Diedre Dali

Yes, my grandadaDali got mucho to answer for.

Or maybe he don’t.

Asking ridiculous questions is less ridiculi than getting stupido answer.

And betta is put the wrongest answers with worstest questions.

Mix, mash, and mess up was his malign motto.

He say to me my granddadaDali, ‘Do not try not to follow my credo’.

‘Why’ I say.

‘Because my credo is only fit for one person’.

‘Who’ I say.

‘Me’ he say.

‘Me’? I say.

‘No not you’ he say.

‘Me, you know, the me behind I am, underneath what pretends to be me when I don’t pretend to be me’.

‘What am I saying? I am saying nothing. I am saying anything’ he say when I look confuse.

To confuse me more he say:

‘I will say anything to confound you. To confound your apprehencion. To confuse your expectacion. To contradict your preconceptcion.

To obliterate your        tiny      white mind’

I tell you now; don’t try make sense of this ok? Don’t get to end of this page and think you have right to think you know me. You won’t know how I tick. I will destroy all your undoubts. Believe me.

That is me say that. Saying how he would say.

Once grandaddiDali say to me:

‘Follow your dreams Diedre. To the edge of Time. Then fall off’.

So I do. Into soft space.

And if anything I soak soft spaces into softness till they become softless.

And I beats hard into hardness till my hand hurts. And sometimes I hit my head up a brick wall. To feel how much I can hate.

GranDalidaddio later say to me:

‘Don’t follow your dreams. Let your dreams follow you. Till its Time to drop off. Then sleep’.

Some time later (or maybe earlier?) grandaddlyDalio say to me:

‘There is no edge of Time. Only soft Time. Time that is neither Here or There. Time that is everywhere. Time that bends backwards behind corners. Time that reverses up dreams into cul-de-sacs’.

After this I say: ‘Grandaddy Sal? You talked a load of bullshit if I may say so’.

He say, ‘You may’

I say, ‘Then I will’

‘Bravo!’ he cheered.

‘And it stinks’ I say

He say, ‘Bulls that shit on foot of fighter will make him slip and fall’

I say, ‘You mean fall over edge?’

”No’ he say, ‘Fall over in bullring you dunce’

These are kind of talks I remember to have with my granDali. Not that I remember much. Everything was too rubbished up. My memories have jumbles in them. Persistence was not one of their failings.

Anyway, I guess I inherit some of my granDalidaddy foibles.

I got his Dali rank daftness. Some would say his crazy misanthropy. Some would say his perverted sense of humour. Some would say I got his bare-faced cheeks.

I know I got his whittling mustaches (spitting in my eyebrows)

I got his wobbly watches that never keep right time. Is why I am so too late writing this (should have happen twenty blue moons ago)

I got his trifling wit.

Like him I am shameless aggrandiser, o yes. Puffing powder of pretence over anything that could shine my light.

Where disdain is due I do it. Mercilessly.

Can you see how my sleazy tongue slips into his ludicrous lasciviousness? Non? That because my lips have been consigned to conceal what his tongue would egg me on too much to say.

I convolute like granDalidaddy. I tend to intend to make serious non sense.

I convulse with defiance. Just for the sheer bloody nora of it.

My deviance is not like his though. He could kill everyone. With the cruelest cut of his cane. Or the deadliest stroke of his brush.

But I wont eat shit of anbodys. Not even his.

Especially not his.

His smells too much like that stink.

Of somebody who don’t give a shit.

Well, I do.