The party had been raging for quite some time. The floor was covered in
cigarette buts and spilt alcohol; the stone grey sofas were splashed
with a deep red stain from an entire bottle of Wolf Blass Merlot Shiraz
that had been thrown against the wall and everyone had noticed
nothing but the people they were talking to.
Splitting wood chips under dark light
We’ve been spitting into cups on our table
For every slipped foot we caught them
At least when we were able
This apartment was pretty in clean daylight; the ceiling was sheer glass
and pieces of the wall opened out onto a winding garden. The
living room, with its dark brown smooth wooden floors, and the
kitchen, with stainless steel towers set into a granite ground, were
separated with a black stone staircase. To find this in Clapton was, to put it lightly, rather strange.
A perfect place for burning
The double candle
Shattered stone inlays
A nice preamble
It was a place that encouraged bad behaviour and Jackie had seen the
results a few times now. Although now, at this late hour, the Tequila
shots and Champaign chasers and the Johnny Walker Black Label
Whiskey Macks had made that pretty head of curly black hair a little
strained and gravity had been taking Jackie down onto those dark
wood floors every time a foot slipped. Black eyes peered through the
black hair, black mascara smeared cheeks and red lips parted
constantly in a large laughing hole.
Staring down the crowd in exotic garb
Her eyes smash shards of light at the wall
But there’s no light on her
And her body disappears into the pall
Eden had been looking after Jackie in the only way a man who doesn’t
think there’s long to live would; badly. After Eden’s accident there’d
been something of a change in the otherwise thoughtful behaviour of
the theatre student. A piece of metal that took the place of a cheek
and permanent brain damage that was to be accessed by
Lumbar Puncture in five days time to see if it was to continue eating
Eden, had done something wrong to the otherwise sympathetic
demeanour. Eden didn’t seem to care anymore.
From a speakeasy’s bottomless future
Into a spiral off the balcony
Waking up covered in blood
It is now a broken symphony
Every time Jackie went down, every time those thin white legs crumbled
under that pretty little black dress Eden would laugh and grab those
slender arms, pulling Jackie back up and wrapping the arms that had
held dancers and weights around the tiny body. Both had been
drinking since around 5 o’clock, preparing the party by preparing a
swaying consciousness with shots in the garden, sitting with one of
the walls swung open and feet on the grass. The others had sorted
out the bath of ice cubes and cleaned the granite floors while
occasionally taking shots with the couple.
An arc, a ball and toes sticking to grass
Quietly spreading dew in the creases
Rubbing the spilt alcohol into his palms
Watching the world fall to pieces
Jackie was dancing. At night a stage was lit for Scarlet O’Harlet and Jackie
would prance into the spotlights, shaking a well heeled body and
swaying to 1950’s Big Band, Swing and Rock and Roll. Jackie would
dance under falling glitter and in sparkling costumes. Now Jackie was
dancing. The Andrew Sisters played Chattanooga Choo Choo
while Jackie’s curved body played out one of Scarlet’s stage numbers
on the slick wet wooden floor. A spin and Jackie lurched sideways. A
foot slipped and Jackie went down again, tumbling uncontrollably
down the black stone steps, the tiny bones connecting as gravity
threw her onto the Granite of the kitchen. Eden laughed.
We’ve been travelling a while
Into blurred spaces
Seeing through the never-ending night
With unsteady paces
Every step is another trip
With either splashes of smelt colours
Or textures bent into our knees
But every time it’s with the others
Red against the covers
White against the skin
Black against the wall
Blue and blue again
Raising glasses full and gleaming
Raising hands against the ceiling
Raising hell in every meaning
Raising ourselves as children always
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