The Big Pink

THE BIG PINK

  Erwan Atcheson

  Copyright 2012 Erwan Atcheson

  Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your

  friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial

  purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form.

  To my parents: Kristiane and David

  ***

  PREFACE

  This book is FREE!

  No its not. Its partly free.

  If you like it, you must give what you like to charity.

  Not any charity. You must give to particular charities; wonderful, cost-effective, maximum-good-doing charities.

  Please see your way to the Giving What We Can website for details.

  It recommends really amazing charities and explains why they are amazing.

  I’d like you to give 10% of your income to those charities.

  Enjoy!

  E. A. 2012

  www.givingwhatwecan.org

  ***

  Table of Contents

  OVERTURE IN VERSE

  Canto One

  Canto Two

  Canto Three

  Canto Four

  Canto Five

  FIRST TEXT

  SECOND TEXT

  THE THIRD TEXT

  TEXT FOUR

  TEXT FIVE

  TEXT THE SIXTH

  BOOK SEVEN

  OVERTURE IN VERSE

  Canto One

  O Goddess sing of how the Pink House went

  From being fairly clean to state unkempt.

  The house was pink outside and clean within

  The dishes scrubbed, all rubbish in the bin

  The kitchen bright and countertops kept free

  All plates and cups were where they ought to be

  The livingroom was ordered nice and neat

  With walls as straight as right angles do meet.

  Both toilets freshly smelt like rose or vine

  The showers had not yet seen a spot of grime.

  Each room was as a God-writ harmony

  With spotless carpets perfect to a T.

  The Pink House first was occupied by eight

  Young men, one woman, paying average rate.

  The first was science-loving Neil who lived

  A year in there before the rest arrived.

  Then beer-delighting Barry moved in next

  When Neil informed him of the house by text.

  Young Mitchell brought along with him his mate

  A chap called Emmett seeking strong debate

  This problem-seeking Emmett brought with him

  A lazy-bones known by the name of Jim

  James Hendry of the Music School his name

  Debussy was the muse he did acclaim.

  Quick-tempered Levin, surname of MacHill

  Knew Neil and so he too entered the mill.

  Now long-haired Levin, different from the last

  Desired a home. 'But where?' he Emmett asked.

  Said Emmett: 'Move you two in here with us.

  Just jump aboard the next Dungiven bus.'

  He also meant his cousin Hamish, who

  To Gortenaghy village bade adieu.

  Such were the friends. Two empty rooms remained

  Which by two strangers were forthwith obtained.

  The ground floor room bean-eating Fallah took

  The latter pulse being what he liked to cook.

  And finally came Catherine, Belfast-bred

  Whose happiness at times seemed overspread.

  Before beginning properly this tale

  There are two other persons to unveil.

  An architect in training, Meabh comes in

  As Levin's lover. She had an exact twin.

  Philosophizing Erwan found the Pink

  By dint of going there one time to drink.

  Now with this soccer side O Muse begin

  To tell which side will lose and whose will win.

  Well firstly, who's the enemy they fight,

  Since in those terms you call me to recite?

  O Muse I wish I knew but you see I've

  Been wandering without knowing whence I drive.

  But don't you know that poetry's an art?

  You've got to know the end before you start.

  I'm sorry, Muse, I've not done this before.

  I'd always thought of poetry a bore.

  A bore? My goodness friend that's it we're through

  You called me here before your time was due.

  What meaning that? I thought your help was free

  To those who called upon you with their plea.

  Hello? O dear my reader now it looks

  Like you and I alone must cook these books

  Or rather I alone, since you must read.

  This will be poor. Well never mind. Proceed…

  We'll start with nine-eleven. That's the date

  When four planes hit America in hate.

  Three thousand died from burning tower's fall

  And all the world stood back and was appalled.

  The brave US was rocked, but swore to fight,

  'Defenders of democracy and right.'

  But was their fight correct? That is not cert-

  ain. They've caused more than their fair share of hurt.

