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sat hat

silver serpent

Posted on 2010.08.27 at 22:48
Silver Serpent, Green Tree, Red Water

“Blood is thicker than Water... but Water is purer than Blood” ~Vine

It came to pass that I was walking out of the city with my sister Vine. It came as something of a rescue for me who had been trapped locked into a box like my unworn pair of shoes or a chipped nail rusting in a coffin. As we walked I told her again of the folk-rock legend the Levellers whose music is so cool! Their folk-lore memory of the Battle of the Beanfield where in the 1980s Thatchers british police trapped the traveller community, the Convoy, into a field on their annual pilgrimage to Stonehenge, a celtic holy site built for festivals, and beat the living shit out of them and their vehicles. Of Men-An-Tol whose haunting atmospheric sound speaks peace deep from the collective soul of pagan peoples and the sites we cherish. Of the girl from fifteen years ago who hasn’t gone away, and of words such as “Headlights, White Lines, Black Tar Rivers, travelling aorund this country as it withers”.

We walked the fume-stained dusty cracked concrete pavements and we spoke aloud of Music, Journeys and Symbols, of Metallurgy, Alchemy and Life inspiring Art.

Vine has been in a car wreck and bears the scars. That she can walk at all is nothing short of a miracle. Her body wears scars and it has left her hard and hurting.

On the farthest fringe of Zooport City near a roundabout roadworks site is a strip of forest yay deep and twisting with pathways where kids from the local deprived and desolate comprehensive school come to get drunk and experiment with sexuality; where flytippers too mad to travel the same distance to the free county skip drop caches of black binliner garbage to rot and feed imaginations of what innocent animals hide here.

As we crossed the road to walk alongside these pockmarked woods we discovered a full bottle of nasty chemical red Oasis juice drink. I won’t touch the stuff because its full of toxins but Vine was proud enough to carry our free gift from the universe, just in case we got thirsty in our journey and because as she pointed out; “You should never look a gift horse in the mouth.” I answered that the word Gift derives from Germanic ‘Geft’ which translates to English as ‘Poison’ and asked her if she had heard of Troy. Quote Data in the Goonies; "Yeah we know Troy, he's that shit guy." Nevertheless the bottle was by now necesarily imbued with enchanted qualities and become a part of the story of this journey, which as time has seen is memorable.

A little further along the path we found a secret little route into the woods and hid there, revitalising and feeling the fresh of this place. We pissed and giggled like the Invisible People from John Booremans wonderful masterpiece, The Emerald Forest. After having recently made our way through the grisly and depressing city we were glad to get a chance to spend some time energising ourselves in nature, and spend some time together for it was a while since we had shared a scene and not properly since her accident. It was here that we encountered the Silver Serpent lurking in the green.

Okay so it was not actually silver, since technically it was a cheap metal alloy entangled around from an unwound roll measuring some sixty feet in size and far too bulky for us to carry whole, our being keepers of such interesting finds; magpies always with some planned use for the things the universe provides us on our travels. The metal was half a foot wide and serrated sharp like a violent cheese~grater. We cut our hands in handling it and Vine especially so for her desire and determination to win this thing was great enough to suffer pain and pay the blood sacrifice. Eventually we wrought enough of the beast free of undergrowth and packed it using sticks and polythene into our pack.

Vine is multilayered and has designs, in metaphor and certitude to create a scultpure of this wire; reformed by fire into a liquid pourable to a mould. Vine was studying sculpture at the time in Carmarthen where Merlin the Enchanter is known to have been born. We have previously together shared time in forests all across this land and found upon Tabernacle Hillside a freshwater spring which we spent several afternoons cleansing of broken glass that had found its way to pollute the holy natural water, considering it our druidly and dryadly duty to perform such act of kindness to a beautiful place. So many shards could at 700 degrees in a furnace be fused into a window, sharing scenes perhaps.

The artists mind is mad with fires of potential when encountering such symbols, which to any other person is disguised as a soggy cardboard cutout labelled; ‘normal’. Time transpires is frequency based, not linear. So when Time sees a projection through into a form, material becomes Artifact worked into new appreciation. That is when a Journey sees completion. Often, all we are left with is snakepaths and memory scars to offer clues. Vines shoulder bears the mark of the Celtic cross, or a christian fish, depending how she flexes her arm.

The Oasis bottle, red liquid that I associate with the blood we shed teasing scrap from the wildwood. This went undrunk and ended up back in my haunted old flat in the city until I threw it out when I finally moved away from there.

Of the bitterly biting silver metal coil we had wound and bound into a bag, I still do not yet know what happened to that dangerous stuff. I am hoping that her sculpture was successful wise and useful. She had been speaking of a cauldron grael, where I had envisioned a journey snake; but thats another story.


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