Halloween or Hello Iain

Halloween or Hello Iain or My gods art better than thy gods because Dylan got a Nobel Prize and I’ve got beautiful blue eyes (A stream of unconsciousness blues in open D tuning)

 

The saints are a-marchin’-on in and the rotting corpses rise committing sin, the kids are treating and tricking, too much candy soon be a-sicking, Thor is sore and the media’s a whore, Freya couldn’t give a flying Frig (she could do that you know). Shiva’s rapping like TuPac on crack and jiving to the Late Show; you know it makes no sense, all this booze and incense and by all that’s wholly all the vio-lence. The shooting and the maiming, the naming and the shaming, the rape of Mother Earth and the dearth of species no longer extant giving rise to green-minded rant and Maria says Halloween and I say Hello Maria. What day is it José – Halloween, Hello José. I could go on for hours; what day is it Ignacio: Halloween, Hello Nacho!

Takes them ages to get the gag. Hello Iain, whatcha seein’? Seeing mayhem and tragedy, seeing too much of everything and wishing it would stop. Seeing the Ice Man. The Ice Man cometh and the Devil’s leaving hell, clutching a bunch of black roses Captain Marvel (how come he never gets a movie?) leaps to the rescue only to be challenged by the bathroom police because, you know, he transitions, transits, trans It; it doesn’t really matter to me where you pee as long as there’s pumpkin pie and someone to die in my stead (you’ll find me in bed with Lennon!) John and Yoko – OH NO! 7ygdinfjdvfno Lifting kittens of keyboards and checking out the outboards, make sure there’s fuel – enough to escape for Yule and don’t forget to log the trip and tar the ship and blip! Blip! Blip! The sonar’s ringing, the angels are singing; it’s time to go, it’s time to run and yet we were all having so much fun and oh so much candy, legs getting bandy, tummy getting queasy, take it easy!! Seems like it’s all over and the fat lady ain’t singing: she’s a-swinging from the chandeliers, swiggin’ beers and calling out the haters, winkin’ at the lovers with quick seeya laters and all the souls need saving this and every night, this and every fight, this and every spite that we spit, and quit griping, quit wiping the tears, they won’t stop till the band won’t rock. And after all is said and done and doomed and groomed ready for the afterlife, the second wife, the new man, the charge of the Vanguard: we only have each other to blame, ourselves to name and yet another tree dies of shame. But wait! What’s that I hear now, a-comin’ in my ears? Is that the cry of freedom calling? Is that the echo of tears a-falling? Is that the butterfly effect? Is that the tree crashing to the ground in tumultuous uproar despite the lack of audience? Is that the fridge light on? Off? Is that the cat in the box? Dead or alive, we battle on and on and on and soldier through what we once knew to be absurd, no other word will do to describe where we are, what we have become and explain why pumpkins and candles give us one last handle on the fantasy that all is not lost and that we still might save the world, the lions, the elephants, the rhinos… and the list goes on. The list lost in mist, bewitched, bothered and bewildered by the bathroom signs and severely put out by the one that says engaged; enraged, exacerbated and ever so slightly, just a tad, a smidge, nothing really in the great scheme of things, but just very mildly miffed – like a Canadian whose bacon is just a little underdone and apologises for not ordering more clearly – the Saints go marching, the ghouls go wailing, the kids go snack-snagging (let’s not call it begging) and Hallmark carries on forever…

Where was I? Oh yeah! Halloween! Hello Lucia! Hello Iain! Hi Eva! At freakin’ last!

 

Iain – 31/10/2016

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