~ The Pastilles of Cantharides

I am in the supermarket, regarding the long aisle of breakfast cereals. How long have I been here? I am unsure. But I am nearly certain I was also here last night, standing in this exact same place. Evidence: a gouged out box of nutri-grain on the coffee table at home.

I feel myself slipping into a trance state. I stare at the vast tableau of cereals and meditate upon them, seeking their essence. I observe that they are arranged by wholesomeness. On one end lie the froot loops, coco pops, then all the many gradations through to oats and muesli.,

Suddenly, I notice something out of place in this careful arrangement. One comes to the vita brits, the weet bix and then.... the crunchy nut cornflakes - a product no sane person could claim to be healthier than wheat biscuits.

I suspect this is not an innocent mistake, knowing that the shelves of supermarkets are disputed territories, that space is fought for, and paid for, by the food corporations. I believe that this minutely controlled display is attempting to convince me, subliminally, that crunchy nut cornflakes are not just another of the junk food cereals, but may be fed guiltlessly to my family - that they are, indeed, better for you than weet bix.

On my way home - another box of nutri-grain in my possession - I begin to doubt myself. Could the Food Moguls really be that subtle? Was the aisle really designed so cunningly? Then I wonder if I am being paranoid? Then I recall a quote from the movie Strange Days:

"Paranoia is just reality at a finer definition.'


*

The play is improving. People are relaxing into their roles. I had a few moments of sheer enjoyment.

Really, I am very lucky to have this opportunity to pout and pose. I can behave as grotesquely as I like, without the pressures one experiences in a more serious production. This one is fun, nothing more, nothing less.

There was a terrific vibe afterwards, though the audience was smaller than on opening night. I had some interesting and bizarre conversations. One with a photographer named Bret, who caught my attention with a line something like - 'I have to say, I thought your acting was absolutely fantastic'. Who am I to question his sincerity? He took some wonderful photos, some of which I'll display here, if I can. They look like stills from a Ziggy Stardust concert.

Also a fellow named Shea, an artist who has worked on Neil Gaiman's Sandman comics. And Kylie, who introduced me to concept which will disturb and sicken me till the day I die. A friend of hers was given to visiting the whores with all manner of offbeat requests. The strangest of his perversions involved flatulence. He would feed the women various foodstuffs - Kylie was vague on this. I imagined cabbages, onions; she mentioned lollies - then wait for their digestive processes to almost conclude. At this point, he would encourage them to fart and, burying his face deep in their buttocks, he would savour the diverse aromas.

The Marquis de Sade would feed women pastilles containing Spanish Fly in order to induce flatulence, but I don't know whether he went so far as to categorise and compare, as this thing of darkness apparently did.

*

Below are the photos I spoke of in the post entitled Doppelganger! Handsome devil ... The female is Mary Ellen Hill, sister of Allanah.

~ Doppelganger!

After rehearsals for The Liquid Tempest, I took Lynne, [my rock and my true preserver,] to see Steve Kilbey and David Bridie perform at a nearby club. The experience was restorative - no whiff of Spore activity on the air - a little wine, a little scoob and friends I have known so long their simple presence is sufficient to boost my spirits. Bruce Butler was there - with his onboard bio-encycolpaedia of pop culture - Simon Pool with his ever more toxic tongue. And Steve with his wickedness, his sweetness, and his surrealistic bandroom antics. He has been reading a treatise on jealousy and tells me that if you come upon your lover in flagrante delicto with another, and if it is she/he you shoot and not the interloper - then you are not experiencing jealousy, but instead envy.

David Bridie [with Steve on bass] played a version of Another Girl Another Planet, a song which I used to love but had forgotten. I found I knew every word by heart, but couldn't remember the name of the band who played it until today; It was The Only Ones. Late Seventies. A singer called, I think, Pete Perret. All so long ago now ...

Excitedly, Donald Baldie showed me some photos he had taken with his phone of a young man named Sacha. I recognised myself immediately and so did everyone else. The resemblance was breathtaking - and I had a freaky feeling. I was immediately envious of his youth. There is someone trolling Melbourne with an updated version of my head. I did not ask about the body and the brain, but I surely will. Am I superseded? He couldn't be identical, surely? Did Donald catch a few lucky angles? Not at all, he states with certainty. And then there's the question of this Sacha's geneology. Might I have known his mother ... some twenty years ago...?

Because I had to catch the last train home, I left well before the end, but I left in a floating mood, my body suspended in formalin, my skull rattling with sapphires and emeralds. I arrived home to find Tweety Bird in an extremely heightened state, pursuing a giant cartoon rat about the house, balling it up in a corner, then chasing it again. The hunt was a long one. That night was punctuated by rat cries of fear ...

Jenny is at her sister's house in Crib Point, recovering from the recent skirmishes. I am optimistic, I can almost believe that we have quelled the moiling evil that lives in our hearts, but I know that can never truly be so. The house is well-defended, distant from known spore encrustations, and if Jenny can last the distance there, she will soon be eligible for the implantation of Brightworks. Oh, praise that day, if it ever comes ...


*

A note on The Sails of Oblivion - I'm aiming, at this early stage, for at least three posts per week. As I find my feet, I might increase that. Thanks for your comments Steve, gavgams, and Amanda. Encouraging.

PS - Amanda, I was recently alerted to the existence of three venerable Beargarden clips on YouTube. Very nostalgic. And very Eighties. I'm almost done being embarrassed by the haircut.