Shouted he small, quiet and mournfully from the deserted, tarmac hillock he had chosen to rest this while upon. Such was the rush that Louis and now Thom had taken themselves away far to the west to discover more of the inkling they had felt for many years. This left him alone of all those who had once dared to stalk the shattered walls and forlorn entries of the city-scape. He who had not heard the call that had driven the others out to the land. To the land of the agriculture, to the land of the small country town and the much as we expected. Here, true, had never been any sort of place you wanted to be. But dreamt of bigger, of far away, of more wonderful and rich in its abundance. Not smaller, not more deserted, more desolate? This had not been factored in. Now Louis had gone to the small town and when he returned no one knew. Not even mother and mother knew all. Thom was going. Soon to strike out for the west and then one day for the north. What had he seen that he wanted so bad? That he had left in such haste to hold? Did he know? How can you know after such a short time...?"
An extract from the new novel entitled 'Why does this itch and will just the Dettol cure it?'...but that aside there ain't much going on here in the town of Belfast. We got a new rubber in the Lagan, it just floated down this morning...err...sausage prices are up? Yeah there is fuck all happening, but I knew that when I moved here.
Having said that, I seem to be one of the few sane ones left. It's a town, Jim, not as we know it and it has fuck all in it, but compared to the rest of Norn Iron it's a fucking metropolis. So staying is the way to go? Not so it seems. There has been an exodus they are pouring out of Belfast into the rest of Norn Iron. No shit! Now the rest of Norn Iron is tiny little towns, a fuckload of land with coos on it and 2 monuments you went to see when you were six.
Hmm...then staying in Belfast, shithole that it is, would seem to be the most interesting option. Yeah and I'm here accordingly. I'm the wrong frame of mind for countryside at the minute and in any case if it ain't Killinchy, it ain't worth dick. Nope, still I am the only one staying here and so as they say in fiction it is the mournful 'allo' of the lone man whilst the gold rush heads to environs unconsidered by the human brain. Lisburn! Ards! The mighty portals of Cookstown, vice and casino capital of the mid-way-point!
It's the thing isn't it? Everybody else has seen the thing and I ain't seen it. I asked a soon-departing pal, why leave. "The thing man! The thing! Ain't you got it yet?!"
Erm, no, not recently, maybe I got a shot for it when I was 11.
What is the thing? Well, it's...the thing ain't it?! That all powerful thing! The thing that will take a man of candour and open up the vast vestiges of the land of the culch before him. New York, Paris or Amsterdam will have no sway over him. He will come to know the empty down square and bespeak it's intimate tongue.
Or so they say.
Maybe it is a zen thing. Zen does rely on nothingness but it's also about enlightenment and you ain't going to get that in the town square of Lurgan unless you're wired into the mains.
Ok maybe it's the thing I ain't got. But what is all this gubbage then? Ah, the puzzled howl of the only guy left in the city, left to the tumbleweed-ridden avenues whilst the lads all disperse into the thicket of the unknown country.
Lads, why do you head for the haunts of the Sash-Wanker? That arse-chinned fool, his fetid sperm and mindless receptacle and all his ilk are all you will find there! Come back lads, you're making Belfast a city of great things! We can stop this madness now before it's too late!
Sheeit, come to think of it, maybe should have said something before they all left...ah fuck!