "Yes darling that's right, and so you must". She dug her thumbs into his shoulder muscles and felt the tension. He was like a coiled cobra - there was so much energy locked up in him that it was burning him up. "Now finish up your notes and we'll go down to the town hall and register to vote. Come on, they close at one". "Vote? Vote? Vote for who? When do we vote?". "We talked about it last week Gilbert - there are local elections in October and if we register we can vote. Here. But first we have to go to the town hall to register. You remember?" "Yes yes - of course I remember. It had just slipped my mind. You know I think i have some sympathy for Dick - it's not easy being written. It hurts". He scribbled two or three more lines and closed the notebook. "I think, Moses H had the hardest deal you know. Now, where are we going? Do I need to change?"

On the way out he slid his precious notebook behind the shelf containing the Pynchon and the Derek Raymond and the Celine. "You get past those guys and you're welcome to read it" he said to nobody.

(to be continued ... )

1 comment:

  1. I am much reminded of Caspar David Friedrich's 'Wanderer above the Sea of Fog', or perhaps the ramblings of a Poe in 'Murder in the Rue Morge' - or is it straight out of Freud's "The Interpretation of Dreams'? In any event, the notebook is not safe where you left it as already it has been defiled by another!