Thursday, 18 April 2013

Workbook Usher cont'd

1st sight of Madeline, hiding in corner by fire extinguisher.

Canapes less tasty after Rod slags Eddy off.

Chandelier has dead goldfish instead of crystal pendants.

Blogger: It's so exquisite, it's like looking death in the face, like watching Doctor Dolittle in a slaughterhouse.

She hardly seemed to have changed at all. My dream. My Madeline.

Bloody hand: Won't you kiss it better, just for old time's sake? It was a dare. Madeline had set me so many dares in the past. I'd never said no to any of them. Blood sweeter in my mouth than the canapes.

Their art: cheap jokes instead of howls of pain.

They're going to murder us. Tomorrow morning in the papers - they're going to murder us. Maybe it's about time. Like the man said: "we belong dead".

You belong with me. You always did. Although doubtless you forgot.

No, Eddy. I never forgot.

You've bled all over the fucking gallery. Well, at least there's some kind of statement of life and truth and pain - in among all the neon and bollocks.

You're still claiming ownership of Madeline's feminine side?

What kind of show is this where the only show of truth and passion is taking place in the ladies toilet?

Shut up and behave and get out there and SELL THE SHOW!

I can't sell myself any further down the river, Rod. It's getting terribly deep. And awfully cold.

My fingers are getting excessively acquainted with the back of your throat, sister dear.

Get out - get a taxi - and use the fucking back door!

I can't go back on my own....

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