A regular shower occurrence is to sing the song cloudbusting with special emphasis on the lines ‘just saying it could even make it happen’, and with more volume if feline is present, as she often is, beside the tub— fascinated by the water (and as for weather, I am very excited for this femme-enfant in feline form to experience rain for the first time, and have you felt that relief when it rains, like the event itself is releasing a certain tension? I like that). A few years back I had a memorable dream in which I was having my fortune told by a hag, and the fortune telling was rain, just rain. I never interpreted this as an omen as one friend speculated, it was more of a nourishment. And anything which will put me on multiple sensory planes and flesh out my body makes me feel much better- as rain does, brings me to my body. So she herself, the hag, was a meteorologist and also the hypnotists finger kaleidoscopically clicking. Click! But as to whether I was waking up or going to sleep, as instigated by this clicking, I do not know. It is through this rain, her rain, that I seek to be disarmed- a desire only comprehended on hindsight after the red dance.
Anyway, back to the shower. I had of recent been sourcing imagery of ‘cloudbusters’ in hopes that naivety to status-quo function would release me of those sorts of tedious ‘lyrical’ burdens- of knowledge and stuff when it is all dead, dry and infertile. Also, I think I just like the perversity of not knowing in a functional sense, Possibly I am irresponsible. My dad during car-rides would often reflect on the fact he had been listening to songs for years, enjoying them, singing along in the mother tongue yet not knowing at all what was being said. This I felt then as I do now- it is a dangerous liberty. To not even know what your own tongue signifies!!!!!!!!!!! That all being said, I have attended the tea party of a group of ‘word salad women’ and they seemed to understand everything perfectly well irrespective of incongruous lyrics. I understood too. So i’m not so afraid.
however, I am no meteorologist meets rain-maker like that aforementioned hag so often lack the confidence to participate. But I figured (as this inquiry gave some direction to these loose associations) that I could create a cloudbuster as a poetic device. ‘saying it could even make it happen’, so watch this space…. I did not have the outlines for a game but I did have a collection of toy frogs, lizards and snakes that happened to surface as I intended on exploring. So in three sets of three I called these for the time being ‘meta-orgonites’ and figured they could for now function as some sort of place holder, that the (as of yet unknown) context would shred the initial seeming arbitrariness, and I just wanted to go exploring with these flexible characters in my pocket. Three frogs. The first frog leads me to the coast with its alien kelp. It is most of all the smell that fills me, of the sea, it’s a continuity that compensates for all the holes in my perceptions. here I am at the interface of infinite water to sky coalescing with myopia turning tentacular as I look at my feet and steady myself. And it is in the course of these flashing alternations, of balance, that I spot the first of what will be my cloudbuster; it is alien kelp flesh. I snap it from the mass and its gestating a stone; tendrils forming skulls? It is an antennae reaching towards the sky that guides my eyes up up above and an airplane passes by. But oh the smell, hmmmmm (I really love it)! The clouds have cloaked the sky grey. I photo my first frog with this finding and I imagine it dissolving into the object that replaces it. A few moments later I come across a plastic toy airplane wing inscribed with the words ‘clean air’. I follow the same photographing procedure as before but with the second frog who found this wing, and then I attach the wing to the kelp creature. As walking I begin to daydream, to speculate about the function of these seemingly arbitrary frogs. So are they like mapping? Like a snap-shot of a certain fleeting tension in the fabric of reality? And I think this with attentive conviction that objects have a multitude of ghosts. Click! I come to a sweet shop and purchase some sherbet filled ‘flying saucers’; they taste really good. The third frog cannot find the final object, so I shall find one of those photo-booths and improvise ‘whatever’ in the space which the final lost object creates, and the third ‘object’ in this instant will be the photograph as it envelops the previous pieces. I have to satisfy myself somehow. I feel like my movement is epileptic and violent, snapping kelp, clicking clicking. Izzys death drive felinity as she indirectly participates
Three Lizards. The lizards are in my pocket as i intend on continuing my creation of this cloudbusting device, the Frog piece a premonition of this next step. I go wondering by a river, in the direction of a cemetery I once visited as a youngster. I come across a burnt field, black, and I remember being told that this was due to a still burning coal-mine underground. Ashen black plants and soil… I notice many burnt golf balls dotted at different points in this blackened expanse. The measures of their disfigurations differs from sphere to sphere, creating a unique object in each. I come across one unlike the others in that it is an orangey hue, almost like gold, the sun, so this one I take. All the while the lizards remain in my pocket. I am starting to think of dragons, it is as if some kind of dragon has been here and has nested its eggs (the golf balls) or treasures. Are lizards dragons? This sounds like a story for young boys. Then I find a round Pokémon card, a poke-ball. So i suspect that some sort of battle with fire
has gone on here. So less a meteorologist, today I am an archaeologist of sorts and a Pokémon warrior, probably other things too. If instead of sherbet filled edibles I had a spaceship I suspect I could go up high and comprehend this expanse celestially. But at this moment I do not know how to operate that technology. I am subterranean.
