Saturday 15 March 2008

Mort - Ibis : Part II

Reh! Roh! The dogs bark in binary code! When I went to dash Billy's brains in with a rock for disturbing my reading of Vurt...I though of telling you.
Too many reminiscences, but I'll try not to be remiss. I embellish and slobber over my words like a glutton: although thin. Brevity it should be, but I am prone to go on and on. With you I can't help it. All I want is to raise a famous Dan smile. Like Melville, in place of an explanation I offer a list (chronology alas falls victim to the elephantine foot of my memory, if I make mistakes feel free to amend them):

Chewing gum in Mouth Menace.
Spitting drinks in Revival.
Thomas!
It's like woah, man, yeah man, like nowhere you've ever been before man. Stalling so many times so as to cement my rep as a bad driver. I am.
Caged heat: 'I'm gonna spill a can of whup ass on ya.'
Tennis ball brain and Styrofoam vs briefcase neurotic.
Bartleby's : 'I would prefer not to' vs Bartlebooth's sculpted heel of David.
Grinding Dan Kelly's face into the back seat of the coach in Bilbao.
Crocodile vs shark.
Stinking dough.
Olbeter, of course.
Robin hood's bar.
Sack face.
Dave bladdy Pearson.
Ape etchings that made me jealous!
A crafty reef in the park.
Gandi's mania.
Peanut butter fold overs and Space Invaders music. Sock over the fire alarm.
Tudor John.
Your hilarious appearance, and surprisingly apt stint as a Dada Automaton.
'First we remove de anus': Gunter von hagens.
PI.
'Trouble!' 'What kind of trouble?' 'This kind!'
Fucking everything about Enemy Mine.
Django.
Reggae.
Jams.
Shiona.
Maeve.
Jude.
The meeting of your dad and mine underneath the Arndale.
Ibis.
Pavel & Ian.
Night and Day bar with our brown envelopes.
Er....dos san miguel, please.
Wakefield Apricot Jam.
The epic photo of you on a mountain crawling, facing a sheep.
A lyrical yarn about Cape hunting dogs and their intro to the Lake District.
Dali the horse.
DK in a lake wearing a mask of Chris, subsequently getting attacked by a swan.
The Ramblas.
POUND THE GROUND!
Dubism at Music Box.
Margaret Mitton - she's a fittun. She also wore the same boots as you, and made sure everyone knew about it, the git.
Dootson, the cyclops.
UMMMMF!
Magic Bucklers / Gwangi.
Mandolins and melodicas.
Liverpool voyages: 'Bitch! Don't you ever!' 100% blazer re-adjustment.
Catching grapes in your chops.
Betamax plateau.
Fishing hook in the mouth / lifting the fist of glory.
Electronic drum kits.... & 'needs a lick o paint'
Red King.
King Crimson.
Lemuel / Vincent / Rorschach.
Here at Lufthansa we have a certain philosophy...
KWIP!
Denterdogg.
Our encounter with Crazy Dave in his balaclava.
'Chimps...all chimps.'
'Do as I do.'

And more, so much more as you well know.


Happy Birthday mate. I love you.

Tuesday 11 March 2008

Mort - Ibis

You'll see him there in the salt lagoons, balding withered parchment skin; black as deep wells. Beady eyed and wise, but prone to a preen when he remains unseen.

Zuki - proof. The sky is a burst sack of luminous krill which he hungers to gobble up and soak his beak.

A shout from his gullet,

is more than you bargain for.

Its peals are as a drowned bell, turned green by rust.

A kick from his claw can rend hills. His poise says:

I can turn you inside out and not drop a bead of sweat.


Mort - Ibis, Ibis Lagoon. Zuki proof, dipped in simoom.