Wednesday, 9 December 2015

Configuration of the Counterfeit Jonathan Marks

"An abuse is occurring," howled the gaunt, white faced boy.
"Who is conducting this abuse?" queried Jonathan, smiling autistically.
"It's occurring near the grey coast," replied the boy.
Jonathan's smile did not falter nor did his facial expression in any way alter. He stared straight ahead, his gaze fixed at a 90 degree angle to where the boy's gaze was aimed.

One behaves oneself for the pantomime doesn't one now. The musk of the lobby in all its exciting dimness. How dreadfully exciting it all is! Father frolics in sad, misty gardens at dawn, damp-eyed, yawning into his Weetabix in slow motion. Chaffed thighs, empty plastic Pepsi bottles, a visit to the woods. An unfathomably sad Edinburgh garden. Ejaculate is not recommended as a salve for a grazed knee. A pile of smouldering universe.

"Is that guy dizzy?"
"Which guy?"
"That guy over there. He looks dizzy."
"I don't know who you mean."
"Look, don't get exasperated. I'm not sure who you're referring to."
"The guy with the weird spectacles."
"Oh, that guy."
"Aye, him. Is he dizzy or no?"
"How did you arrive at that impression? The reason I ask is that he doesn't seem to me to be dizzy at all."
"I'm talking about the balding guy."
"Oh, him. Yes, he does seem rather dizzy, doesn't he?"

(rapturous applause)

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