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Pirate (two)
posted Monday, 12 October 2009
There was a book on my bookcase – among an eclectic collection of other books – entitled ‘Pirate’ that I could not recall seeing there before. It seemed strange as it was at the level of the bookcase to where my eyes often wandered while naturally day-dreaming during work at my nearby desk.
The book had gold tooling on a navy-blue spine of some evident age. It showed no author’s name just ‘Pirate’ at the top in upper case and the publisher’s name (‘Gardner & Jongleur’) at the bottom in lower case other than the ‘G’ and ‘J’.
Any such day-dreams suddenly dispersed, no doubt in some sub-conscious need to fasten upon what truly troubled me: the appearance of a mysterious book on my bookcase, sitting between familiar books in a neatly displayed row with continued intolerance towards further insertions. Not too tight for jiggle-room, yet tight enough to prevent leaning. So which book was missing – to have left room for the infiltrator?
I somehow fell short of pulling ‘Pirate’ from its position to investigate its nature: a more pressing matter, one would have thought, than ascertaining what it had replaced! Indeed, I couldn’t actually fathom what book it had replaced. They all seemed duly present and shipshape. The two tall books, now each side of ‘Pirate’, used to stand squarely and stylishly together, I was sure, i.e. ‘Cold To The Touch’ by Simon Strantzas directly next to ‘The Nightfarers’ by Mark Valentine. .....
I stretched out my hand to draw ‘Pirate’ from its berth. My finger pulled gently at the top of the spine. There was plenty of give. It was a smooth delight to deliver it to existence beyond the bookcase. I felt its weight in my hand, a chunkiness that many special books of a certain age retained when one would have thought they could have lost substance over the years by shedding or flaking from the stitched areas. Or moulting or sloughing as a part of foxing from the undust-wrappered boards or articulated outer rind.
.
I imagined – upon opening it – that I would hear a crack when the book's long unread ‘closetness’ was broken after seasons of gestation. I shook my head. The day-dreams had been taking me over again with a vengeance, it seemed.The crack had indeed awoken me as I now gazed at the title page, slightly obscured by the tenuous quiff of the book’s conjoined ribbon-marker.
.
What seemed to be a large insect was squashed, too, as a rorschach patch at the crease of the pages. A sign from days when contraband shipped such exotic or fantastical creatures from foreign gardens and jungles to other climes where these creatures ill-survived ... but not before attacking those who opened books that were never meant to be read given the otherwise sane import and export laws designed to prevent things that were never meant to be where they ended up..
Meanwhile the flanking books audibly leaned in the silence ... keeping even dead memories alive with the prevailing dreams they once triggered..
Companion 'Pirate' piece posted yesterday HERE.1. Weirdmonger left...
Tuesday, 13 October 2009 3:21 pm :: http://weirdmonger.livejournal.com/11601
Pirate (three) at link immediately above.
2. Weirdmonger left...
Tuesday, 13 October 2009 6:29 pm :: http://www.filefactory.com/file/a0g9cag/
All three 'Pirate' pieces read aloud by their author at link immediately
above.