watercolour and ink on paper
Here with quality conversation
I love that fable of the lioness, it is such a nice image of predators and prey sitting chatting about their children. It shows an insight into mothers, the way the prey is willing to overcome their natural fear of the predator to boast about their children. Isn't that just like a mother? And the lioness's response, the straightforward put down: your little might be bountiful but my child will always be a lion.
I am not so sure of the quality versus quantity dilemma. But it sure reminds me of a tale Amaro told me, now just a short while past, I shouldn’t say when as that might be a little telling. Though perhaps you have not noticed enough of the goings on in the pub to make too many inferences.
Our young days might have been the pinnacle of the rave culture but it still happens. Especially with us going through all these restrictions, the young stepped a little outside the new rules for their social needs. Can you blame them, how ridiculous it must seem to be locked away for the sake of others because they are not likely to suffer so why not hook up. Hook up, that was certainly not the words Amaro used when he told me this tale. Isn’t it amusing that changing the minor details like the terminology and the technology and the tale could be about when you were young, though I dare say the parties you went to when you were nineteen were a lot bigger than that, or were neither of you ravers?
Amaro was waiting in the shadows, he felt like he was in a spy movie, or perhaps that is just the fantasy all doggers use when they are alone waiting in a car park. I wouldn’t know, I have never owned a car. He had been to the party and had come back to wait for Snowy, though he wouldn’t tell Snowy that. Snowy cycled past Amaro who stepped out of the shadow and called: this was the best place to park his bike as if he had just parked his bike. They locked the bikes together to a medium size tree, it wouldn’t stop a determined thief but would deter a partygoer searching for an easy way home. Amaro led them in the direction of the party, the music quietly then strongly guiding their way. They walked slowly, their way lit by the phone of some person leaving early. They nodded at each other.
Amaro’s mate was sitting by the fire, the easiest person to find at the party because everyone was there to meet him. He had the bag of pills, and a pocket of rolled up bills, once again my terminology not Amaro’s. Amaro went for a lucky dip, Snowy did too. Amaro took out two cans of cider and handed one to Snowy. They looked about the gathering, smiling, nodding, much like they were in a film, the camera drifting through the partying youngsters in groups and pairs heads leaning in to each other, or dancing either together or by themselves, each person catching the eye of the camera. Maybe a music montage beating out the time for the narcotics to have their narcotic effect, maybe neither of them had much to say Snowy said something about Morwena. Amaro said whatever.
Amaro found himself at the edge of the gathering sitting quietly cocooned in a wreath of dry leaves and a gentle haze that allowed him to watch everything with an intense feeling of serenity. To the left he could see Snowy with a hand on a tree leaning in towards a woman with short dark hair. He couldn’t remember her name, he knew whose friend she was. Snowy knew her well, that much was clear. His body was completely turned on to her. Then his lips leaned in towards hers. Briefly, and she laughed, and his hand stroked her face, and drifted down to her body. Amaro could not see his hands, or hers, he could see their smiles, and their eye contact. Intense. Snowy had not found Morwena. She was sitting head to head with JanX. Just talking. Amaro leant back and watched the stars for a minute.
The woman with the short hair was now standing chatting to Morwena and JanX. Snowy was not as easy to spot, but he was there. Sitting near the fire. He reached out for a girl with a cheeky smile. Amaro didn’t know her name either, but knew she was in the same group of friends as the girl with the short dark hair. The girl with the cheeky smile laughed and collapsed theatrically onto him, their bodies pushing together and his hands moving swiftly to her back, to her ass, pushing her skirt enough for her to lean back to redirect it back down, and his hand clear. They laughed. Snowy’s face disappeared into her hair, snuggling into her neck. The girl with the cheeky smile looks like she is trying to push herself away from Snowy. Amaro closed his eyes to imagine warm breath on his neck, lips kissing and nibbling. He lay back leaning into the imaginary touch while touching his own neck.
The woman with the cheeky smile was now standing with Morwena and JanX with her arm about the girl with the short black hair. Snowy had joined the dancers. On the edge watching a topless girl swinging her arms and rubbing a fur gilet all over herself sensually. Completely absorbed in her own thing but Snowy seemed to be intent on joining her thing. Gyrating, weaving himself closer and closer to her interspersed with her edging away until at one point she decided he was worth rubbing her back against his chest. It looked like an intimate dance but Amaro knew it would go nowhere. The song, however, was amazing so Amaro closed his eyes and imagined the sensuous touch the topless girl must be feeling.
Amaro blinked back to the party. Snowy was going through his bag, getting a cider. Give me one dude. Snowy sat next to Amaro, once again they were looking over the party. Amaro pointed out where Morwena and JanX sat chatting. He did not point out the topless girl resting on the shoulder of the girl with the cheeky smile who was still chatting to the girl with the short hair. Amaro suggested it was time to go, Snowy said he wanted to talk to Morwena first. It was a bad idea, Amaro knew it was a bad idea. Snowy and Morwena weren’t getting on well and Snowy had behaved like a dick all party. But he said nothing. Just gathered his bag while Snowy marched off. Amaro did not hear what Snowy said to Morwena but he heard what Morwena replied.
You've been all about the party like a lecherous old man in one of those books they made us study at school. I’ve been here with real quality conversation. What you say to that?
Snowy didn’t say anything as Amaro guided him away. They sat for some time by the bikes. Snowy bitching about Morwena. Amaro ignoring Snowy.
And that is the end of my tale. Not quite a story about boasting about your offspring, but nonetheless an amoral tale in which quality is better than quantity.
How great they are
Not to be believed
Some Fucking Gratitude
To pay the piper
The Whole Body
The Young Ones