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And now for the third part of four-part Late Night Tales story
"Flat of Angles"
Written by Simon Cleary
And read by me Benendict Cumberbatch
I just can't access my thoughts
Or put them into words
I think now my brain recycle been awaiting deletion
Still no reply to my text, I send to its ...
Oh, let me see
9:48, and it's now 10 o'clock
She hasn't texted to me in response
To my imploring, longing, yearning message
full of wiring sudden grief
Thus, morning!
How are you
I enjoyed our journey in the dark so can't wait this night!
Back at my place, looking forward to the gig tonight
what time can you get there?
Where is Rhythm Factory?
Have a great day!
Kiss.
As many questions as possible all crying out for response
surface lightness, reflective even
Asking after, referring to events our showing her I'm thinking of her
The kiss bow
That was contemplative for a good five minutes although we held hands briefly
Near McDonald's on the Earl's Court Road last night
I don't know that was to forward the kiss, too presumptuous now
But, her touch, sent a clean electric impulse through me
up my arm, into my brain
It cuts through the K, the sodium light
the rain I longed to protect her from my arms
Now he's check of the message this phone results
a little clutch of pain somewhere of the sanity is heart
The snails are climbing all over the wall in my bathroom
There is a bush outside the window
when it rains if I've left the window open
which I need to, sometimes
They crawl in
The iridescent tracery they leave on
Unknown journey sparkles in the bob light
I take a Tesco-bag glove and gather them,
bundle them out the window.
My time spend with you before the war.
She said she was going to Spain, hoped it wouldn’t rain,
heard it wouldn’t rain. I wanted to go too,
she said she was a solo traveler,
But it was her rule,
she goes on journeys alone.
With plenty to read.
I recommend some books, so that perhaps a thought of me would go with her.
Perhaps I am the only thought she had.
Or more probably, she never thought of me, as I did of her.
I wanted to say these things,
but there was always a wall around me,
I could never tell people how much they meant to me.
I could tell others how much I hated some people,
but could never even tell a friend I appreciated their company
until I’d had 10 cans, then it would descend into a stereotypical drunken
“You’re my best mate, you are.”
So we opened that bottle of absinthe, and sat on the couch.
I knocked a copy of The Face onto the floor,
and cleared away a few cans with my boots.
We turned to face each other there,
an my knee touched hers.
I looked at our knees together,
hers at the top of the black leather boots, hidden in grey woollen tights,
with little bobbles on them.
Her knee moved imperceptibly away,
but I felt it.
I looked up to her face
as she said “Drink a shot with me, and look me in the eye as you do.”
We did.
I didn’t feel the effect of the alcohol,
but her eyes gave me a warm glow,
I was swallowed by them,
as she swallowed the green liquid.
I couldn’t get enough.
We did it again and again.
Rinse, then repeat.
As needed.
Well, we were fabric for a drama bass night
we were about to bow about four
Just getting our coats, when we were
Tim getting some sorts of trouble
with the coat room attendant, he lost his ticket
She said "we'd have to wait until the end to get the coat
So we had to sit outside
by the meat market, in the freezing cold
At least wear our coats
Until 8, when it was finally over
Tim's was only coat hanging around in the middle of this desert
And then Tim, put his hand, in his jeans' pocket
and pulls out a sweat rubbish ruffled ticket
saying "I had it all along"
Doug, saw this, he just screws his hands up into his face
forces them to his side
shaking, grating his teeth, groaning
moving off slowly, muttering "fuuuuuuuu(ck)"
Oh no, my number will be on her phone.
They’ll know.
I need to get round there and delete the calls.
So it
Out of the strong, came forth sweetness.
It says that on the tins of Lyle’s Golden Syrup.
Have you ever noticed that?
It has a picture of a lion, dead,
surrounded by bees, buzzing around,
and feasting on the lion’s innards.
It is from a Biblical story,
someone was going somewhere,
saw the lion dead in the sunshine,
and carried on.
On his way back,
the bees had started to form a hive within the lion,
and were creating honey.
Hence out of the strong...
I have enough here to join her, to join the lion.
I can’t walk around the block once more, again.
I’ve been doing that for years, and I have never escaped.
I don’t even know why I’m doing it.
I’m going nowhere, like those snails, except out the window.
The streets are full of mercenary eyes.
Veins full of evil serum.
90 degrees from window.
Right down to its gables.
You've been listening to Late Night Tales
Music and stories worth staying up for.
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