Friday, 11 October 2013

The Magic Island


Making a voyage through my island room, crouched over and camouflaged by a hedgehog’s cloak and primeval smells. I carry an iron stick, wear circular tusks for full effect… We embark to view the 21 spirits hiding in my place. Feel the staring eyes! The power of the mirror! Their trance and dusty drums... Behind the dreams, the blood begins to pound in a sparkling sheen... Taboom, taboom, tadoom!
While Mary’s in the bathroom, the clown is rubbing shoulders with the pig, to love the filth. Rhythms benign and pulsing. Come, ride that scarlet goat with me, around the trancelike skies in honour of the 401 Lwa and of Louis Beauvoir, the old houngan. We ride to the motley fortress of the greasy women, to smile and growl. Bluish green vapours swirl over the murky teats in the fire of the night…
The Grand Don shakes his bell over the package at his feet, my baby carrying the trident and the crown. And the altar holds the coffined Ken & Barbie, unearthed from some darkened cul-de-sac behind the charnel house. See, the mermaids cross, the horned man, four bottles of gin and bones from the seven ossuaries, my saints, my snakes and ropes… A jackal’s howl, six strings held in peace and shine...
Egou is the evil god, the one who causes accidents. I am sprinkled with water… Yao! Yao! Yao! All hail the Church of the Solitary Brotherhood, lodge of Regal Chivas! Tie the rolling dice to my ear and place the bottles well packed under my chair. Dance a seven-headed dance on knives and blood!
It is like that I make my way through the room, creamy, green and laughing. A rendezvous just to see in me… All at once, the inner courtyard turns into an inferno.
 


 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 


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