For the happy man! - Collected writings DEPRESSION: Ed Atkins

For the happy man! - Collected writings DEPRESSION: Ed Atkins For the happy man! - Collected writings DEPRESSION: Ed Atkins

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INTRUSION [...] Extruded from a previously unnoticed orifice situated somewhere on your reverse. [EYES ROLL BACK] Some sort of duct at the very centre of the crown – a tiny pinprick in the eye of the eye of that whorl of hair dreamt up by the skull. Somewhere near the root. Perhaps haloed by a few telltale white hairs, blanched by sheer proximity. SCALDED by the hot zephyrs vented from the orifice. (Those hairs are thinner, too. Worried (as in ‘worried’) to distraction, they’re not sleeping properly, poor things. Perpetually bolt upright despite the considerable application of calming hair products. (Clays, waxes, mousses, creams, putties, etc.) [...] A grove of silver birch trees at night, signposting the mouth of a cave, are plucked one by one by the light of my torch. The light interrupted by a stooped figure [...] not a cave but a slate mine, long abandoned. Abandoned but sporadically occupied. By local teenagers. They go there in the nocturnal depths of summer to conduct their bored, occult ceremonies [...] Thousands of them, sat cross-legged on the soft soil and hard rock down there. A mile down. Breathing in unison, quarrying into one another and the slate-shagged earth with nothing but their combined languor and a bucketful of veterinary drugs passed hand to hand to mouth to mouth. An orgy

of fecklessness and animal despair... Then a disconsolate voice from the mouth of the mine confuses the scale and petrifies the trees. [...] An elegant hand, while caressing the head, lingers too long at the crown. A finger delicately isolating, circling, tracing the perimeter of the orifice (an idle game at first; an infinitesimal sentence, tactilely signed quickly on your head; you understand that those peculiar etymological roots common to both ‘comfort’ and ‘vestigial’ are being discussed [...] You understand more than you can speak). A tight black dot only apprehended as an opening and not a mole or a fleck or a biro-written full stop when you run your finger over it: a narrow jet of sulphur-inflected air FORTHCOMING. An inhalation to be taken for the alleviation of depravity; A geological vent VENTING the gas generated as a by-product of the process of maintaining the memories of forthcoming commitments; A wind instrumentalised by the distinct corrugations scoring the edge of the hole – the note, pitched in wasteland, is a kind of harmonic overtone between two inaudible voices, whispering down the precious, velvet network of a bat’s ear (a tear welling in the bat’s right eye [...]); A damnable draft, its true source remaining unknown despite your increasingly desperate search about the walls of the flat – we must submit to wearing an extra layer at all times; A stream of compressed air delivered from a canister, intended for photographic purposes but employed here to dislodge satisfying fragments of STUFF from a gap between the staves that make up the tabletop; An emergency TRACHEOTOMY – an incision made using a paring knife, an old fashioned paper straw jostled into the gash – precarious, gargling breaths drawn (praying that the wetted, sagging straw will hold up till the paramedics get

INTRUSION<br />

[...]<br />

Extruded from a previously unnoticed orifice situated<br />

somewhere on your reverse. [EYES ROLL BACK]<br />

Some sort of duct at <strong>the</strong> very centre of <strong>the</strong> crown – a<br />

tiny pinprick in <strong>the</strong> eye of <strong>the</strong> eye of that whorl of hair dreamt<br />

up by <strong>the</strong> skull. Somewhere near <strong>the</strong> root. Perhaps haloed<br />

by a few telltale white hairs, blanched by sheer proximity.<br />

SCALDED by <strong>the</strong> hot zephyrs vented from <strong>the</strong> orifice. (Those<br />

hairs are thinner, too. Worried (as in ‘worried’) to distraction,<br />

<strong>the</strong>y’re not sleeping properly, poor things. Perpetually bolt<br />

upright despite <strong>the</strong> considerable application of calming hair<br />

products. (Clays, waxes, mousses, creams, putties, etc.)<br />

[...]<br />

A grove of silver birch trees at night, signposting <strong>the</strong><br />

mouth of a cave, are plucked one by one by <strong>the</strong> light of my<br />

torch. The light interrupted by a stooped figure [...] not a cave<br />

but a slate mine, long abandoned. Abandoned but sporadically<br />

occupied. By local teenagers. They go <strong>the</strong>re in <strong>the</strong> nocturnal<br />

depths of summer to conduct <strong>the</strong>ir bored, occult ceremonies<br />

[...] Thousands of <strong>the</strong>m, sat cross-legged on <strong>the</strong> soft soil and<br />

hard rock down <strong>the</strong>re. A mile down. Breathing in unison,<br />

quarrying into one ano<strong>the</strong>r and <strong>the</strong> slate-shagged earth with<br />

nothing but <strong>the</strong>ir combined languor and a bucketful of veterinary<br />

drugs passed hand to hand to mouth to mouth. An orgy

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