Quite recently Mr Creighton whispered to me that he thought perhaps it was time I wrote another entry for the site. I curtly informed him that he had not yet finished informing the public about my CD-trees. Suddenly he was screaming something about how it was his birthday, and he wasn’t going to write about my godamn horror-trees on his own birthday… Well

Gently, I pointed out that it was MY birthday in two days, and that I wouldn’t be writing anything for the stupid internet on my birthday either. He then slyly demanded he be allowed to post “A Birthday Message” on the site. Obviously I am reluctant to expose you to Mr Creighton’s maudlin birthday ramblings, but in the spirit of compromise with an old friend I am going to post a piece most dear to my heart, which he wrote a while ago and eventually led to the song, “Doomsday Piano”. Eerily it also sketches a picture of a typical birthday with Mr Creighton – or any day for that matter. I think. It was called “Ben”, but Ben is a dog and not a rat in this one. And there is a bathysphere,… possibly purchased by Ben.

Ben

We lived in a house by the lake that winter
Benjamin the dog and I.
My wife had left me.
The wind shook the walls,
Curled in, slammed doors.
The world’s hollow throat that roared
The emptiness of everything.

It was too Godamn noisy
I explained to Ben

The wicked wind hissed at me
As I moved us into the cellar
Where we would be happier
I explained to Ben

Outside the world flung razors of ice
From the drooping branches of trees
Shredding everything in their
Howling path

We were safer down here
But at night a sweating hulk shook the walls
And bellowed the ugly business of the world
Was it Ben or I that bought the Bathysphere?

It arrived one day, and panicking we rolled it
To the sucking edge of the lake
Ben was barking, the sky was grey
I rowed us out to the middle of the lake

Taking Ben in my arms, I boarded the sphere
And sank us to the bottom of the lake
Another fine mess, I said accusingly to Ben
But we were safe, at the bottom of the lake.

Happy birthday, Dan.

Wikipedia informs me that the etymology of Yggdrasil, the world-tree of Norse myth is generally held to be ygg “terrible” + drasil “steed”. This is commonly interpreted as a reference to the bleak nights Odin spent hanging from the tree. “Terrible horse”, or “horse of the hanged” are other variants.

It is said that the ancient Germanic practice of hanging sacrificial victims from trees derives from the Yggdrasil myth. I believe it is no accident that King Curly’s ancestry is Danish; his many character flaws are all too redolent of the treachery, viciousness and superstition we rightly ascribe to that accursed North Germanic tribe.

But my views of the Danish are well known, and of little import to the terrible story I shall relate. When last I rapped atcha, Gentle Reader, I alluded to the terrible tree I saw in King Curly’s garden. Now read on.

Upon my arrival I was greeted cordially by the King, we exchanged pleasantries as we walked down the hall, an offer of coffee was made; I accepted. We found ourselves in the kitchen. Coffee was prepared. I cannot recall who it was who suggested we enjoy our coffee in the back garden, but I do know that nothing was same ever after.

When we stepped out that kitchen door into the sunlight, what I saw rendered me speechless for some time. My first, faltering words were delivered with shock:

MR CREIGHTON (fearfully, and with commiseration) :
“When did this happen?”
KING CURLY (blithely, tra-la-la)
“Oh, it’s always been like this. To frighten crows.”

(There follows a long pause)

I knew this to be a lie. Every stem, branch and twig in that garden was festooned with nooses made of fishing line and wire, each terminating with the spinning corpse of a compact disc, reflected light filling the air with a terrible iridescence. I could barely see.

MR CREIGHTON (very carefully)
And are the crows frightened?

King Curly was far too busy admiring his handiwork to reply.

How did King Curly acquire HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS of CD’s? And for what dark purpose? Tune in next week as we expose some of the music industries DARKEST, most SATANIC secrets.

Today I saw a very frightening tree. It was not the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, and nor was it Yggdrasil, the world-tree of Norse myth. In fact, it was a leafless and not particularly attractive peach-tree, though for those of us who muck about with the arts it possessed the existential terror of the aforementioned and more famous trees.

A little background.

Every once in a while, I put myself on a train and visit King Curly in his mountain redoubt. In order to preserve the anonymity so cherished by the King, I will refrain from describing his home in detail, but anyone passingly familiar with the King will not be surprised to learn that he has decorated the exterior of his home in a manner guaranteed to frighten the casual visitor, and deter even the most determined of his many fans. Indeed, for years the exterior of his home was decorated with tanned animal skins, all featuring a wound pattern that I surmised – with no background in ballistics – was due to the use of a small mortar or naval deck-gun. The local children claimed that not all the skins were animal; consequently all stayed away. No doubt this was King Curly’s intention all along; and this happy situation was in place for several years until King Curly’s wife decided that enough was enough and tossed the filthy things out.

As it happens, I was there that September day, and whilst King Curly is often wont to claim that his wife is very terrifying indeed I will say only this: that I have never felt in any real danger in her presence, and the manner in which she disposed of the skins so that they could never be reclaimed was very cunning indeed.

That evening the King confessed to me that he had painstakingly fabricated counterfeit animal-skins, as he was disinclined to harm animals. I was surprised and touched by this revelation, but the look in his eye as we watched Australian Idol made me doubt my own judgement. Do you know how some animal’s eyes have a nictitating membrane they can pull up and down like roller-doors? Owls use them whilst hunting, and sharks use them to protect their eyes from thrashing prey.

Whilst the Idol contestants capered, I saw the gentle man who would never harm animals. But when the judges appeared, something flickered that I am far less certain was benign.

In any case, the tree I saw yesterday troubles me far more than animal-skins and snake-eyes. I will speak of it when I am able.