Wednesday, February 20, 2013

The noise in my head.

The whirring of a fan swallows the things that normally wake me in the night. The demented cuckoo clock next door, drunken stumblings in the road, gates slamming shut, the creaking and cracking of old roof timber... but also the good sounds - the gentle whinnying of the horses on the farm, the krr krr of the guinea fowl in their midnight roosts.

I've spent the past two days in a blizzard of paper, a snow squall of pictures, preparing for a presentation. Things were a lot rougher in 1840 than you would imagine.
There were cautions attached to this job and I tread carefully. Unable to sleep last night for worry, I tried my other sure thing. There's a house far away from here - in Shoreditch, London. Victorian terrace, mosaic tiles, black front door. I flatten my troubles one by one and post them through a brass letter slot in that glossy black door. (Some of them take refolding, reposting, more than once.)
Last night, without thinking, I turned the doorknob.
The troubles were words and they were all there, rendered larger than life in a font called Carnivalee Freakshow, designed by a guy called... Livin Hell.

With spiteful little highlights and towering spiky shadows.
Why is everything so much worse in the deep dark night?

  The night passed, the presentation was a breeze, the feared person not an ogre after all.
Perhaps the new parking machines at Canal Walk know of what they speak.


Marie said...

Lovely, Lily.


When these nights come to me I walk myself though the houses of my childhood, visiting each room, remembering what had been lost.

the sourcerer said...

ahhhh I do that too sometimes - remembering that when I was small, I'd imagine walking upside down on the ceilings, climbing over doorways, staring at the chandeliers....

thank you M.

Marie said...

Yes! I also walked on the ceilings! The ceiling walkers.

I wonder if all children do?

But I love your folding of the troubles and posting them into the door.

Except, then I'd start thinking of each and every trouble. Scream.

I can never sleep before an important Thing. But at least I've learned that I can unsleep more peacefully.

I'd love to see one of your presentations. I'd like to see what it is you do.

arcadia said...

Ek weer gaan le op 'n wit bed in 'n ou plaashuis in Mpumalanga, en luister na die donkie wat buite brand (donkie soos in rural geyser, nie die dier).

Sterkte, Lily. Beter dae.

Marie said...

O, die donkie, ja, die donkie.

Burning Donkey - the new festival

the sourcerer said...

after all of that have had 2 nights of utterly deep sleep. this is almost unheard of - I think the last time I slept through the night was 1992.

Marie said...

Really?! That is wonderful. The last part. Not the first part.