Bad and Superbad

Bad and Superbad

or

Irony Byrony What does it matter as long as you love your sister.


The inspiration for the first title was the idea of Nietzsche suffering a cold. The second came from Freud. Incidentally, Goethe believed that this style could not be rendered in German. After all Bismarck was never called the Irony Chancellor. It is in the form of letter to his friend Thomas Moore, the Irish Poet and Lyricist by Lord Byron. This letter was lost for almost 200 years, until his Lordship was kind enough to inspire the hand of Moore's descendent, John Moore. Following this inspiration, the latter assumed the title Don Juan el Moro. He awaits further calls from his muse in his grave at Hucknall for his services as amanuensis .

Bad and Superbad

Dear Thomas

I have taken to writing to you often, and with vigour, as you are most outstanding man of letters of the era bar one. Aside from the greatest poet hero of age, you alone have the edge to cut like the flashing blade of a Scythian chariot, and the burnished reputation to shield you from our hero’s reflection as when Perseus pursued Medusa.

Indeed there are those among the fair when alone,
who metamorphose, not to cold stone,
by the agence of the Gorgon’s snakes,
but to the quivering vibrating shakes
that look to all the world like rapture jelly
as she dreams of our hero’s serpent in her belly.

Last Shrove’s Bacchanal was of a particular fine vintage, although the custom of masque seems wouldst seem to dull a lady’s pleasure in my company. Although I might quaff a bushel I would certainly never hide my light under it.

I encountered within the midnight hour,
as doe eyed a houri as ere sat in a bower.
Although her don was of a great estate,
her desire for pleasure he n’er could slake.
I, her Apollo did seduce her with my lyre.
By half one I was lying by her.
Her skin was brown; her lips both full and soft.
By two was George’s proud English lance aloft
Oh how strange the ways of the east,
as I stoked her hair, she swallowed the beast.
But then delight! Her sister, a Sapphist by repute,
who strummed on languid and lascivious lute,
her inclinations shown only by her dungarees.
Soon removed in a voluptuous striptease.
Shapely as a nymph, she was no dyke this woman,
and did surpass her skill on lute, with tunes on Gordon’s organ
As one steed fades, so the rider takes another saddle.
By the break of dawn could our hero scarce waddle.

After pleasuring the pair with such rigour,
they took to water to revive proud George’s vigour.
Two hour’s natation at the Lido,
did the trick for his libido.
Returning the kindnesses of the dusky donnas,
did with his purple striped pole propel their gondolas.

As their boats did heave upon the lagoon,
our heroines at last did cry and swoon.

After a month a sadder George did realise,
that it is always folly and never wise,
to have one night of unbridled Venus,
and a year of Mercury in your ....

Please forgive me if my rhyming skills desert me there, Tommy, as I am feeling a painful tingling sensation. By the way who is the Minstrel Boy? Why did he go to war in the first place? Give my love to my daughter, but not in the same way as I gave to her auntie. Apparently she is showing unhealthy interest in horse racing and computational techniques. At two, this is to be severely discouraged. (She gets it from her mother, the Princess of Parallelograms, you know).

No good will ever come from computation. It can only erode the creative imagination. People who do that sort of thing will start believing that one dimensional fantasy characters:

Wizards, elves dwarves etc on some mythic quest constitute literature,
And if you state as much you show what a twit you are

Please see to it that my daughter’s reading material, is improving her wisdom and character. Personally I recommend your good self, Wycherley and Pope, (Alexander that is, not the infallible one from the Hitler youth). Under no account should she be allowed to read Wet Willy or his Dottie sister.

Incidentally if that descendant of yours again dares to parody me,
I shall box his ears in hell, with Old Nick as referee.


Incidentally, would you hurry to tap John Murray for an advance. He is making a mint out of me. And do make sure you get the right John Murray this time, the publisher. I am sure that the Middlesex wicket-keeper was most disconcerted when you asked if I might approach him. He kept looking over his shoulder all through the afternoon session. I was sure he was wearing his abdominal protector back to front. He ended up suffering an attack of Dropsy. Six toes Titmus was unimpressed. I was something of a cricketer in my time. My ability to swing both ways was legendary. I helped set up the Eton vs Harrow fixture at Lord's, mostly in the hope of meeting other young men of sound education and burgeoning physique. I was most flattered that the county side based there, took its name from my reputation.

Your humble and suffering servant

John Moore

alias

George Noel Gordon Byron

6th Baron of Rochdale

Sunday, 24 July 2011

Virtual Surrealism and After

“Sorry my duck I’m not winking at you. No, I’m staring at a point in the far distance. It’s something the special nurse told me to do. It’s something they get you doing, focus yourself on a point in the far distance and imagine yourself painting it starting with it as the centre of the canvas, and then selecting the colours and the paint type and mixing them and the brush or the knife and pasting or cutting or dabbing or stroking them into the picture. When the pictures done, you can do something else. You describe what you see in words starting with your point and expanding in ever increasing circles. It’s supposed to help with the pain. It’s me hip you see. Had one done – had to wait ages for it. Guess I was lucky to get done at all. But the others much worse now – taking the weight for the other all those years, I suppose. Since I have had one done I can’t complain too much. There’s others at the Centre have had to wait years for their first.”

“And does the imagining help with the pain”, I said.

“Yes, well it may sound daft, but as long as I can do this painting in my mind it does, its just that the pain keeps intruding and stops the painting. I get me colours in a right mess. Once a jolt of paint like a bolt lightning it was caused me to drop the paint pot altogether. I actually got down to clear up the mess. Then it struck me. I’d got down to clear up some blue paint that didn’t exist, off a carpet that was threadbare, and I couldn’t get up because of the pain. Luckily I could crawl to me Warden call button. He came round after about half an hour, flushed and said he was sorry. I was laughing and crying at the same time: the pain and being taken in by my silly imagination. However Warden was a right weakling, not a strapping young lad like you. (I was 48). Couldn’t move me. Called his friend. Friend had been with him when I pressed t’button I reckon. Well his friend was a bit better built to look at, but didn’t appear to have a stiff part in his whole body. Muttered something about his back, and said he’d try one of the builders opposite, who should be more used to this sort of thing, as though I were hod full of bricks, cheeky sod. Sorry, pardon my language. Anyway t’builder looked a bit nervous of these two at first, but soon set me right as soon as he saw they were telling t’truth. Oh he was nice, ‘rough diamond’ I’d say, but kind. Didn’t tell any of ‘em about the paint.”

“So this imaginary painting is it supposed to be like eastern meditation” I said.

“I suppose it’s something like. Although it seems you can practise that for years and it doesn’t do you any good. Just look at him who were that nice quiet Beatle, that George. He meditated through his teeth apparently. ‘Trans Send Dental’ they called it. Must have laid in a dentist’s chair and imagined something with his teeth. D’ya know they say he visited some bloke round t’ corner on Badger Hill once, to hear his collection of George Formby records and strum his ukulele. They said Harrison made a good George Formby. It’s a shame he didn’t do that for his act. Much better than all that ‘Yeah’, ‘Yeah’, ‘Yeah’ stuff and them silly girls wanting to tear you to shreds, nasty minxes. Perhaps he was thinking to his teeth, ‘Grow same shape as Formby’s’. Shame about his throat though. My pain’s a bit better for the now. Thanks for asking”.
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