Anyway this is an idea I had for a book, I'm kind of playing with the word structure, do let me know if it's too wacky. I'm having a lot of fun with it though I know it may not be the easiest to read.
I wore sun cream to the funeral. The family went sweat red. Black suits and sunshine. I was on the outside. No blood, meant I didn’t have to dress up. Not like I have a suit anyway. Church was full inside and out. In death Moses could sure pull a crowd. The woman guiding the hearse flicked her hair back with leather gloves. They opened the boot, took out the wreathes. The coffin slid into family hands. They held it up all Valkyrie like.
I go to Mass Christmas and funerals. Death and birth. Leftover Catholic shit. When you shed the belief a part keeps the fangs in. Maybe it’s just being Irish? The smell of incense comes on strong. Priest swings the mace thing in pendulum arcs. No one cries during the speeches. Mother sits in the front pew. Hair hangs like willow weeping.
I stand at the back. Eyes down, don’t look at the family. Tiles are sliced diagonally. Muddy and red like the drinking blood. Dusty. All things in here are dusty. Dust on the top of Christ’s head, dust on Mary’s heels, dust on the bleeding heart. Someone’s polished the snake. He chokes under Gabriel’s foot.
Chime time. Everyone stands. I’m already standing. Hum dung Druid chants. We wade through words. Like instinct they come off my tongue. Blessed be’s and also with you’s. They’re all there. Waiting in the back of my brain. Everyone sits. Not me.
Moses made money the easy way. The hard way maybe? Not my game, ask someone else. Sold out dope. Cut quarters and charged fifties.
“He was very popular in the community.”
Priest says it like it’s not a joke. I see seven people smile. Seven. I count the lips.
Moses played the last chord his own way. I don’t know much about it. Truth: I didn’t know him. Never met him, never heard a good word. Nail like tough. Looking for trouble. Finding it. Always smiling. Hyena grin. Intimidating. So what am I doing here? Good question. I’m not really sure.
Ignoring Voice is never a good idea though. He’ll ramble all day otherwise. Start off quiet, by night he’s screaming like a city made of vocal chords. Voice said to go to the mass. Wait, wait. Something important to say before we walk on. I’m not crazy. Not in the I-say-I’m-not-crazy-so-I’m definitely-crazy way. Legit. I hear voices, well I hear Voice, but I’m not schizo. Http://www.voicesireland.com/Home.htm: Hearing Voices Ireland (HVI) was founded in 2006 by Brian Hartnett to ‘promote and foster acceptance of voice hearing as a valid human experience’. So that’s that out of the way.
Anyway Voice told me to come to the funeral. We had a back and forth. Voice won the debate with shouting. He always does that. We have an agreement though. No messing after ten. And he can only talk to me when I play video games if he’s helping. Strategy wise.
Mass is big with people. The old ones cough heavy. Come on like thunder claps. Nose blows here and there. Painful for ears. And everyone has two. Voice is keeping quiet. That was the deal. Go to the funeral but no talking in between. Only Head Voice is allowed right now. Head Voice is the one everyone’s got. The one you hear with your brain. If you’ve only got Head Voice then they don’t offer you atypical’s. That means drugs. Abilify, Seroquel and all the others. Psych offered me the antipsychotics before. He thinks I might be crazy. They’ll give a PhD to anyone. Side effects include (not limited to) diabetes mellitus, pancreatitis, tardive dyskinesia, akithisia, dysphoria etc. That sound healing to you?
Head Voice is wondering how thick the walls are. He thinks it might be two meters-ish. I think that’s what she said. Art teacher in Secondary. Gothic architecture. Pugin and all that. Impression of a sunrise. Monet, like cash, Manet like man. That’s something else entirely. Church is gothic. Are there impressionistic buildings? Head Voice can’t remember. I sigh. Mass is starting to get boring. Still on the sermon. “We’ll all miss Moses, Moses was a good man”. Priest will have to confess later. Lying is one of the ten. Priest doesn’t call Moses ‘Moses’. He calls him John. That was what Moses’ ma and da baptised him. I like Moses better.
Chime goes off again. Time for the bread. It turns into flesh in your mouth. Transubstantiation. That’s what the Catholics believe. B-E-L-I-E-V-E. And doctor calls me crazy. Bunch of cultish cannibal types. Even Voice says the Jesus-flesh-thing is bollocks. And Voice is the part of me that doctor thinks IS crazy. Consubstantiation I can live with. That means the flesh thing is just a symbol. Like an ideogram but not exactly. That’s Protestantism. Makes more sense than Catholicism. Old Irish are too afraid to admit it. Ninety-Five thesis on a Whittenburg church. Leo X excommunicated Martin Luther for making sense. Silly-stupid.
Everyone walks up the aisle. Hands held together. Otherwise God gets pissy. Send another flood like the one in Japan. It’s okay though God’s on Valium. He’s not angry anymore. Or he wouldn’t be. If I believed in him. Definitely something out there. But it’s not in the skies and it’s not God. Sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings. Better to find out now though. Priest can put the bread in your hands or on your tongue. Old people get it on the tongue. I like it in the paw. You have to say ‘Amen’ or no Jesus-flesh.