Friday, October 27, 2006

casement

What will we do? Win a 3 day mini break? Both the sweet-wrappers, though empty, reassumed their lozenge shapes.

There's some shit in there.

What is it?

Something crushed under her finger-tips. She came down off the steps.

Some shit or something. It's like a snail-shell. A shed skin.

We had a violin made of clear resin which was its own case. I never used to practise. Remarkably dusty it got. You never wanted to put it under your chin. I don't mean the rosin-dust. Rosin on resin, I know. You got so you didn't notice, like when we lived in Frog's Bottom.

When you open a case like that, each half is known as a casement

opening on the foam of perilous seas

and when they're closed, secondary glazing, but it started as evacuated glazing.

Secondary glazing. I didn't have much to do with it, ever. But it makes me think of fitting up the ledges - you know, for mosquitoes. The fixing screw put a camber in the sill.

Just before sunrise, the sky was barred with cloud and it went surprised into gold. Moment the sun was up it all went. Do you get a different kind of clouds forming when it's dark?

Last night, just after sunset, there was one cherubic bar-fire, a fat contrail like Garrard the Jewellers.

You could buy a London Bus with diamonds in the headlights. Carnelian bead on a swizzle stick. All the same names: Garrards, Harrods, Gamleys, Hamleys. I held on to Grannie's hand, our breath was clouds at Hyde Park Corner. I can still see him hammering the air, and I can still hear every word I heard that day: nothing.

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1 Comments:

At 12:06 am, Blogger rb said...

hmmn, last week i stayed in a hotel at hyde's park corner but the casements to the windows were bolted shut

 

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