  Who wants to say that their deaths matter more

  Than those they caused by coup-d’états and war?

  I speak of 'they.' I should say 'we;' the West

  Is we who've gained from others dispossessed.

  We loath dictators greedy with their oil

  But love those tyrants gen'rous with their spoils.

  But guilty though my conscience it may be

  The US makes its own foreign policy

  And that the West opposed, except our lead-

  ers, who to the 'lectorate paid no heed.

  The States invaded first Afghanistan

  To see if they could top the Taliban

  They claimed sweet victory after seven weeks

  Though ten years since the claim now seems quite weak.

  But ne'er mind that. To get out of a jam

  It did suffice to go and fight Saddam.

  The Iraq War began two thousand three

  Because we'd found his Double-U M D.

  Weapons of Mass Destruction. Evil swine,

  He could have launched in forty minutes time.

  Or forty-five. No matter which. You see,

  The number was complete imaginary.

  There were no weapons so he could not launch

  Within the hour or even in twelve-month.

  Some dodgy fellow by the name of Blair

  Had made the number up in a dossier

  To frighten Parliament into a War

  That may have been their stupidest since Boer.

  I still say 'they.' My words must be reweighed

  Since twas with taxes ours the war was paid

  I must review. 'Come on, Saddam was bad

  He terrorised the people of Baghdad

  And don't you know that he his enemies

  Did torture? Folk like that you don't appease.

  You BOMB 'em! To the Stone Age if you can

  And as for reconstruction, well, why plan?

  As long as we've demolished every hide

  Our need for vengeance will be satisfied.'

  In truth, our Western needs are never met …

  A little blood will but the appetite whet.

  About three thousand died in the twin towers

  Who knows the number dead by Western powers.

  But did you mention torture? There's a thought

  Although the Swiss convention says 'Do Not.'

  We'll call
it something else. 'Alternative

  Set of Procedures.' How innovative

  Half-drown the bastards sixty times a day

  Until they say what we tell them to say

  And if they don't, we'll stop em sleeping nights

  Til they don't know what's black from what is white

  And if they still don't fess up; well, then we

  Must render them, to another country

  Where beatings and electrocutions start

  The soul from body, each link wrenched apart.

  That easy-going Texan Dubya Bush

  Made gold from oil and falsehood from the truth.

  But back to home. The heroes I described

  Did witness all the stuff above transcribed

  And more besides. They spent their form'tive years

  Surrounded by a surplus feed of fears.

  But did this get them down? Of course not son

  Our heroes were heroic types, bar none.

  Their mightiness was greater than the sea

  E'en stronger than my weak hyperbole

  And when they lay upon the sofas stoned

  They still were strong – their minds were all enthroned

  And though they might have seemed at times asleep

  Twas not so. They were down in caverns deep.

  Ok, we'll talk of cannabinoids then

  Since that's the thrust of this our present yen.

  Thrill-seeking Emmett brought the lordly vice

  Unto the Pink like flowers of paradise.

  They first were pleased, like sailors out to sea

  But then they were transported into glee

  When tea they brewed. The ocean sucked them out

  They ate what fish they could, and mostly trout

  For months on end. Twas all that one could do

  To stay afloat. They stuck to the canoe

  Though sea turned sky and blue became orange

  And all their thoughts began to rearrange

  In styles untested. Thus the drug did wear

  A hole in the unconscious inner layer

  Where strange things lurk. Not least our unknown selves

  Where Freudians venture; there a stoner delves

  Like dwarves a-mining in the crystal caves

  That Tolkien wrote about. It comes in waves

  – The tea I mean. When tea is first imbibed

  Th'effects initially are circumscribed

  Or rather, nothing happens for an hour

  You wait for it to push its latent power

  Into your mind. The first clue that you get

  Is a tingling; a sense of seen-it-yet

  Or déjà-vu. You think you've heard these words

  And then it fades. Its fleeting like those birds

  That hide in bushes. So you wait. And wait.

