Purple Rain Northern Lights
by Christos Polydorou
Come to daddy. He was expecting them so his eyes were aimed at the sky which was for now eyes sky empty. Who had emptied them our hunter wondered wishing the answer was him. He was hidden behind the trunk of the first eucalyptus from which began the gamut of his invisible net that he himself had stitched trudging first through some non consecutive secretive years of hilarity and millinery made entirely of holes so if you and I were there all we’d see bridged between two majestically tall eucalyptuses is a net of nothing expanded tightly enough for a tightrope artist with incredibly thin feet to walk across with nothing to keep him in balance but his outstretched arms his fingers tapering to illuminated spots. He usually had a gadget whose Greek name is frankly untranslatable that eerily mimicried the birds he was desperate to catch but tonight was a unique night another and so he forsook gadget and spewed on all the mimicry himself. It was illegal for himself to hunt these birds he knew it the village he lived with and every one living on the island the village was in knew it and even Jesus knew it who had revealed himself one night in a mini-tornado of fuchsia in Greek the –ch- is pronounced –k and asked him outright! Dear sir! Please stop eating those birds because everything you have heard about them is actually true they are holy and you mustn’t eat holiness itself or else – but with that he had had enough so he took a swan dive into the oils of his subconscious which were always dark like tar leaving behind a crumbling pillar of red pot pourri at the heart of which stood a fishing rod and bait cause Jesus never comes sans gifts.
They were called the eurobirds and they were in fact rare they were the rarest kind of bird in the entire world now though once they had been the most ubiquitous. They used to bloom from trees now you can barely trick one to graze its papery breast and its inky flank upon the seamless scent of some sultry eucalyptuses. They used to be as dramatic as the birds in Alfred Hitchcock’s film The Birds not his most memorable work but fabulous and who can forget all those birds! and would often be found thickly assembled and taking the place of gushing waters in temperamental roaring rivers. There was a time when they nearly replaced as many as the stars but every year since 2001 when the eurobird was initially masterpieced in a laboratory of scientists whose contract included wearing berets a new cluster a new constellation and a new ring shower of disemplaneted rings among others! would be discovered just behind the background of everything we knew pushing telescope influx roving lights and human spaceships beaming against the receding darkness. The original eurobird was placed in an envelope and brought carefully into the nimble fingers of a bird specialist whose hands were insured at a million each and so he began mass production as though he himself was not a person but a factory of the tastiest bird that has ever lived apparently the eurobird from the Greek euro evro and boullo bird. Jesus himself personally warned not just red jesus but the jesus of every creed sex and colour / online videos some obscure bookshops scattered across the world podcasts etc. people who gorged yes gorged apparently the meat though as meagre thin as paper is a delicacy worthy the pampered gullets of the gods! As they gorged on eurobirds but they were already on the other side of the moon writhing decadently in the glue of its glamorousness and hell.
My heart leaps for that specialist with his abused fingers who produces the eurobirds with small beaks with small breaks for meals and hygiene and little sleep who had to sit down night after night night night without end like that of a vampire to master the making and bittersweet manufacture of those eurobirds. Imagine a huge hotel room with an enormous room in the middle with tall wide open windows and the light slanting in of which is a strong oval mahogany it has to be mahogany table whose endcurves is covered except for one square for the folding ceiling high with the piles of crisp ironed and lightly fragranced 500 euro notes and a man sitting on a plush revolving chair continuing to origami as he had been origamiing since the beginning of time and will continue to do so till the end of time origami origami orginamiing continuing continuing to origami 500 euro notes into perfect origami swans and throwing them like darts and as he threw the birds like darts they flashed to life and then the eurobirds began to assemble and start their breath-taking migrations all over the world shifting country according/avoiding the predator of the season. In this way the birds were born crossing the horizons that connnect the southern and northern hemisphere of a world we love into love unto love onto the shoulders of a woman we trust the world we love so much on her shoulders we feel safe her carrying it her amphora of starry drinking water and we feel relieved we let go of the world and put it back into her care because frankly we were all wrong we were holding it upside down please don’t pity us we know we are fools but we have passion on our side dull adulterated passion is still passion dregs are still lotus oolong tea. The world was a baby and that is so demanding isn’t it to hold a baby in your treacherous arms no it is effortless and your arms are anything but treacherous ask directly next time it isn’t shaming to ask a question. Careful now twee nigh not mile high mile b a b y as your arms needless strain to hold tiny giant life in your hands as it starts to get bit slippery as love starts forms eddies ebbs your toes and lifts curls self between your trembling cut knees and drown your leafing rose hips your deflated refilled lungs as you hold a whole baby in your arms. It is j u s t a baby and you were a b a b y and your mother held your lips to her breasts and she squeezed her m I l k from her to you and it filled you and your bones became strong and they started to d I a p a s o n and you grew Tall and even though it was happening even though you were present to it happening you chose not to witness the miraculous side of your own life and chose to write down in your dearest prettiest diary that the world was drowning and you had drowned. How strange those cool kids who resent life and more than often wear black and scratch into park benches of how they want to die why. Why would they want to abandon this world just as they are finally beginning to shut down their eyes to it I mean open them. The only reason I can think of is because the world of our time is understood to be a threatening place with pocket thieves behind every pillar with serial killers leading double lives sharing the same train with you as you go from WORK to work to work to WORK and back again on a LOOP. But surely none of this is real in our world of technological quantum leaps and sophisticated social events it all sounds like a bit of lazy fiction written by some writer who had nothing better to do…
