Friday, June 05, 2015


Last night Eleven Sons and I again sallied forth .
I was obliged to visit A mAGICIANS
's Theatre to view an electro synthesizer duo with a dial telephone. Retro style.
When we arrived at the theatre it wasn't there.
Then we weren't there.
Then, there we were, arriving at thetheatre. We were alone.
A depressed man appeared, lying face down on a bar table, sitting cheek down on a bar stool.
'Are you the magician?' we asked but he only said 'Umph'.
'Poof'! Went the air and where?
we were before stood a shy man smiling slyly.
'What do you have in the way of interesting beer?' I said rudely without waiting for an abracadabra.
'Ahh' he said. I have this chilli beer. Now where is it? He enquired.
What is dark? I asked
'The original Budweiser was dark. he said.
I only drink German. I said and handed over the usual cool million.

Later or was it just at that moment, the dead man came to sudden life and played the most intensely beautiful organ poetry I have ever heard, then slumped, dead again.
The magician interrupted to say that he had just put the kettle on, if anyone would like a cup of tea.
a rabbit appeared.
A puff of dry ice surrounded me and Eleven Sons looked over
'Is that smoke?' he asked
'Yeah,' I said, 'I'm on fire.'
'Oh'. he said and went back to watching the magician who was squashing tiny goblins with his thumb.

Sometimes I wonder if my son cares if I live or die.

I am now the magician's assistant, and will be sawn in half every night, just to spite my face.


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