  Another wave begins to detonate

  In distant seas. You feel it push you like

  The far-away collapse of a klondike.

  Then in a thought you think you've heard these words

  They wander past like circulating herds

  And then it fades. But not entirely, for

  The tea has opened up some secret door

  That lets in sounds unlike the ones you know.

  You wonder if the drug begins to show

  And ask your friends. But speech seems rather strange

  The words are all caught up, the meaning's changed.

  Your tongue is tied. You wish to state yourself

  But that partic'lar book's not on the shelf.

  You giggle. Seems like that's all you can do

  To get you through this altered point of view

  And others do the same. The light turns dark

  And Steedzo starts the Hunting of the Snark

  And flippant James begins to make fake sounds

  To twist your head around til it rebounds.

  Presuming that you leap the deep confus-

  ion Mister Hendry's baby babble brews

  Then things get better. Though you must take care

  Some pathways of the mind lead none know where.

  But not today. Today you fly your kite

  In sparkling constellations' nighttime light.

  By choice, that is. For if you keep your wits

  The journey will be pleasant. Else the pits

  Will take you. The choice is up or else

  You'll know how solid ice feels when it melts

  Which might sound nice. But all your structure goes

  And ne'er returns. Your foot becomes your nose.

  To 'void this risk you could try chocolate

  A pleasant thing 'pon which to concentrate

  And other beastly pleasures. For in sooth

  Your mind reveals itself in lossless truth

  When tea is had. Each person that you are

  Fills up your mind like an eastern bazaar.

  The reptile's there with slidded eyes and scales

  And so are frogs and slowly-moving snails

  And even rocks. Your entire ancestry

  Comes out to join you in your cup of tea.

  You're them. They're you. And now you start to trace

  How thoughts arrive from that once hidden place

  Your mind. Thoughts branch and grow, they split and seed,

  They form the basis for each other. Heed

  How thoughts you thought an hour ago come back

  As if your mind's a circulating track

  But now they've grown. The thoughts you've handled since

  Are added to the first. It makes much sense.

  You wish to talk about your discovery,

  But all these thoughts – they simply o'erwhelm ye.

  Ye bumble like a fool: 'Our thoughts are spheres.'

  – Such are the problems facing pioneers.

  But you're surprised; it seems you're understood:

  James Hendry claims the notion's rather rude;

  Neil Steed believes that thoughts full circle come

  And Emmett says 'I've seen where thoughts are from.'

  And having scaled the tower of Babylon

  Puts 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas' on.

  The film is routinely played when tea

  Is taken. For it shores up the esprit

  To see a hero in a similar state

  As you are in to polychlorinate

  His liver. Thus, 'the bats' and 'Barstow' form

  Abiding memories. How they did swarm.

  And carpets turning weird we do recall

  And also how the ether made them drawl.

  The first half of the film one can grasp;

  The second part's more like a slinking asp

  That slips your grip. To date we are unsure

  What happens in that final half an 'oor.

  Such is how dope goes. First you grow quite high

  Then wisdom makes you match of the gadfly

  Of Athens. Finally your mind becomes

  Like scattered leaves or the remaining crumbs

  Of feasting's royal banquet. So to bed

  You drag yourself; face white and eyes quite red.

  Of dope I think enough has now been writ

  To give the right sense. Though I won't omit

  The tale of Erwan's troubles with the tea

  Which is to say, an inside enemy

  That spoke to him when he partook of smoke

  And gloated at him, saying 'I'm awoke!'

  And other ungrammatic things. Suffice

  To say that Erwan did not find this nice

  And spent six months trying to give it up

  Before succeeding. So that's the backdrop.

  We've covered nine-eleven and the War

  As well as drugs. You ask, 'Can there be more?'

  In fact there can. This epic holds a lot

  Besides two unjust wars and smoking pot.

  For instance, false imprisonment. And beer;

  And TV sets; and overcoming fear.


  That's all to come. Like pandas from bamboo

  This poem now crashes out to canto two.

  Canto Two