A wise man once asked – ‘Who is emerging from the stoic stony stones of solitary solitude? Chances are he will be smirking smugly as he smoothly tosses the double eyed coin of Chance.’
Yes, Chance is Chance & Chance is his domain.
Flavius’s life had not been without chance. It was chance that had brought his mother to the islands along with a nagging need for unnatural nourishment and of course a boat. There was no getting to the islands without a boat. Even so, it had never been her intention to stay. But randomness is the island’s natural order and randomness is like will and time and chance. Life is random. Death is random. Random is random. It is all random and randomness decreed that Florence (for that was her name) remain, returning not to reality and righteousness. And so, ridiculous randomness rather regrettably reoccurred, tossing poor Flavius’s life this way and that, imprisoning him so that he remained rooted rotting in the Lost Islands where everything is random, seeking escape from the rancid rottenness of reoccurring, random, rotation. Phew!
Flavious knew not his father but would always dream a strange dream of strange dreamlike creatures with arms, and tails, and horns, carrying fine, fluorescent, flowers to the continuously curving cave where his mother lived lonely alone. Other times he would half remember recklessly raving rituals where the raving Reverend Robert would raise the spirits of the stoic stony stones of solitary solitude to perform playful pagan parodies at perverted parties of pomp and plenty.
Oh how the Reverend Robert loved to party. Partly human birthday cake he played; celebratory candles caught upon his cranium, burning bright for all the world to see with Flavius’s flirtatious mother watching on as she collectively scored yet another imaginary song contest – for she was once Paris calling, voicing the votes of Les Français Jury.
‘Les Pay Bas, sept points. The Netherlands, seven points’.
L’Autriche, La Suisse, L’Allemagne, Finlande, Les Iles Perdues – The Lost Islands; point after random point.
Madness! Random madness! The random madness of Reverend Robert and The Countess Florence Floribunda Flavious – no wonder the young Flavious was unhappily unhinged.
But now the hoodoo-voodoo heart would solve this old ache with salve, dissolve the past, provide salvation and Flavious would be free of his damned diabolical demons. Destiny would no longer be determined by the random randomness that roved and ruled on the islands that were lost.
Flavious would be free?
Not if Mr. Septimus Seigfried Smudge had any say in the smatter.
Out of the Random will come the cake. All hail the gentle Ju-Ju. Amen.
And with that the alliteration ended.
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Alan Spence e-mailed:
ReplyDeleteFlorence is a lovely name for an island, but unfortunately it is not.
Far from it in fact. Bloody Hell!!!!!!!!!!!!!