Read Online One Three One: A Time-Shifting Gnostic Hooligan Road Novel by Julian Cope - Free Book Online
Book: One Three One: A Time-Shifting Gnostic Hooligan Road Novel by Julian Cope
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Authors: Julian Cope
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comrades before I journeyed to my rightful place.
Then, as I rested briefly, humming on the Sudafed and musing upon my Mission, my medicated eyes found themselves drawn to that brightly painted farmyard’s sole unpainted wall. A great drystone wall it was, eight-feet-square, surmounted by a roof comprised of one vast table stone. I struggled to my feet and studied closer, and I recognised now that its geological fabric was animated and shifting. And as I focused further upon that vast table stone, so my head began slowly to rotate. But really, as the pace of the rotations began to pick up speed, it was not my head entirely but my face that was spinning now. Moreover, my face was slowly pushing into the rock. Holy shit! And picking up speed. Holy Shit! Now at last I crumbled, my face suddenly a clockwise propeller crumbling through the rock, crumbling the Me right out of me, crumbling the rock itself, driving Me – whatever Me was – faster and faster through the firmament, through the rock, ever forwards always forwards propelled by my spinning propeller face. And with that propeller face, I drilled deep through the Rock of Ages further and further into the past at such a dreadful bate that I span out of Consciousness into Time itself.
10. WHEN OLD TÜPP RULED IN ASHOP
A great open cavern, c. 10,000 years ago
As out into the microfolds of the Universe I was thrust, the brutally hostile incursions of cosmic winds proved immediately catastrophic to my puny physical Being, which collapsed then was dragged along in my Life’s Slipstream, a child’s deflated party balloon snared on the back of a jumbo jet. Too soon, my sagging physical Being – buffeted and brutalized by 1,000º temperature changes – resembled nothing more than laundry, great heaving armfuls of putrid laundry. Less than that even, I was a brown splash of chewing tobacco spat out by some not-arsed soldier into the path of an oncoming tank. Scattered across Time, I was by now merely Contents. Fragmented as aerosol spray, I’d become my own Diaspora. Until all was dreamed and fleshiness ‘seemed’ and I hung Between in a great bog of Me, a helpless Merman trapped within a runny, waterproof bag of himself. But somehow
somehow
, diminished though I was to the nth degree, yet still I was Salad With Attitude …
And then I heard smiling, the loudest of smiling. And I wondered how smiling could even be heard. But I even heard grinning, though I couldn’t explain it. In darkness, in blackness, an audience grinning, delighted to see me. And then I hung down and I knew again what
down
was. My body supported by persons unknown that I knew and I trusted, I coughed then I farted and belched. And then, from out-of-focus, great swathes of bright faces emerged all delighted, delighted to see me. Whoaaarrr!And then it began. From atop my stone podium – still supported on either side by officers of my trusty Select – my Royal Piss exploded into a hollowed stone pail as the gathered throng of Noble aristocrats gasped appropriately and pronounced their satisfaction at my extensive waterworks. Right then, however, I couldn’t even manage a weak wave, so – eyes still shut tight – I extended my tongue beyond my lips as evidence of my return at last, and shrieking cheering ecstatic choruses of ‘Beyond, Beyond, Beyond’ started up across the cavern. No thanks are in order, for I am merely the Vessel through which all of you may experience richness in your own lives. And me still hanging up comfortably, propped in between the two tallest Select guards in my father’s retinue, I stared down intensely at the expectant faces of those chosen few, knowing that before nightfall my Royal Piss – its every last scintillating drop – would have been quaffed down into their bellies. For Magic. Steeped in ephedra since my royal childhood, brimming always in its manical glory, suffice it to say that I knew from my instant calculations that this single pail of Royal Piss
Then, as I rested briefly, humming on the Sudafed and musing upon my Mission, my medicated eyes found themselves drawn to that brightly painted farmyard’s sole unpainted wall. A great drystone wall it was, eight-feet-square, surmounted by a roof comprised of one vast table stone. I struggled to my feet and studied closer, and I recognised now that its geological fabric was animated and shifting. And as I focused further upon that vast table stone, so my head began slowly to rotate. But really, as the pace of the rotations began to pick up speed, it was not my head entirely but my face that was spinning now. Moreover, my face was slowly pushing into the rock. Holy shit! And picking up speed. Holy Shit! Now at last I crumbled, my face suddenly a clockwise propeller crumbling through the rock, crumbling the Me right out of me, crumbling the rock itself, driving Me – whatever Me was – faster and faster through the firmament, through the rock, ever forwards always forwards propelled by my spinning propeller face. And with that propeller face, I drilled deep through the Rock of Ages further and further into the past at such a dreadful bate that I span out of Consciousness into Time itself.
10. WHEN OLD TÜPP RULED IN ASHOP
A great open cavern, c. 10,000 years ago
As out into the microfolds of the Universe I was thrust, the brutally hostile incursions of cosmic winds proved immediately catastrophic to my puny physical Being, which collapsed then was dragged along in my Life’s Slipstream, a child’s deflated party balloon snared on the back of a jumbo jet. Too soon, my sagging physical Being – buffeted and brutalized by 1,000º temperature changes – resembled nothing more than laundry, great heaving armfuls of putrid laundry. Less than that even, I was a brown splash of chewing tobacco spat out by some not-arsed soldier into the path of an oncoming tank. Scattered across Time, I was by now merely Contents. Fragmented as aerosol spray, I’d become my own Diaspora. Until all was dreamed and fleshiness ‘seemed’ and I hung Between in a great bog of Me, a helpless Merman trapped within a runny, waterproof bag of himself. But somehow
somehow
, diminished though I was to the nth degree, yet still I was Salad With Attitude …
And then I heard smiling, the loudest of smiling. And I wondered how smiling could even be heard. But I even heard grinning, though I couldn’t explain it. In darkness, in blackness, an audience grinning, delighted to see me. And then I hung down and I knew again what
down
was. My body supported by persons unknown that I knew and I trusted, I coughed then I farted and belched. And then, from out-of-focus, great swathes of bright faces emerged all delighted, delighted to see me. Whoaaarrr!And then it began. From atop my stone podium – still supported on either side by officers of my trusty Select – my Royal Piss exploded into a hollowed stone pail as the gathered throng of Noble aristocrats gasped appropriately and pronounced their satisfaction at my extensive waterworks. Right then, however, I couldn’t even manage a weak wave, so – eyes still shut tight – I extended my tongue beyond my lips as evidence of my return at last, and shrieking cheering ecstatic choruses of ‘Beyond, Beyond, Beyond’ started up across the cavern. No thanks are in order, for I am merely the Vessel through which all of you may experience richness in your own lives. And me still hanging up comfortably, propped in between the two tallest Select guards in my father’s retinue, I stared down intensely at the expectant faces of those chosen few, knowing that before nightfall my Royal Piss – its every last scintillating drop – would have been quaffed down into their bellies. For Magic. Steeped in ephedra since my royal childhood, brimming always in its manical glory, suffice it to say that I knew from my instant calculations that this single pail of Royal Piss
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