Digital Ischemia

09/12/2013

The Gorge

Filed under: Panegyric — Teepwriter @ 13:13

I, the ferned frond tenuously attached to sheer rock, sustained by spray flung up from colliding waters below, trickling in return. I’ve clung here for decades, neither growing nor dying. The canopy of elders breaks storms but denies any breeze. Fortune steers falling parents around me. The fearful rumble of the unknown shakes me.

Now I hear the rock: it speaks to me of my deep roots, my potential. It offers nourishment: its fissures deep, rich. I fear it cracking, crumbling, dissolving. The rock agrees, but reminds me: life is very long.

Advertisements

05/10/2013

Robert McNeil, Sir

Robert McNeil caricature

Robert McNeil

The turn of the century found me in Edinburgh, desperate furra change of joab. This in turn found me slapping through The Scotsman newspapyrus on Fridays with sputtering hope of my dream professional opportunity and my ready ability to rip any vaguely promising advertisement to tatters in extracting it fae the page. My slapping was arrested by a phizog: I’ve a weakness for an unclupped barnet and here was one fine flowing specimen, be-bearded too, and furthermore cartoonified. This caricatural eye-candy was the byline for Robert McNeil and his Week. I should sample this boy’s wares.

Simultaneously, but coincidentally, Scotville gave birth to its ane wee baby parliament. The wean was initially incubated in a contorted gothic tardis, accessed aff the High Street on foot only, via a close, a tunnel, a giddying left-hander and a ramped glass decontamination chamber. Allegedly a religional edifice, the public viewing balconette with spittle-proof perspex was reminiscent of the bingo hall-cum-cinema of the parochial toun where I wiz schooled. However, the entertainment was somewhat elevated.

In those formative days – of the parly, no masel’ – the big twae and a hoaf: Donald Dewar, Alex Salmond and David McLetchie wid debate. Thursday afternoon was First Minister’s question time and simultaneously, but coincidentally, my day aff. Stratospheric needle-nosed Donald, wee caterpillar-eyebrowed Alex, and the bristly one, scythed such witty repartee about, such banter, ye almost forgot they were meant to be governing.

That wiz the thing, see: this McNeil fella seemingly had been there too. He wrote about our shared experience but, oh my goodness, with such hallucinogenic elaboration upon reality, and ascension into the hysterical surreal, that I quickly jettisoned my neonatal interest in politics and transferred allegiance to the Sketch.

Uncle Robert – my initial adolescent-style infatuation had to evolve to relate my affections to someone so clearly out of my league – wrote about other things too: he stoatered aboot Embra-toun, he reported in the Embra vernacular, inventing wurds where common language failed and shovelling in a good few literary lexicals too. He deprecated hissel’ jist as much as anything else. He inhabited a meta-Embra. I fancied I could waft about there too. It was the imaginary Elysium I sought through drink and always missed the turn for. And of course he made my lungs spasm rather pleasantly. He became legend.

Shamefully, after 68 applications, I got a new joab. I moved out of toun chasing a mortgage, a manageable commute and other unoriginal life tedia, and disappeared up my own arsehole. Recently asking myself why, why, why, brought back misty-eyed memories of rudely suspended influences. I summoned the wab to my idiot lantern and dialed up the Hootsmon. Pages of finger-tingling results. Mr McNeil’s consistently chortlesome observations preserved just in case I should come to ma senses. For example: I love the park though of course it makes me miserable. I am in raptures.

Sadly the 21st Century-style date-stamps abruptly fizzle at August 2009. You want to know how it ends? Naw, ye dinnae. Did he get soocked into yin ae his transvortectional pipeways to ooterspace? Gie up the writing? Naw, efter a brief stint in the ether in 2010, he went tae Glesga. Ach.

Away noo an’ gie us peace wi’ ma back issues.

Blog at WordPress.com.