'Fear of Fraternity' by Jack Burston

I left my phone beneath me, downstairs last night so this morning I woke to a single alarm. Sitting up, my throat was gnawed by the beginnings of a cold. Crisply removing myself from the house I began as we all do, to start the universal day. An event took place which prevented me from attending my teaching:I stopped the bus and exited. Deadly awaiting, I baited some faith and fished for my friend Brian. He was sold out. Heading for the books I videoed a hero. Cross hair murder filling the streets apparently. Yes, he’s a specialist in the obscure and a master of the Siamese. Community spurred on and spirited by dead industry and failing commerce. The price of a home becomes a jelly baby born of a split Robber, a tsar of wasted times and cremated Semitism. The single alarm; born out of crispy larynx and a leader with militant duality. Dent and mush his cries! Tenacity, softly tries to show that we share much, though, death for adultery and lions of black. Devoid of a principle community, we are full of raids that revere silence.

We awake with dual alarms. Wacky and doodling a triplet alone. Never referencing anybody but Dyl and I am at least, exalted in this.The crisp references and similes, just like my throat, speed through the morning melody and miss it at times. Curled girls seep through the tune and caps lock our thoughts. Simultaneously, sane and big-eyed. We all need a Pablo in the mornings. Where we wake ill and regretful. To reissue opportunity through the opiates and doors of an endless theatre. A jubilant Jill might accompany me through these arches. To revisit and join in the past, lost opportunities. I prosper in them when inventing. First at times, we dwell. Luring in memories and exhaling them out differently. The auditor has become old, but still issues vetoes. Severe ideas bend out the night, thoughts and memories. Dressed as a pirate, attaché to the night. Prevented boardings regretted and revered in discussion amongst brothers. The sense of lost power, the Chase that I raced had electricity.

The power won in victory over the Chase was born in to an emerging quartet of fraternity. Brothers beginning to drink gin, and beginning to find maple leaves. These Fratellizin, advised me against the curls of the girls and pushed my crispy throat against the wall until the melody; the father of this morning’s tune, began to pour forth and dirty the floor with its crudeness. The surly bass that emerged. Inverted my attitude, and I tapped my hand and thumped my foot in to a chicken dish as I witnessed it. The power that gives birth to fraternity.

Loathing of eternity brews in the sixtieth fraction of my thought. The power that fuels fraternity faces up to the end and smashes a mirror. Drunken, learning, punching song from the lungs to hand, and lip syncing in time with the greatest heroes of these brothers here. The notes elope, entering ears with whispers and kisses. Bent, vibrating and echoing. In the same car that made it to Edinburgh and Plym, I will execute and fulfil, my every whim.

So in the seats alongside and behind me, I will have the following three: the actor, the illustrator, and a music man, known only by middle E. In the car in front or maybe behind there will be a drummer, a socialite, a devil horn, a surfer and a guitarist. The personal whim, becomes, it is, a different location. Where wheels are set and the course is dew, leaning wetness, searching for some dry laughter. A stump of leering wood will spurn laughter and I feel a clump of neoprene school girls will empower disaster.

And occasionally I will talk of the pirate, the attaché to the night, the missed invasion, the crispy little boarding. The perfect form that morphed so quickly this last Saturday night. And still occasionally I will crisply describe the curls, the dodged, but Pablo incurring eyes. But, regardless, the next alliance has to be realised as I skip through the coarse brilliance of The Videoed Hero. I talk to my mother and realise, the acute dew in my eyes. I begin to draw the multiplicity of the two cars together. The Edinburgh to Plym, and the instinctual whim, they are drawn from power. Drawing the individual forms, the pirate, the curls, the jubilant Jill, I change, I become an individual sequence of communal artistry. As I become the individually amalgamated artist, using my forms as a filter. The scenes of early evening dew will become stronger and the trips will become emphatic and defining. The Fratellizin will each become individual before reconvening, and leaving the constant moisture of calm fission to solo soar. They will plan beyond Edinburgh and far beyond Plymouth. A curly, soft lady pirate will call, and the ‘lizins will leave for Dover’s white mouth.