The diabolical. Rich desire to impregnate with evil, To embarcation upon conquests. To embolden and make one's mark, however ridiculous to the sane and balanced mind. Horrible. The dirty laundry of just one over-flowering and too abundant mind gone wrong.
One single blossom out of place and "killer". Off-kilter. Out of whack. The pickle short of a jar syndrome.
Then there's the hoots and shrill cat-calls withered by horse laughs. Guffaws with tattoos and rifle-butts. Laid back "good ole boys" type of humour going wrong soured by too many visits and skunky beers from the Orchid Lounge.
Rinky-dink, honky-tonk. Dotting the landscape with worn, thin cars, trouser legs piled up, the "f" and "s" words.
Charivari. A timely entry. A buzz set to sound, a faint blinking button with no sound. Suckers in the creek breaking water to catch flies, churning mud bottom by their too turbulent tails; a bird hitting the window only its night. The echo of moths lost to the stars with each jarring knock.
The skull in the box is that of Cornelius A. Burleigh, the first man to be hanged in London, Ontario, August 19, 1830. The public hanging attracted an audience of over 3,000 when the village of London numbered only a few hundred. Because the rope broke, he was hanged twice! The top of the skull was taken on a world tour by Dr. O.S. Fowler, a phrenologist. This part of the skull was presented to the Harris family. (Eldon House brochure)
Off memory & a dare, the grave man coming to a bitter end. Burleigh, top of his skull reminiscent of a laundry cup (or toothpaste cap) separated from its yellowing, rightful owner. No jaws of life here-- rather vengeance beyond death, shellac & varnish twist shoved to the withering bone.
Phrenology, sinister "fin de siecle" fingering of the intellect's character through guru-dimensions of the head, (pseudo-savant/skulduggery clairvoyant).
Thimble-full thinker, sleight of hand smoke'n mirror trophy hunters boisterous crowd in a "hanging mood". Coins flip on the outcome while town drunks reel;
The village idiot getting into the "swing" of things. Point spread across the yawn of death ... brittle behaviour, the sharp edge of beetles clicking in the dark.
And I thought of institutionalized evil & rabid passion for revenge pursued beyond the final resting place-- most private skeletal remains held up as curios. Medieval burning of a heretic's bones, manure pile for those decried damned; the cross-roads drive your cart over the bones of the dead, the remembered suicide's end.
