Friday, 15 May 2009

Moonlight and Music and Love and Romance

A mysterious car has appeared over the road. Just a normal small car (I think; it could be a pus-powered Rolls Royce hatchback for all I know), but painted yellow with black stripes and with the Transformers logo on the hubcaps and the bonnet. The funny thing is, round the corner near Jimmy’s shop there is an A-Team van. Perhaps I am not the only fictional character who lives on this street. The sign outside Jimmy’s shop reads JIMMY,S. Punctuation-a-go-go.

For tea last night I made Luxury Pie. You could tell it was Luxury Pie because I wrote Luxury Pie on the top in pastry. I filled it with hagfish and Werther’s Originals, durians, hen’s teeth and kelp. The gravy was made of lube. We ate that pie up as though it were a little book, and it made our bellies sing like boys.

Yesterday I tidied my Snout’s music room and lined up all the instruments – two keyboards, four violins, five guitars, a ukulele, a flute and a kazoo. I want some instruments of my own, I think, like a Cat Piano or a Bone Trumpet. I have my own secret music that I hear when the house is still, translucent melodies, musical fetches, half-dreamt ghosts of song. And I’m learning to play Psycho Killer on the ukulele.


  1. My secret music leaks out in the rancid night from small tremblings of the ani externus, a staccato accompaniment to the alley cat song under the dank moonlight. Not exactly percussion, not exactly wind instrument...

  2. Just the thought of your Luxury Pie makes my gums fissure and the roof of my mouth burn blue and bloody.

  3. I am too old to giggle at the words 'wind instrument', but I do.

    Luxury Pie, Luxury Pie, everybody loves my Luxury Pie. Today I am working on Luxury Porridge but it's not that luxurious. More sludgy.