ASK THE GHOST OF ANDY WARHOL

Tate; (c) Tate; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation
Tate; (c) Tate; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

A young man deep in contemplative thought
cued post a frontal lobe recollection stage play
is, more often than not lost to the real world

It is the way of things, more so when the recalled
melodrama is one of sexual promise and tasty food
Indian summer scoff; a sweaty Pont l’Eveque, a
baguette and something red and special from
Bordeaux to wash it down, plus both he and his
then lover, legs dangling over the highest ramparts
of Victor Hugo’s favoured Citadelle of Montreuil
Perfection indeed!

He noticed her rainbow painted toenails first of all
looked up startled, “Who the bloody hell are you?”
That she had the audacity to explain the implausible
alleging she had arrived at his domain via the shower room
mirror, irked, angered and, if the truth be told scared

“If you’re going to claim your name is Alice then rest assured I am not the Mad Hatter – that’s for certain!’

Agog that she was closer to being bedecked for a skinny dip
rather than a house call, and was the dead ringer for Fleming’s
brainchild, the self-sufficient Honey Rider took his breath away
Nervously finger drumming upon his blotter he awaited her riposte

“The chink of bright light leads the way to freedom or perhaps the full moon. Only the escapee slave can say where the plight of the moth ends”

Albeit utter bollocks it provoked thoughts of death in him
She stood quite still looking about the study asked him if he
kept pets, said she hated spiders but quite liked Border Collies
He answered in the negative all the time wondering how a full blown
statuesque centrefold had managed to prance through a looking glass
Had he gone crazy he wondered; perhaps his sugar levels had gone haywire again

Nonchalantly, as if the house owner, she drifted over to the framed
prints by his bookshelves, seemed struck by one particular painting

“I simply loathe the Pre-Raphaelites you know”

“How so?”

“That Millais was such a scoundrel. If his so called Knight Errant was really out to prove his chivalric virtues then he would have had the good manners to cover the girl up first and cut her free after. Mind I always thought him an absolute domineering bastard.”

“You knew him?”

“God yes…and the way he and his brotherhood cronies treated poor Lizzie beggar’s belief…imagine leaving her in a freezing cold bathtub modelling Ophelia. It was very nearly the death of her you know. She was never the same…pneumonia, fucked up lungs thereafter you see”

As if from nowhere she then announced apropos nothing
that she was off to visit someone more riveting than he
and departed as she had entered…even invited him to watch
No harm done; mirror still intact; seven years bad luck averted
The thought struck him that she might have been the kind of
gal who would not be too fussed if he kept his socks on

Later on, and very much detached per usual he thought to enquire of the ghost of Andy Warhol if one could copyright a dream

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20 thoughts on “ASK THE GHOST OF ANDY WARHOL

    1. Sadly I am prone to sometimes take cheese prior to sleep and have odd dreams…I blame an old Armenian friend (sadly departed) who was the first to get me into the wonders of French cheese all those years gone!

  1. First of all, what a lovely tribute to your love. Second of all, and this is gross, I was eating a sandwich as I read this, and when I got to “The thought struck him that she might have been the kind of gal who would not be too fussed if he kept his socks on” I was so surprised that I choked and spit sandwich all over my monitor! (Yes, really!) Bravo!

  2. Did Andy paint this??? I mean I feel ripped off, dear fellow. Seriously, after drying the tears of laughter re that, I was as ever sucked in by your marvellous imagery, words ..ocht the lot. Also…frankly as a writer of such things the noo, I aye wondered re that painting ,many years ago swhen I wis a wee innocent. Wonderful; Wonderful; x

    1. I was going to use that painting when I was writing endless ‘Jonny Catapault the Plumber the Artists all Trust’ but never got round to it…’tis a pic they made us chaps study back in A Level education days as it happens!

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