Dreams of Sex and Stage Diving Read Online Free PDF Page B

lost my kingdom to the Romans,” said Cleopatra. “It was all Mark Antony’s fault. I don’t care if we fall off the edge of the world or not.”
    â€œMe neither,” said Botticelli. “I believed in the teachings of the priest John Savonarola and where did that get me? Into debt. I burned some of my finest paintings merely because he deemed them to be
immoral and then what happened? He gets burned as a heretic and I’m left looking like a fool.”
    Ben Jonson was so gloomy about his theatrical reputation being entirely eclipsed by Shakespeare that he could barely utter a word. He sat on the edge of the raft, gazing mournfully at the waves and bitterly regretting that he had ever composed a complimentary poem as an introduction to Shakespeare’s First Folio.
    Mick Ronson was only slightly more cheerful. He had had some success when he was alive, notably playing guitar with David Bowie in the Spiders from Mars, but his later career had never fulfilled its early promise.
    The inclusion of Mick Ronson, who was only recently deceased, seemed to be at odds with Aran’s stated intention of not using twentieth-century characters in his game but Aran had a soft spot for his favourite guitarist and anyway he was generally too depressed to worry about being consistent.
    Aran was programing in the hazards for level one. Traditionally in video games these early hazards should be fairly simple to negotiate so that players can get a feel for the game but Aran with his bleak view of the world had no time for easy obstacles. The raft was in theory meant to be making its way back to the shore but Aran programmed in some deadly rocks, hidden under the water. Try as the player might, the raft was unable to avoid these rocks and could not reach the shore. After a long series of frustrations a powerful wind came up, pushing the raft further and further out into the ocean and on towards the end of the world.
    Meanwhile the occupants’ dreams flew higher and higher above their heads, tantalisingly out of reach.

eleven
    ARAN’S KITCHEN WAS rotting away. This rarely troubled him, apart from when he wanted to make tea and he could not find any cups, or a clean spoon. Aran did have many spoons but they were all in the sink with the rest of his dishes and cutlery. The whole mass was usually covered in tea leaves which stuck to the dishes when he emptied the teapot down the sink. Strong people, used to the poor hygiene of Aran and his acquaintances, would still blanch at the sight of this sink.
    Unable easily to rescue a teaspoon, Aran poured a little tea from the jar into the palm of his hand then transferred it to the teapot. It struck him that he could eliminate the clean spoon problem by buying tea bags.
    Elfish, having remembered that as well as being a good provider of beer, her brother was reasonably intelligent, had come to ask his advice.
    â€œHow can I prevent Mo from using Queen Mab as a name for his band, and use it myself?”
    â€œUse it first.”
    â€œI can’t. I don’t have anyone to play with me yet and his new band is ready to go. They’re playing their first gig at the pub behind the
police station next Saturday. Once they walk on stage as Queen Mab I’m beaten. The name will be theirs.”
    Elfish screwed up her face in hopeless frustration. Aran, who understood his sister well, did not suggest forgetting all about it and choosing another name.
    â€œConvince him that it is yours by right.”
    Elfish was not impressed by this suggestion.
    â€œIt wouldn’t work. Mo is not susceptible to moral argument.”
    Elfish wrinkled her face again. Aran gave the problem some more thought. Having spent the whole day wrapped in bitter memories of his ex-girlfriend he was pleased to be able to change tack for a while.
    His living room was simply furnished, plainly decorated and very dirty, though the dirt was not on a par with Elfish’s utterly mangy