...a deathly serenade...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AA
and it was The Consensus of the moment and
therefore the truth. It is really cutting-edge stuff,
said Mary Bine as I remember her biting her nails
with a nervous laugh as she spoke to whom I
assumed was a collector, and perhaps an owner
of one of Yashu’s new empty canvas. Whilst she
spoke she unbuttoned a few buttons on her shirt
and began to touch the collectors arm with a
stronger veracity. Yashu was now a polarising
force within the Art scene and therefore
ascending and descending in equal measure:
ascending as his exhibition garnered much press
coverage and even a conversation on Newsnight
about whether Modern Art was in ruins. But
descending as Yashu was in search of a specific
destination he knew not of. I told Leila about
these happenings when we spoke on the phone
but she seemed uninterested in the life she had
left behind, and spoke more about how blue the
sky was and how Madgelane had a beautiful
singing voice, and that her throat must have been
well exercised, she sings like an angel, she said...
Living in a pool
Hoping to swim amongst doves and birds
...her poetry simmers in my mind: from the
wound bleeds this ink. From the wound bleeds
this ink! I remember one long conversation,
mired in shouts from The Administrator though:
Are you talking to that crazy nun woman, she
yelled. I continued to listen as Leila told me that
Father Theirocpy seemed strange; apparently
amongst the Benedictine nuns Theirocpy was
quite the hero though, but Leila felt differently,
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