Rivelino
Written by Neil Addison on Friday the 8th of July 2011
I will appeal to anybody who believes themselves to be a nailed
subject, not in Christ's league, but bereft of Goretex all the
same, pining for Velcro straps. Today I am powering my detritus over
the internet like an ailing spiv at a godless village fete. I do not
do heroin - in fact I dig literature - and yet the way I handle
these possessions recalls an obdurate smackhead doing the rounds of
his local pub, appealing to solvent regulars. That is to say, these
things amount to a curse as they remain in my possession in their
capacity as mere objects. My manifest desire is to puncture each of
these items in turn so that I can get at their transitory worth and
effect my return to Brazil. For I am not a proud owner nor a marginal
patriot either.
I will appeal to many people who also like Jack Kerouac. I would love
to do a chat-show in which Donal MacIntyre tickles the ivories while
I lean against his Steinway piano and knot my brow into an AA roadmap
and ignore where I find myself now. Time for a little invocation.
Watch me as I unleash a series of darting hand gestures - like
fishes on the lam - as if trying to flag down my glory years and
con them into a rebirth or a gene replacement.