like our hunter here whom we’ve overlooked for a while because we had slipped away from his tortured centre and began to migrate freely with the origami swans of the 500 euro bills the purple bills the purple birds purple of bills purple of birds too purple too purple prose we were clutched onto the ends of their reddish bluiesh flyways cutaways sliding up the ropes of their blueding rueing skies until the five leaders of the flock heard another in distress from far off. Oh my! they chirruped. One of our brothers. Or our sisters! Is in distress! We must rescue her. But your five leaders they are calls of distress coming from the island of Cyprus. And it is always hunting season. For us down there. And you know it. Please don’t kill us. You promised us. The Bay of Naples this year. Please don’t break your promise again. That by the way. You said with five needle bird tongues and were etched into our brains and there’s no way we can forget them. But there’s a brother or sister in distress! And so because they were only birds with only the smallest bird-bodies and bird-brains they descended upon the concentrated sound of the helpless bird that much was registered by their bird brains which they couldn’t recognise as fake because fakeness was indicative of an intelligent being and they were just gullible birds blinded by worry descending in dazzling dozens tearing a maiming purple into the sky. He expected it he had seen it before but even so it squeezed on his heart and the blood gushed into his head in which was the fourth of July. Cyprus! America! Cyprus! America! The islands and the continents like fireworks in his head at the end of a never ending summer! Why was he remembering categories he hadn’t taught children the difference between a and an and the or a motif animals to remind children of the three nouns whose singulars and plurals are the exactly the same irregular deer fish sheep. And then he remembered her wisdom or was that her name? And money. Money is singular and plural she said she was the only student of his that he admitted openly that she was smarter than him even Einstein and he was 33 and she was 8. How could her main trait and her name be exactly the same? He must’ve been misremembering because the idea was preposterous absurd non sense that the name of a person and the meaning of that name should be connected and even more over spill establish over work the trajectory of the person whose name has been called into question to un inhabit one self for one silver mention of the medium in the version of the corrosion or allusion to of or and bells.
Purple rain. Purple rain.
Our hunter was still pathetically kneeled behind the eucalyptus tree but now he remembered her face the name of his 8 year old student who said that Word Money. Money is singular and plural. He almost quit teaching that afternoon it was much more than his mind could take that he hadn’t included Money on his syllabus but ended up quitting the next day when the same little girl pointed out that the plural of women is wo+men but also that when you say women you pronounce it we men and he just walked out of the class got into his car stopped through a fast food drive through ate burgers in the car went home went into the bedroom locked the door went mad and started hunting origami swans which were on the verge of extinction in a world where if they had been used as something else as works of art for example singularly not pluraly they might have at least held some aesthetic beauty to at least leave their mark as say an image in an art history book in a library an ocean and a Route 66 away. And he slipped into the crack right into the canyon of his memory our hunter forgot who he was what he was doing and just…stood up just as the birds were a baby’s breath away from the net and all one thousand of those purple eurobirds got away just in the nick of t i m e.
And because of what happened our hunter ceased being a hunter and began to be a failed hunter and so he stopped at least temporarily to be a hunter and instead of being a hunter he spent that time instead throwing his neck back and screamed and screamed and screamed to the emptying skies and his screams shook the birds in the sky and the fish in the sky and the stars in the sky because he was a giant at the heart of the rectangular fence of chicken wire that bound in his three hundred and sixty feet by one hundred and sixty feet of an island he owned situated rapidly at the eastern most part of the Mediterranean.
But I can’t lie to you not you never he wasn’t a giant he didn’t own an island he was an old man who lived in the mountains of Cyprus and he thought he would die any day now so that became the only thing he ever literally thought about. As a result until the very day he died he was unable to see things as they actually were. He couldn’t for example see songbirds but saw origami swans of 500 euro bills in their place. He couldn’t see that he was just a man but actually believed that he was a big crazy tumbling baby of a giant shouting as loud as he can because he is so deluded he actually thinks that sound can cross boundaries and plant flags or leave piss stains into the heart of every potato planted in every spot of soil rendered generously across our generous territory that begins in the midriff of the world but stops off in Manhattan right before it sky-rockets only to plant a perfect flag on the moon. Next stop Mars.
But it’s not flags piss it’s just sound.
You can easily tune it out and tune in to another sound another another sound.
A nother sound an other a nother a nothern sound.
Another prerecorded sound.