It dawns on me that I am not making a very good game. the lack of specific intention in this gestating game/investigation, its looseness, makes it quite evasive, at times necessitating some direction at the very least in my retrospective analysis of the events. This could definitely prove naive in terms of embracing the poetic but certainly at this point I am moved by whatever it is I am following. So wait…what am I looking for? (amnesiac glitch) CLICK! I would say my critical faculties need some development.
Snakes. So I do not know where I am going. But the snakes are with me. I am still curious about the burnt out lizard land I visited, and I am eager to go back there and place a previously found dragon object there, maybe, I don’t know. I am in town and looking for a pirates grave (as suggested by a friend) but cannot find it. I cannot find anything today; I am tired. but anywhoo, not to worry, I decide on browsing a second hand book store for potential collage material, it is there I find in the children’s section a book on ‘weather’. And here is a brief synopsis of the beautifully illustrated book:
why is the weather so unpredictable? There are of course numerous weighty and scientific explanations, but this book provides another answer all together- an alternative for less pedantic souls, and one that relies on poetry and painting rather than rain gauges and barometers.
We are taken on a tour around the Weather Works, the ‘factory’ where the worlds weather is made, which is to be found “past the rainbow, bear due east at Mars, then sharp left soon after forever.” All is running very smoothly until one day a mysterious pet is brought there on a visit, and an ominous atmosphere develops…
Look at all of the colours! The head is an observatory! With this information, celestially locomotion is in sight! YES!
The totality of these once loose associations are beginning to tighten and form quite the knot, a cloud, the knot is my ‘cloudbuster’, or atleast I am appropriating that word for now. So as I recollect I am not so much left with a congruent narrative but a multitude of impressions and atmosphere of the preceding events. I want ACTUAL RAIN!
Ofcourse in Newcastle I am going to get plenty of rain but I really want to feel it. I speak here, on behalf of Izzy as she cross fertilizes the cloudbuster with shower droplets. Izzy speaks in pink because she is a new star.
“You make a knot to loosen it, to breathe, swimming out to the periphery, back to the surface from the subterranean depths for clean air.” She informs me. “saying it could really make it happen”. What am I looking for? for the nearest disco so you can dance! The disco dancing days are over, those are from my grandmothers time. Make a disco ball of the moon, id suggest. If you can have the sun, you can have the moon aswell. As you wish, pussy cat:
She then, boisterous kitten that she is, begins to demonstrate, running back and forth in the hall way, destination unknown, undecided. This generates so much excitement, so much restless joy. She is dancing!
Description of the dance: There is a lot of ins and outs, there is a lot of clicking and snapping, tapping, red fabrics hanging and red hands moving. There is the ‘break’ in the seal which allows air in, clean air, breathing, inhaling, exhaling, warm milk gushing and the feeling of being made. Of entering the body after exile, of being location, of sharing, of placental disarmament so as to hug and hold. Water in water from the ceilings: TORRENTIAL! I am a kitten.
The midwives are waiting.