Rusalka

Rusalka - Water Demons
Water Demons

I am possessed by demons due to wearing the evil mask Simon Aronson made me. But luckily it will all be alright because the 11th June is Rusalka Night!
It is in early June that the Rusalka water demons are most dangerous. They leave their watery depths in order to swing on branches of birch and willow trees by night. They entice bachelors and children dragging them down into the watery depths or tickling them to death!
To render these water demons harmless and perhaps lay their souls to rest the Rude Mechanicals will be celebrating Rusalka week on Saturday 11th June with music, dance, and the ritual burial of mermaids. http://www.rudemechanicals.co.uk

Derek part 5. Pink and Naked

Derek crouched painfully in my loft

Derek is a big man, he must be he’d been making such a lot of noise up there in my loft. I could picture him as I lay naked and shivering under my duvet, still drying off from the bath. I could picture him naked like me, and vulnerable, a big man crouched painfully in the tiny corners of my loft.

What did he eat? How could he survive up in my loft with nothing to eat? Well he eats the dust and bugs to survive of course, and drinks the water from the hot water tank. I breath in deeply remembering the smell of sweat in the loft, that was the smell of Derek. I imagine his pink bulky body filling that dark space above my head.

But then I think to myself, what if Derek were to come down from my loft to live with me in my flat? What then?

To be continued… Part 6.

Derek part 4. Truth

Derek
Derek - the man in my loft

Truth is an awkward thing don’t you think?

When I started telling you this story I said it would be the truth about Derek, and I am trying very hard to tell you the full truth. But it’s slippery. My memory has wobbly parts. I remember when I came round I didn’t know who I was, I had to piece myself back together like a jigsaw puzzle. Remembering what a bath was, remembering how to get out of it, remembering that there was a world on the other side of the bathroom door. So much stimuli hitting me, using me as a punch bag. Such a strenuous and desperate process fitting each piece into the correct space, and knowing which pieces to ignore because they’re part of a different jigsaw altogether.

How long did I lay in the bath? How much water did I cough up? How long did it take me to open the bathroom door? Truth is supposed to be “in accordance with fact” as it says in my computer dictionary here. Me on my own alone in my flat, entirely dependent on subjective experience percieved through my own battered senses, ordered in my error riddled brain, how can I ever be in accordance with fact? How can I alone ever tell the full truth?

It is just as well then that I was not alone that night, for the fact is I had a man in my loft.

I decided to call him Derek.

To be continued

Part 5.

Derek part 3. Above the Bath

Eye looking through a peek hole
An eye looking through the hole above the bath

After that I noticed lots of tiny little holes in my ceiling. Whoever or whatever was up there was obviously spying on me. Watching me eat, watching me sleep , watching me get dressed, watching me…

One evening I was lying in the bath and noticed a hole in the ceiling directly above me. I was sure I could see an eye staring down. I tried to get out of the bath but couldn’t move. I was paralyzed, naked, lying there in the bath.

For just a moment it was fascinating, everything suddenly made sense. The bath water and I had a deep, intense love for each other as we swapped atoms, and everything was going to be wonderful.

Then snap – the sound of the radio playing in the next room. I didn’t have the radio on. No it wasn’t the radio, it was people in my flat talking about me, I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Suddenly the walls came alive and were walking towards me. The ceiling started collapsing,  crumbling into the bath. Then the part with the eye came to float just above my head. I was staring directly into the eye. It was reading my mind. It knew my  guilt.

The walls were laughing at me now, almost deafening laughs, the people’s voices had turned into a huge black raven, swirling around in the sky above.

“Remember me remember me remember me” came the voices

White white white bathroom walls, holes and cracks and yellow stains, breathing, everything breathing, all seeing, all knowing, remembering everything ever.

Not me, I’m , I am,  I, I, i, i. NO!

Nothing.

“Drown drown drown drown”

To be continued…

Part 4.

Derek – the true story

My luxury one bedroom apartment

The heroin addict smashed the rooms up in a rage and disappeared. Police men came. Impressive karate kicks were flung at the doors, just in case, then they had a cup of tea. The one with the gentle face  told me “get out of here love, get yerself down to the town hall and tell ’em they’re to give you a place to live”. I did. And after the necessary form filling I was allocated a top floor one bedroom flat on a small council estate. To me it was a luxury apartment! So much so that I felt guilty and worried endlessly about what I’d done to deserve it. How had I gone from a squat in White City with the bath under the kitchen table and the toilet outside, to this nice clean warm flat all to myself?  At night I lay in bed worrying, had I without realizing made a deal with the devil?  Then the banging started.

To be continued…

Part 2

The Pissed and Passed It Fairy

The pissed and passed it fairy

On top of the Christmas tree

Left outside three weeks ago

Should have been cleaned away

But no

Outrageously blasphemous

Cursing the world

Left pissed and passed it

On top of a droopy prickly point

————————–

The cheap cherry on top of the cake

Over sweetened

Drowned in brandy

Good for attracting that initial attention

But once drawn in

It is

At best

Annoying

Off-putting

Dangerously tacky

The cake still tastes good though!

Place the cherry to one side

Its sickly sticky pink

No longer required

Brain Porn – Notes to self & questions

Alien - image 1
Gor – look at the size of that!

Showing you these images feels a bit like showing you pictures of me naked. They are of the Alien in my brain from different angles. Every few years, usually after a bit of wobbly health, I reconsider whether or not to have it operated on.

It is the size of a human fist. The veins attached to it are feeder veins, they keep the thing alive. To have it removed each one of these feeder veins must be glued up from the inside, one at a time. Between each procedure there would need to be about a 6 month recovery period. There are a lot of veins to be glued so the procedure would take a considerable number of years. Once the veins are glued and the Alien is nolonger being fed it would be zapped with lasers in radio therapy. Success is a 50/50 chance.

Angiogram image
Get a load of that!

So what does it do? Sits there mainly, grumbling. It feeds on the blood making the rest of my brain a little anemic. It’s damaged part of the temporal lobe giving me frequent epilepsy (which is unlikely to be cleared up by the operations as the brain damage is already done). Sometimes it leaks a bit of blood which is bloody painful (excuse the pun). But the question is more what it might do. It might, as it did 10 years ago, decide to pop, explode, literally burst a blood vessel. This could cause a stroke, disability or death. Or I could be fine.

So what would you do? Leave it, live with the risk? Or spend the next god knows how many years going under treatment for it?This is more of a note to myself than anything else, so I’ve made things clear in my own mind. This time round I hopefully won’t have to go abusing other peoples heads to find the answer. And maybe this time I can avoid some of the guilt because no I didn’t ask for it, I don’t want it. Maybe I wouldn’t be performing Miss Roberts on stage if it wasn’t for the Alien but then would I need to be performing? Jo + Alien = Miss Roberts?

AVM in Temporal Lobe - angiogram image 3
What a whopper!

Perhaps I could have a normal life and be happy? But a decade of being ill on a fifty fifty chance of a normal life is quite a bet. I’m not unhappy now.

What would you do?!!

And no it isn’t the result of watching too much porn.

Yours

Jo & the Alien xx