ladder, Mulberry says. Of moving from the love of beautiful boys to the love of beautiful forms in nature, to the love of mathematical laws, to the love of beauty itself …
For his part, Mulberry’s
descending
the erotic ladder, he says. Love has no lessons for him, he says. He’s going all the way down to the abyss. All the way to hell, to brimstone and black flames.
Mulberry riding bareback, and boasting of riding bareback … Mulberry, courting death. Asking for it … Mulberry toying with death, because he wants
it
to toy with
him
. He wants death to wrestle him down, to hold him down. He wants to take death itself as his lover, he says, to be loved by death, all the way to death. For death’s black lips to kiss his own.
Mulberry speaks of the desire for death to explore him with its tendrils. For death to reach into his mouth. His arse-hole. He speaks of his desire to take death into his body. For
real
death to free him from the
desire
for death. For death to stir him, wake him, return him to life … For death to grow inside him, a dark flower … For death to open its fist inside him … For death to flume up, black. For death to fill his sky.
Now death is all round him, black, roaring, and he is tiny. Now death is the black hole that swallowed the sky. Nowdeath’s black pupils are looking into his. Now death’s dark mouth is laughing in his own …
General amusement. Black Zombies bring out the Mephistopheles in Mulberry.
The phases of Guthrie’s drunkenness. Amiability. A smiling be-toga-ed Guthrie, sitting with an arm round his be-toga-ed neighbour. Guthrie, nodding and laughing. Guthrie, all hail-fellow-well-met. Guthrie, buying round after round at the bar. Guthrie, flush-faced and cheery. Guthrie, full of smiles and bonhomie.
Then excitability, barely containable. Euphoric Guthrie, keen to stay out and never go home. Guthrie, still dancing as the house lights come on. Red-eyed Guthrie singing in the streets on the way home. Guthrie, juggling. Guthrie, walking on his hands. What
life
there is in Guthrie! Guthrie, inexhaustible! Guthrie, bubbling over!
Then, frenzied drinking. Guthrie, his face glowing. His eyes staring maniacally. Guthrie, trembling, laughing wildly. Guthrie, becoming mad. Becoming
animal
! Guthrie, wanting more, even when the bar’s already closed.
More!
Guthrie, pointing accusatory fingers. Guthrie, declaring war on each of us. Guthrie, dealing out insults. Guthrie, promising revenge. Guthrie, telling us we’ll all come to dreadful ends. Guthrie, speaking of judgement and deserved punishment. Guthrie, taking himself for an avenging angel. Guthrie, swiping at us, missing, knocking pint glasses onto the floor …
Then Guthrie calming down, on the walk home. Guthrie, waxing philosophical. Quoting Heraclitus, reaching back into the origins of European thought:
the way up is the way down!
Shouting out the one word we have left from Anaximander:
aperion!
Quoting Thales in Greek and then in English:
everything is water!
Lying on the green grass of the quad, whispering of the great tragedies of antiquity. Of the story of the Persian defeat at Salamis. Of the horrors of the siege of Hadrianopolis. Guthrie, taking the part of Antigone addressing Creon; of Oedipus, addressing the gods. How poignant he is! How moving!
Guthrie, his head falling back. Guthrie, asleep amidst the flowers, snoring loudly. Guthrie, unconscious in the mud, his toga undone.
DOYLE (pointing): What the fuck is that?
EDE: Guthrie’s third nipple.
DOYLE: Why is it so
hairy
?
Ede googles
third nipple
.
EDE:
Supernumerary nipples
. They can grow anywhere on the body, apparently.
MULBERRY: For example you, Doyle, are nothing but a supernumerary nipple.
Once upon a time, Guthrie would have been burnt as a witch, we agree. Then again, he might have been revered as a seer … Does a third nipple give you second sight?, we wonder. It’s a
sign
, at any rate, we agree. Guthrie’s been chosen! But for
For his part, Mulberry’s
descending
the erotic ladder, he says. Love has no lessons for him, he says. He’s going all the way down to the abyss. All the way to hell, to brimstone and black flames.
Mulberry riding bareback, and boasting of riding bareback … Mulberry, courting death. Asking for it … Mulberry toying with death, because he wants
it
to toy with
him
. He wants death to wrestle him down, to hold him down. He wants to take death itself as his lover, he says, to be loved by death, all the way to death. For death’s black lips to kiss his own.
Mulberry speaks of the desire for death to explore him with its tendrils. For death to reach into his mouth. His arse-hole. He speaks of his desire to take death into his body. For
real
death to free him from the
desire
for death. For death to stir him, wake him, return him to life … For death to grow inside him, a dark flower … For death to open its fist inside him … For death to flume up, black. For death to fill his sky.
Now death is all round him, black, roaring, and he is tiny. Now death is the black hole that swallowed the sky. Nowdeath’s black pupils are looking into his. Now death’s dark mouth is laughing in his own …
General amusement. Black Zombies bring out the Mephistopheles in Mulberry.
The phases of Guthrie’s drunkenness. Amiability. A smiling be-toga-ed Guthrie, sitting with an arm round his be-toga-ed neighbour. Guthrie, nodding and laughing. Guthrie, all hail-fellow-well-met. Guthrie, buying round after round at the bar. Guthrie, flush-faced and cheery. Guthrie, full of smiles and bonhomie.
Then excitability, barely containable. Euphoric Guthrie, keen to stay out and never go home. Guthrie, still dancing as the house lights come on. Red-eyed Guthrie singing in the streets on the way home. Guthrie, juggling. Guthrie, walking on his hands. What
life
there is in Guthrie! Guthrie, inexhaustible! Guthrie, bubbling over!
Then, frenzied drinking. Guthrie, his face glowing. His eyes staring maniacally. Guthrie, trembling, laughing wildly. Guthrie, becoming mad. Becoming
animal
! Guthrie, wanting more, even when the bar’s already closed.
More!
Guthrie, pointing accusatory fingers. Guthrie, declaring war on each of us. Guthrie, dealing out insults. Guthrie, promising revenge. Guthrie, telling us we’ll all come to dreadful ends. Guthrie, speaking of judgement and deserved punishment. Guthrie, taking himself for an avenging angel. Guthrie, swiping at us, missing, knocking pint glasses onto the floor …
Then Guthrie calming down, on the walk home. Guthrie, waxing philosophical. Quoting Heraclitus, reaching back into the origins of European thought:
the way up is the way down!
Shouting out the one word we have left from Anaximander:
aperion!
Quoting Thales in Greek and then in English:
everything is water!
Lying on the green grass of the quad, whispering of the great tragedies of antiquity. Of the story of the Persian defeat at Salamis. Of the horrors of the siege of Hadrianopolis. Guthrie, taking the part of Antigone addressing Creon; of Oedipus, addressing the gods. How poignant he is! How moving!
Guthrie, his head falling back. Guthrie, asleep amidst the flowers, snoring loudly. Guthrie, unconscious in the mud, his toga undone.
DOYLE (pointing): What the fuck is that?
EDE: Guthrie’s third nipple.
DOYLE: Why is it so
hairy
?
Ede googles
third nipple
.
EDE:
Supernumerary nipples
. They can grow anywhere on the body, apparently.
MULBERRY: For example you, Doyle, are nothing but a supernumerary nipple.
Once upon a time, Guthrie would have been burnt as a witch, we agree. Then again, he might have been revered as a seer … Does a third nipple give you second sight?, we wonder. It’s a
sign
, at any rate, we agree. Guthrie’s been chosen! But for
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