within my reach and dreaming too it’s in the dream too of a little man within
hers I have that in my life this time sometimes part one as I journey
or failing kindred meat a llama emergency dream an alpaca llama the history I knew
my God the natural
she would not come to me I would go to her huddle in her fleece but they add no a
beast here no the soul is de rigueur the mind too a minimum of each otherwise too
great an honour
I turn to the hand that is free draw it to my face it’s a resource when all fails
images dreams sleep food for thought something wrong there
when the great needs fail the need to move on the need to shit and vomit and the other
great needs all my great categories of being
then to my hand that is free rather than some other part I say it as I hear it brief
movements of the lower face with murmur to the mud
it comes close to my eyes I don’t see it I close my eyes something is lacking whereas normally closed or open my eyes
if that is not enough I flutter it my hand we’re talking of my hand ten seconds fifteen
seconds close my eyes a curtain falls
if that is not enough I lay it on my face it covers it entirely but I don’t like to
touch myself they haven’t left me that this time
I call it it doesn’t come I can’t live without it I call it with all my strength it’s
not strong enough I grow mortal again
my memory obviously the panting stops and question of my memory obviously that too
all-important too most important this voice is truly changeable of which so little
left in me bits and scraps barely audible when the panting stops so little so faint
not the millionth part I say it as I hear it murmur it to the mud every word always
what about it my memory we’re talking of my memory not much that it’s getting better
that it’s getting worse that things are coming back to me nothing is coming back to
me but to conclude from that
to conclude from that that no one will ever come again and shine his light on me and
nothing ever again of other days other nights no
next another image yet another so soon again the third perhaps they’ll soon cease
it’s me all of me and my mother’s face I see it from below it’s like nothing I ever
saw
we are on a veranda smothered in verbena the scented sun dapples the red tiles yes
I assure you
the huge head hatted with birds and flowers is bowed down over my curls the eyes burn
with severe love I offer her mine pale upcast to the sky whence cometh our help and
which I know perhaps even then with time shall pass away
in a word bolt upright on a cushion on my knees whelmed in a nightshirt I pray according
to her instructions
that’s not all she closes her eyes and drones a snatch of the so-called Apostles’
Creed I steal a look at her lips
she stops her eyes burn down on me again I cast up mine in haste and repeat awry
the air thrills with the hum of insects
that’s all it goes out like a lamp blown out
the space of a moment the passing moment that’s all my past little rat at my heels
the rest false
false that old time part one how it was before Pim vast stretch of time when I drag
myself and drag myself astonished to be able the cord sawing my neck the sack jolting
at my side one hand flung forward towards the wall the ditch that never come something
wrong there
and Pim part two what I did to him what he said to me
false like that dead head the hand alive still the little table tossing in the clouds
the woman jumping to her feet and rushing out into the wind
no matter I don’t say any more I quote on is it me is it me I’m not like that any
more they have taken that away from me this time all I say is how last how last
part one before Pim before the discovery of Pim have done with that leaving only part
two with Pim how it was then leaving only part three after Pim how it was then how
it is vast tracts of time
my sack sole variable my days my nights my seasons and
Charles Black, David A. Riley